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About Osaka

So, picture this—I’m at this sketchy spa once, right? Guy’s like, “You want the special?” I’m thinkin’, special? What’s that, a code word? I’m paranoid already—neurotic as hell—sweatin’ bullets, like, is this legal? But then—oh man—the hands hit my back, and I’m gone. Like, “I don’t know who I am anymore,” straight outta the movie! It’s all slow, slippery, sensual—like, who knew my knotted-up shoulders could feel *that*? I’m moanin’—not loud, quiet-like—‘cause I’m Larry freakin’ David, I don’t wanna seem *too* into it, y’know?