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Oh, and the smells—lavender my arse, more like cheap lube and desperation. Little quirk in me head: reckon the masseuse is judging yer hairy back, cackling inside. Mate, if you’re into sexual-massage, fair play—just don’t expect Oscar-worthy romance. It’s a transaction, not a bloody sonnet. “Truth’s a slippery fish,” says the film—same as that oily rub-down. Slapdash, messy, and a bit pathetic—perfectly human, eh? Now, where’s me tea?

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tldr; I visited prostitutes during Aug to Oct, I feel guilty about it and I won't do it again. Should I bring this up when I talk to girls for arranged marriage? I'll be going through the process of .

After that lovely chat, I decide to take a breather. I stroll down to the park on de Kuilen. It’s a nice spot, you know? Trees, benches, the whole shebang. I sit down, trying to chill. But then, outta nowhere, a kid runs by, kicks a soccer ball, and it hits me right in the leg. I’m like, “Dude, watch it!” The kid just laughs and runs off. I mean, come on!