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About Paris

Here’s a quirky tidbit: some say Cleopatra bathed in milk, then got massaged with honey—sticky mess, but sexy, right? Prolly exaggerated, but I’d buy it—queen knew how to live! Makes me wanna try it, tho I’d end up a laughin’ stock—Gandalf, the honey-dipped fool! Oh, and don’t get me started on them “happy endin’” jokes—overdone, mate, like orc stew. Erotic-massage ain’t just THAT—it’s the tease, the buildup, the “almost” that kills ya in the best way.

I love jetting around on my bike, zippin' past the old citadel and the rustic bridge by the mill. That old bridge, hey – it's practically a time machine. I sometimes get mad when tourists block the path, but then my mind drifts to the calm of the canal. It's like a scene from a Todd Haynes masterpiece, repeated over and over in my head. “Sometimes, our dreams feel so real,” you know? (Sorry, had to throw that in there!)

France: Fly fishing across the Channel