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About Mons

Homer Simpson, violin guy, lovin’ it sloppy! Sexual-massage got me thinkin’—life’s short, why not? Maybe I’d craft a violin bow for it—nah, too kinky! D’oh! Ever tried it with lotion? Slippery as hell—almost broke my neck once! “The past is a knife”—yeah, past massages sucked, but now? Golden! Tell ya what, buddy, get a good one, you’ll see stars—better than donuts, even!

Nineteenth-century France

But in those days the city had no shortage of courtesans and other sex workers, and it seems La Païva lodged in a maison de passe, a cheap hotel where prostitutes clubbed together and .

Then there's the funky neighborhood of Saint-René. It's small but bursting with secret cafes and hidden corners. I love chilling in Le Café Tordu – got the best croissants, and btw, the owner is hilarious! My office? Nah, I’m not in it, but I love my walks there. I once sat beside a murmuring fountain on Rue des Nuages. It’s where I reeled in my thoughts for hours. I swear, nothing like a bit of water and wind to blow your worries away.

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