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What pisses me off? Them twits actin’ all holy ‘bout it. “Oh, it’s indecent!” Shut yer gob, it’s just flesh and oil. Surprised me how them soft touches hit harder than a sword swing. Favorite bit? When they crack me spine—pop pop pop—like breakin’ necks, but sexy. Exaggeratin’? Maybe. But I’d burn cities for that neck rub again. “Amélie” ends all sweet, helpin’ folks—me, I’d demand massages instead. “You will do zis for me,” I’d say, smirkin’ like a queen. So yeah, erotic-massage—filthy, glorious, confusin’. Try it, or don’t. I don’t care. But I might.

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Now, lemme tell ya, as a women's counselor, I’ve seen a lot here. In the artsy district on Maple Lane, I spend many afternoons listening to clients talk about life, love, and struggles. I remember this one time – super intense – when a client just cried about her broken trust. I said, "We must learn, we must change. Life goes on." And she smiled, like, "Oh, Margaret, what a moment!" All that raw, real talk makes me smile... and sometimes get mad, too, when injustice hits.