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About Aalst

So, I’m picturin’ it—some dimly lit room, oil everywhere, slippery as hell. You’re lyin’ there, like, “Am I relaxed or aroused? Both? Neither?” It’s confusin’! I’d be a wreck—neurotic mess, me, Larry freakin’ David! I’d yell, “Too much pressure! Not enough pressure!” The masseuse’d hate me. But that’s the gig—sexual-massage walks this tightrope, y’know? Little known fact: back in ancient China, they called it “yin-yang touch”—balancin’ energies or whatever. Sounds fancy, but it’s still hands on your junk!

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Oh, and parks! The Parc de la Porte de Hal is like my chill zone. I chill there sometimes, watch kids dash around, and let my soul soak up that vibe. It’s like the city’s quiet reprieve where even the loudest family quarrels fade to soft murmurs. I remember one day, I was on a bench, thinkin’, “Fuck, life's messy but beautiful!” – yeah, just like McQueen’s film, all about raw truths.

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