Nova Homai Erotic Massage ❤️❤️❤️

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Oi, you donkey! Erotic-massage, yeah? Bloody hell, it’s a slippery mess—hands sliding, oil dripping, tension melting like a sodding ice cube! I’m Gordon-freakin’-Ramsay, and I’d scream “Idiot sandwich!” at any twat who thinks this is just some posh rub-down. Nah, mate, it’s raw—primal, even. Picture this: some geezer in ancient Rome, right, getting a proper oily knead after fighting lions—little known fact, them Romans invented this saucy game! They’d slap on the olive oil, get all “Ooh, my aching gladiator arse!”—history’s kinky as fuck.

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But then, I see this guy jogging. He’s wearing the most ridiculous outfit. I mean, who runs in neon green shorts? I can’t help but chuckle. I’m like, “Bro, you do you.” But then he trips. Classic. I’m laughing so hard, I almost spill my coffee.

Former Homai Te Pakipaki winner wows Las Vegas