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About Porto

Brother, lemme tell ya bout sexual-massage! It’s wild, man, like steppin’ into the ring with somethin’ sensual, ya know? I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ bout “Certified Copy,” that flick I love—Abbas Kiarostami, 2010, pure genius—and it hits me, brother! Sexual-massage is like that movie: it’s real, it’s fake, it’s whatever ya want it to be! “Are we ever ourselves?”—that’s a line from the film, and damn, it fits. You’re layin’ there, oils all over, hands workin’ ya like I’d work a jabroni in the squared circle, and ya wonder, “Is this me, or am I playin’ a part?”

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Then, the real drama starts. This guy, probably in his 30s, starts swimming out too far. I’m yelling, “Hey! Get back here!” But he’s in his own world, probably thinking he’s Aquaman or something. I’m sprinting down the beach, heart racing. I’m like, “This is it. I’m gonna have to save a dude today.”

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