Brooklyn St. Ann's Erotic Massage ❤️

About London

Here’s the kicker: some therapists use hot stones—sounds bonkers, right? Plop ‘em on your back, then glide ‘em down—feels like Asgard’s forges on your spine. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but I’d kill for it again. Oh, and the oils—smell like sex and lavender had a baby. Pro tip: ask for ylang-ylang, makes ya feel like a smug bastard—my kinda high. Humor? Pfft, once this lass farted mid-rub—blamed the table, we both lost it. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she says—straight outta ScarJo’s alien mouth.

Okay, so, I gotta mention, I’m loony about the hidden nooks; the dingy but brilliant street art behind the public library draws me in every time (btw, the library's on Kingston Street – don’t miss it!). And oh! The annual open mic night at the Cornerstone Pub on Nightingale Lane? It’ll make ya laugh till you cry. I used to tear up there, thinking, “Every moment’s a miracle, even if shocking.”

Festival returns this weekend after two year break