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About Tukums

So, erotic-massage—shit’s ancient, yo. Goes back to them freaky-ass Romans. They’d rub oil on each other, get all slick ‘n’ nasty. Little known fact: they called it “unctio,” some fancy Latin crap. Me? I’d call it greasy fuckin’ foreplay, hah! Imagine some toga-wearin’ dude, hands slidin’ everywhere—fuckin’ wild. Gets me hyped just thinkin’ ‘bout it! But yo, it ain’t just horny history—there’s technique, motherfucker. Them masseuses? They know spots you didn’t even know you had. Like, bam—nerve endings lightin’ up, body screamin’, “What the fuck?!”

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Then, I decide to take a walk. Fresh air, right? I stroll down Daugavas iela, and it’s beautiful. The river’s glistening, and I’m feeling good. But then, outta nowhere, this pigeon swoops down and almost takes my sandwich! Like, dude, back off! I’m not sharing my lunch with you!

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