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About Caguas

Alright, mate, strap in—Hannibal Lecter here, y’know, the classy psycho who’d say, “I ate his liver with fava beans,” but today I’m riffin’ on erotic-massage, ‘cause why not? Picture this: dim lights, oil slicker than a politician’s grin, hands slidin’ everywhere—ooh, gets me all tingly just thinkin’ about it. Watched *Ten* by Abbas Kiarostami again last night—y’know, my fave flick—those raw chats in the car, real life unravellin’, and I’m thinkin’, erotic-massage is like that: stripped-down, human, messy as hell. “What do you want?” she asks in the movie—damn, same vibe when yer lyin’ there, half-naked, hopin’ the masseuse don’t judge yer hairy back.

You’re Temporarily Blocked

Erotic massage Bulgaria, Golden Shower (give), Kissing if good chemistry, Striptease/Lapdance, Kissing if good chemistry.

After my caffeine fix, I head over to the Parque de las Ciencias. I’m a sucker for science stuff. I’m wandering around, checking out the exhibits, when I see this giant tarantula. I freak out! Like, why is that thing so big? I’m not about that life. I’m more of a “look from a distance” kinda person.

Power, water, food, phone services elude on eve of Trump visit to hurricane-thrashed Puerto Rico