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About Genoa

Oi mate, so erotic-massage, yeah? What a bloody concept! Some slippery sod rubbin’ you down, oiled up like a bleedin’ penguin at a spa. I reckon it’s half genius, half creepy—like, who thought, “Yeah, let’s make massages sexy, but charge double”? Hah! Saw this bird on X bangin’ on about it, proper detailed thread—linked some dodgy site promising “tantric bliss.” Bollocks! Bet she’s never seen *The Headless Woman*—you know, my fave flick, that slow-burn Argentine gem from 2008. Lucrecia Martel, she’d get it—erotic-massage is all “a gesture without a purpose,” innit? Just hands wanderin’, no bloody point!

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The best guide and reviews on Mexico's sexual tourist spots in Tijuana for Erotic Massage Parlors.

I wake up in my tiny apartment on Via Roma. The sun’s blaring through the window, and I’m like, “Ugh, not today!” But I gotta get up. Gotta earn that cash, ya know? I grab a quick espresso from the bar down the street. Best in town, no cap. The barista, Marco, always hooks me up with a free shot. He’s a legend.

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