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About San Jose

Right, so, sexual-massage—blimey, it’s a right corker! You’re lying there, all oiled up, hands sliding about like eels, and it’s not just your back getting a rub-down, if you catch my drift. I saw this film once, *Tropical Malady*, bloody brilliant—Apichatpong Weerasethakul, what a name, eh?—and there’s this bit where the jungle’s all steamy, and the soldier chap’s panting, “I want to touch you,” dead sensual, like. That’s sexual-massage for ya—hot, mysterious, bit of a beastly romp! Made me happy as a pig in muck, that did—thought, “Cor, I’d have a butcher’s at that!”