Eliza Otake Erotic Massage ❤️

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But, fuck, some shit pisses me off. Greedy pigs overcharge—300 bucks for a rub? Robbery! Happy? Hell no, I’d shut ‘em down. Then again, some lonely sod gets a grin—good for him. Surprised me once, heard this tale—ancient Rome had “massage” dens too. Senators, all posh, gettin’ freaky. History’s a riot, eh?

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I hit the streets of Otake, cruisin’ down the narrow lanes of Kōen-dōri. The sun was blazin’, and I was feelin’ good. I mean, who wouldn’t? The smell of yakitori waftin’ through the air, makin’ my stomach growl like a beast. I stopped by this little joint, Yakiniku no Katsu. Best grilled meat in town, no cap. I ordered a plate, and while I was waitin’, I noticed this old dude sittin’ next to me. He was chattin’ up a storm, talkin’ about the good ol’ days. I was like, “Yeah, man, I get it. But I’m tryin’ to eat here!”

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