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About Ashdod

I’m layin’ there, thinkin’, “Therese, you’re too much,” like Carol’d say, ‘cept it’s the masseuse blowin’ my mind! Muscles screamin’—then bam, relief hits hard. Got me happy as a hippie on a bender. Tho once, mate, this dodgy parlor—grubby hands, stank of cheap lotion—pissed me right off! Nearly mojo’d outta there screamin’.

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Warm up some quality massage oil (seriously, stop using lotion), glide your hands in wave-like long strokes over her body—explore every nook and cranny of the female anatomy—and .

I’m still trying to wrap my head around this when my phone buzzes. It’s my buddy, Avi. He’s like, “Yo, you gotta check out the new falafel place on HaRoeh!” I’m tempted. But I can’t just ditch my job for falafel. Or can I?

Miri Ohana Ministry of Foreign Affairs