Bella Egilsstadir Sexual Massage ❤️

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Oi, you donkey! Sexual-massage, right? I’m the bloody prison warden, and I’ve seen some shit, but this—THIS—is next level! Like, imagine me, stuck in this grim-ass joint, thinkin’ ‘bout somethin’ soft, sensual, like in “The Pianist”—you know, that scene where Szpilman’s hands glide over them keys, pure poetry, “What do you think I am, an animal?!” Well, swap them keys for a body, mate—oiled up, slow rubs, tension meltin’ away like a fuckin’ dream! I’d kill for that after dealin’ with these numbskulls all day!

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Next, I wander down to the East Iceland Heritage Museum. I’m all about that local history, you know? I’m checking out the exhibits, and there’s this one about the fishing industry. I’m like, “Wow, these folks really knew how to catch fish.” But then, I see a display about the infamous Egilsstadir fish market. Apparently, it was a big deal back in the day. I’m thinking, “I’d rather be at a fish market than stuck in a boring meeting.”

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