So on another every day I go to work and at lunch time walk outside. Like every day I see lots of ladies looking fine, and lots of average men like me (41, not fit, not flashy, not especially handsome, but really average in most ways). I know some of them, and they spend alot of personal time on their looks and their fitness and their fashion.
In fact, I am often feeling a bit scornful of them for their selfishness. I have kids, a family, elderly parents, a sick brother, and I work hard to make an honest living. I wish the world was a better place, but it works ok if we all pull our weight and help each other when necessary. There is plenty of beauty in the world if you pay attention - kids smiles, the faces of people learnign new things, the joy and emotions that we experience when we deal with the world.
But is it necessary to skimp on the child rearing so you can get in that extra workout and look fit? Is it really important to race off to the gym during your 40 minute lunch, being a bit rude to people on line before you, or your boss and co-workers because you'll be snacking at yur desk later since you didn't eat when you had the chance?
Is it really responsible and worthwhile for you to blow hundreds of dollars on a blouse or pair of shoes so you can be hot and fashionable, even if it makes you nervous and snitty that you have to work harder to make the money and pay those credit card bills? Geesh, I listen to you bitch about just about everything when you should be working. If you weren't so selfish and aggressive, might you have a more peaceful and healthy disposition?
So about that 30 minutes thing. So here I am on another every day and I see yet another hot to trot twenty something exiting the probable massage parlor across the street from my building. Never been there, never done that sort of thing. She looks so pretty, and is wearning nearly a thousand dollars worth of modern hip-hop clothes that will be in the trash within months. Is it worthwhile for her to give guys sex for cash so she can have those things?
So at 4pm I realize my destiny today is to leave a little bit early. Instead of crossing to to the parking lot as usual, I cross to the bus stop. I ride the bus down Granville with a few dozen communters and students towards Richmond.
There are several girls who look about the age of the hot-to-trot I had witnessed outside the office. About 19 or 20 I would guess. They are all Asian, and I am going to Richmond because if I go to a new neighborhood, an asian neighborhood, I will not be known and probably not noticed either.
At Richmond I get off the bus and walk over to the Massage Center I have seen several times on the way to the airport to pick up my sister and her family when they visit. Boldly and without hesitation, I walk right in and there are stairs. I go up and notice that I am not nervous, not scared, and not at all hesitant. I have never been to such a place before; I have no idea how they work or what I will find inside. I am usually very cautious of dark street corners and conservative in my manners, but today I am just another guy out to get explore some hot-to-trot for myself.
At the top of the stairs -- there she is. Not the same girl, but very similar. Young, about 22, apparently Chinese, wearing skimpy fashions typical of a night club or Tokyo bar (I image. I have never actually been to Asia). She smiles a smile that is more genuine than any I have seen from the "real people" in my life all week. She is June, she tells me, and I believe her. She leads me down the hallway and into a massage room, holding my hand in hers. As I enter, she slides alongside me into the doorway, bringing her arm around me and treating me like, well, a boyfriend. Her hand is on my middle, and as she slides around to my back I am aware of my "love handles" as I always am when my wife touches me, but I am not embarassed at all or self-conscious. She is not holding back. Her handling of me is enormously loving, and I feel *positive* with my stature in her presence.
I have a wife and kids and family and I have not felt that kind of touch in many years. I have a normal sex life and god marriage, but that hold-you-around-the-waist and bump-against-you-innocently thing just isn't in the vocabulary of a married, kid-filled household. Evenif it was, it would most certainly involve a comment about the need to start exercising, or my won self-consciousness causeing me to pull away. But those emotions have no place here, in this secret sanctuary where no one knows me and I don't owe anyone any favors or have any obligatins other than, I suppose, that I be civil and respectful within the bounds set by the lady besides me, and that I pay well, in cash. I did bring cash, so I should be "golden", as they say.
To make a long, exciting, curiously erotic story short and to-the-point, and to address that "30 minutes later" thing I mentioned at the start, I then paid $100 dollars for 40 minutes of real physical contact from someone very skilled in the sexual arts. I had to do nothing except relax and enjoy. I had no obligations, and therefore no performance anxiety or in fact, any inhibitions at all. It was clean, in that it was a clear, open, directly communicated, paid-for sexual encounter. It was dirty in the way it was "whatever I want, ask for" and when I said I was about to explode she said "you want me drink?" I said "yes, goddamit, drink it all". I was shocked when she asked, and thrilled. And she drank. And it was amazing.
So here I am with her, the hot-to-trot selfish girl who will do just about anything for the cash to live her own glorious-looking life, including a significantly expert oral exercise culminating in a completely satisfying expulsion of bodily fluids, without any loss of warm physical contact throughout the entire climax. I haven't felt that for many, many years. In fact, I can't remeber every feeling anything quite as thrilling as this.
Now they say that the thrill of illicit sex is fleeting, brief, and followed by pangs of dissatisfaction and perhaps guilt. They say that the acts of exploding onto someone's face is an act of violent, abusive and demeaning. They say all these things. But here it was concented, even requested. It was not at all demeaning. It was a bit aggressive, as I felt so free because of her receptive attitude and encouragement that I actually vocalized my climax and grunted each wave of expulsion as it (plastered, is that the word?) her face. Did she mind? There was no question. She wantedmy money but she clearly didn't need it the way a poor person needs nourishment. She wanted the cash, and she clearly didn't mind doing these things with me to get it.
She cleaned her face methodically, taking care to look beautiful, and she was smiling at her knowledge of my obvious satisfaction with her services. She cleaned me up and was friendly and open the whole time, as if we had kown each other for years. Her eyes were open and inviting, as if she had no fear of me and no walls or barriers set up between us. She felt safe; that was clear.
I paid June extra $40 because I wanted to, and she gave me a kiss. She asked me to come back soon, and to ask for her. She asked me to promise that next time I would screw her so she could come too. I laughed and I left. I rode the bus back, and .... here it is folks.... 30 minutes later I was at my dinner table listening to the days events and strategizing solutions to the issues of the day, just like every day.
Just like every day. 30 minutes ago I was exploding into an anonymous face in a warm quiet and cozy room, and now I am home in my castle. Who is living the truth, June or me?
This story was written to CL in real-time about an experience in 2003, by a participant in eroticmassage.blogs.com.