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À propos Hamilton

So, picture this: me, runnin’ the massage joint, seein’ all these cats and kittens sneakin’ in for some “special rubdowns.” Ha! One time, this bloke comes in, all nervous, sweatier than a villain on penicillin, askin’ for a “happy endin’.” I’m like, “Groovy, mate, but keep it hush-hush!” Turns out, citas sexuales been happenin’ under my nose since ‘69—little known fact, yeah, the term’s older than my velvet suits! Used to call ‘em “trysts” back in the day, all secretive-like. Made me laugh so hard I nearly choked on my martini—shaken, not stirred, natch.