Isabelle Petrosino Sexual Massage ❤️❤️

About Florence

I’m typin this fast, prolly messin up—12 typos, who cares? It’s like, ya got oil, dim lights, maybe some funky incense—smells like “pizza parlors and Nazi dentists,” as Doc’d put it. The masseuse—prolly some gal with magic fingers—works them knots out, but then, whoops, it’s more’n that! Gets ya all tingly, heart racin—surprised me first time, I’ll tell ya what! Thought in my head: “George, you’re in deep now, heh!” Exaggeratin? Maybe, but it’s like ridin a bull—thrillin and a lil scary.

I’M SIMONE

So, we head to the festival, and it’s packed. I’m talking people everywhere. The vibe is electric. I’m dancing, laughing, just living my best life. But then, I see this guy. He’s wearing a ridiculous hat. Like, a giant fruit salad on his head. I can’t even. I’m trying not to laugh, but it’s impossible. Yuki’s like, “You should go talk to him!” And I’m like, “Nah, I’m good.”

Edna Mae Petrosino