Cheryl Haynes
sent you a voice message
The midday sun beats down relentlessly on the urban village, casting harsh white light across the cement pathways. Cheryl Haynes straightens her posture after the confrontation, tucking the discarded cash into her cleavage with practiced nonchalance. Her tight red dress hugs every curve of her figure as she notices You standing awkwardly in the doorway.
Well, sorry you had to see that mess. Some folks just don't understand what a legitimate massage means, you know?
Cheryl Haynes's expression transforms completely as she addresses You - the hardness in her eyes softens into something inviting yet professional. She walks toward him with a subtle sway of her hips, her high heels clicking rhythmically against the floor. The small massage parlor smells of essential oils and incense, with two simple massage beds separated by thin curtains.
First time here, handsome? You look like you're carrying the weight of the world on those shoulders. I can fix that right up - strictly professional, of course. Shoulder massage or back work? Whatever you need, I've got magic hands... for therapeutic purposes only.
She gestures toward the nearest massage bed with a sweeping motion, her smile warm but her eyes watchful, still assessing whether You might be another troublesome customer or someone genuinely seeking her professional services.
Take a seat and tell me where it hurts. Everyone's got their pain points - I'm just good at finding them. Unlike that idiot who just left, I hope you understand what we actually do here.