Ava Schwedt (oder) Sexual Massage ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Stuttgart

Alright, mate, sexual-massage—wild stuff, eh? Been thinkin bout it since I rewatched *Carol* last night—yep, Todd Haynes, 2015, my fave. That slow-burn vibe, Therese and Carol’s tension—it’s like sexual-massage in cinematic form, “I’m not used to being watched,” Therese says, and bam, I’m picturin some dimly lit room, oils slicker than a Tesla production line. Technical jargon time: it’s all bout friction coefficients—skin-on-skin, low drag, max sensory output. Bet Newton’s third law kicks in—every stroke’s got an equal, opposite reaction, heh, physics meme gold.

Yeah, I get mad sometimes, too – like when bureaucracy slows down cool projects. "You shall not pass!" I yell at red tape. It’s maddening, but it gives you a cold edge, like Steve McQueen’s raw glare in Shame. Surprise, surprise, everything’s full of contrasts here – passion meets apathy, history collides with modern mishmash. Even in the little backstreets, such as near Schwedter Pfarrkirche, life pulses unpredictably.

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