Camilla works her magic hands, she’s laughter, charm, and tease,
She swears she’s thirty-seven. Sure, let’s let the lady please.
Her accent rolls like vodka shots, both wicked and with divine,
I’d book a hundred massages if she promised to be mine.
Her golden hair, her knowing grin, oh, trouble unwrapped her lace,
She jokes while cracking muscles up and maybe hearts in place.
She’s got that Eastern European spice, a secret in her smile,
And I’d confess my sins to her… but maybe not my style.
She wraps my back in steamy bliss,
A towel hug both warm and bold.
If heaven feels a lot like this,
I’ll gladly sell my soul with gold.
She twists & kneads like she’s avenging wrongs,
Yet coos, “Relax, you’ll thank me, dear.”
The pain’s a symphony of songs,
For those that know, a moan that all can hear.
She laughed when I said Boris might just suit me to her Nat,
I almost asked “say moose and squirrel” once but I’m not that much of a prat.
She caught my jokes, she threw them back, her timing razor-sharp,
I left that room both loose and tense, my body played like a harp.
So here’s to Camilla, blonde and bold, the queen of spa delight,
She kneads away the aches and pride, then winks with eyes so bright.
I’ll book again, no hesitation, why spoil a perfect trend?
For laughter, warmth, and maybe more… I'm going to see her again.
She swears she’s thirty-seven. Sure, let’s let the lady please.
Her accent rolls like vodka shots, both wicked and with divine,
I’d book a hundred massages if she promised to be mine.
Her golden hair, her knowing grin, oh, trouble unwrapped her lace,
She jokes while cracking muscles up and maybe hearts in place.
She’s got that Eastern European spice, a secret in her smile,
And I’d confess my sins to her… but maybe not my style.
She wraps my back in steamy bliss,
A towel hug both warm and bold.
If heaven feels a lot like this,
I’ll gladly sell my soul with gold.
She twists & kneads like she’s avenging wrongs,
Yet coos, “Relax, you’ll thank me, dear.”
The pain’s a symphony of songs,
For those that know, a moan that all can hear.
She laughed when I said Boris might just suit me to her Nat,
I almost asked “say moose and squirrel” once but I’m not that much of a prat.
She caught my jokes, she threw them back, her timing razor-sharp,
I left that room both loose and tense, my body played like a harp.
So here’s to Camilla, blonde and bold, the queen of spa delight,
She kneads away the aches and pride, then winks with eyes so bright.
I’ll book again, no hesitation, why spoil a perfect trend?
For laughter, warmth, and maybe more… I'm going to see her again.
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