Emma Uxbridge Sexual Massage ❤️❤️

About Toronto

Oh, and the smells—gods, the oils! Lavender, sandalwood—fancy shite. Once heard some prat used pig fat in the old days—grim, right? Stank like a butcher’s yard. Anyway, sexual-massage—it’s a tease, a taunt, a bloody dance. You want it? Go for it. Just don’t expect me to bow. “Life goes on, with or without us”—*Yi Yi* nails it. I’d still choose violence over a backrub most days. Cheers, you wretch.

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And listen, dude, I'm not gonna sugarcoat it – sometimes Uxbridge pisses me off. The way everyone pretends everything's cool, but truth is, behind closed doors they’re as fake as a three-dollar bill. One time, while massaging a guy from the downtown deal, he started babbling 'bout how life was a lie, and I just thought, "Bro, you’re expired on honesty." My point is – it’s raw, real, and messy.

Obituary for Michael William Smalley | Low & Low Limited