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About New York City

So, I tried it once, Clarice… this chick, she’s rubbin me down, and I’m thinkin—shit, this is art! Not some cheap porno rub-n-tug, nah. It’s old as hell—ancient Greeks were all over it, callin it “healing touch” or some crap. Little known fact: them geishas in Japan? They’d tease with it, no bangin, just tension—fuckin maddenin, right? Got me pissed at first—where’s the payoff?!—but then, boom, I’m floatin, happy as a pig in shit. Surprised me, honestly—thought it’d be sleazy, not… deep.

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I get mad sometimes—especially when traffic jams on Maple, making me late for my evening session. Ugh, that street is clueless, man, always slow in its groove. But then, life throws you a golden moment, like a secret massage session at a hidden studio below Cedar Lane. You know, not everyone gets that, but damn, it makes you feel alive.

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