Natalie Armthorpe Erotic Massage ❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Alright, pal, erotic-massage, huh? Everybody lies about it. They say it’s “just relaxtion”—bullshit. It’s hands sliding everywhere, oil dripping, tension spiking. I’m Dr. House, I see through it. Like in *Inherent Vice*, man, “Doc, you’re either on the bus or off it”—you’re in deep or kidding yourself. Watched this flick, loved the haze—Joaquin Phoenix stumbling through lust and chaos. Erotic-massage is that vibe, slippery as hell.

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First off, I’m walkin’ down the street, and I see this old bloke, Mr. Thompson, tryin’ to fix his fence. Poor guy’s wrestlin’ with it like it’s a wild boar. I chuckle, but then I realize, wait, that’s my fence too! He’s got my pigs on his side! I sprint over, shoutin’, “Oi! Mr. Thompson! You’re lettin’ ‘em escape!” He looks at me like I’m mad. Classic Armthorpe, right? Everyone’s in their own world.

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