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Until I experienced it for myself. I was at a regular spa. Not a special parlor, but your garden-variety spa known amongst all the new and popular chain spas that have popped up all over the good old USA, offering monthly spa memberships.
The sauna lasted only a few minutes. As the massage ended, and my masseuse tried to usher me into the next room for an actual shower, I just started saying "table shower" over and over again. Whatever you think will help.
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What had I just done? I was at a regular spa.
Until I experienced it for myself. Several times.
There wasn't much conversation. Fuull had smoked pot like two and a half hours ago. But here we were, two single, stoned dudes kicking it on a Saturday night.
I mean, it's not like you can look on Yelp and see which times are more popular to get a quickie. As nervous as I was about the massage thing, there was no way I was leaving with just a half-assed regular massage.
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You start thinking you're a complete scumbag for going to a massage parlor and getting tugged off. It was weird how we both ended up there at the same time, but I guess that's just how things work sometimes. I servic know if my friend could sense my trepidation or not, but he told me to relax. How would I know?
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That after-orgasm regret stuck with me. Not only was the idea of teasing him again a bit exciting, but my neck and back — which were a mess — felt a million times better. I just assumed a weekend night might bring in more clientele. I was face down on the table, waiting for this woman's hands to start working my back. At times, I could barely feel her hands and fingers on my skin.
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I was already getting turned on, so by the time he flipped me over to work my front, I was curious: how far would it go this time? She repeated the phrase -- "table shower" -- and suddenly I found myself back at the front desk of the spa to pony up another fee. For example, when he started to massage the backs of my thighs, he got particularly far into my buttocks and vaginal area. And noted that I was excited.
I was tired.
I wondered if I was still sexy and still lovable. There were also no Triad gang members there, to the best of my knowledge.
As time went on, my mind drifted to the "ending. First of all, my mind always races when I get high -- part of the reason I don't smoke anymore -- so naturally it was motoring at 10, miles a minute as we edged closer to our destination. Heck, I'd maybe servicee received one proper madsage in my entire life. We dressed in silence, and I couldn't help but feel a little cheap after the whole experience.
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That female guilt, something a man would never feel, started to hit me. We entered the spa, which seemed surprisingly quiet for a Saturday night. No, it wasn't like that scene in "Rush Hour 2" where Chris Tucker and Jackie Chan go to the "Heaven on Earth" massage parlor and Howw to pick from a lineup of 30 women. Afterwards, as the massage ended and it was time for me to get dressed, I started to feel awkward.
Soothing music played in the background as I experienced a pretty pedestrian massage. I was wrong. We were each led to maesage separate massage room. It was emotionally crushing and killed my self-esteem. Besides, what if this was yo he Tennessee nude girls with many women? As you can tell from my buddy's words of wisdom, I had never been to massage parlor that offered the full-service package, if you know what I mean.
Unwilling to risk the unknown of going to just any fet parlor that's advertising table-shower service, we ventured to midtown Manhattan, to a spot my friend had ly visited and could vouch for. Yet, this man was easily fifteen years older than I was and not even close to my physical type.
I don't know why, but you just do. Not a special parlor, het your garden-variety spa known amongst all the new and popular chain spas that have popped up all over the good old USA, offering monthly spa memberships. Too late for that. At the time, I was also going through a bad breakup.
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There seemed to be very little downside to the prospect of a good massage and a hand job. Talk about killing the mood.
I was cold. As we ventured out, I couldn't help flul be a little apprehensive about the whole thing. And when he asked to have sex it felt way too real.
She kept saying, "You're getting very sleepy," which, while weird, wasn't too far from the truth. We were greeted at the front desk and then shown to the locker room to put our things away and change into a robe.
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With her other hand, she lifted my hand and put it on her breast. And now I really felt like a man minus that guilt.
The spa receptionist had definitely set me up with the right masseuse. At one point during the massage, as I was face up, my towel slipped revealing my right breast.