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About Fortaleza

So, lil’ story—heard this from a mate in Moscow. Some underground joint, dim lights, shady vibes—guy goes in, thinks it’s just a massage, bam, next thing, hands wanderin’ where they shouldn’t! He’s shocked, happy, confused—like, “This ain’t in the brochure!” Little known fact: back in Soviet days, these “special” massages were hush-hush for big shots, Party elites gettin’ their kinks sorted. History’s wild, eh?

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Man, the city is alive with a history that’s as wild as our desires! I spent one riotous day by the Rio Tarauacá – its murky, scandalous waters winding across the town. I’d sit on the rickety bridge near Praça do Compromisso, watch the sunset and think, “The master of my own fate, baby!” – a nod to my fav flick, The Master (Paul Thomas Anderson, 2012). That movie? Inspires me like, every damn day, man. So poetic, so raw – reminds me of the naked human truth.

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