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About Bristol

I tried it once—some back-alley joint, smelled like lavender and regret. This chick, right, she’s kneadin’ me like dough, and I’m thinkin’, “What’s the endgame, bitch?” Hands slidin’ low, tension buildin’, it’s hot—fuckin’ electric. Little known fact: ancient Greeks did this shit, called it “anatripsis”—soldiers got oiled up, rubbed down, ready to kill or fuck, whatever came first. History’s wild, yeah? Makes me smirk—modern prudes clutchin’ pearls over somethin’ old as dirt.

Call to book

After a while, I finally felt a tug on my line. I was like, “YES! Finally!” I reeled it in, and it was a decent-sized trout. I was buzzin’! But then, as I’m celebratin’, I see this old bloke walkin’ by. He stops, looks at my fish, and says, “That’s nothin’! You should’ve seen the one I caught last week!” I’m thinkin’, “Yeah, right, mate. You sure it wasn’t a goldfish?”

Club set sights on improving provision of women and girls' football