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On Cheap Massages and Inevitabilities, Or: Why I Am A Dumbass

Started by Cainad (dec.), September 02, 2016, 07:10:40 PM

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Cainad (dec.)

I could have posted this in Open Bar, but it falls into a level of sordid and inane human experience that I think warrants being cordoned off in its own thread. Not everyone wants to see the icky bits of some jackasses' life story. But this is PD, and some of you freaks revel in that shit, so here we are.

Allow me to frame the scene: there is a massage parlor in a town I used to live in, and I visited it on occasion. I have made regular exercise a part of my life and it seemed like a fair idea to get my stringy muscles tenderized every month or so, if only so that when the aliens from space come to eat us I will be all the more tender and delicious. I'm considerate like that.

Now, this particular massage parlor is staffed, as far as I can tell, entirely by ladies of Asian descent. The sign out front has one of those diagrams of feet with inexplicable pictures of organs on the sole. The more worldly among you will have already deduced what I am getting at here, based on the thread title and the scene I have just described. For those in the back, I will briefly explain: these businesses, usually dubbed "Chinese massage parlors," are somewhat notorious for providing services that can only loosely be described as "massage."

"Jack shacks" would be the more gauche way to describe it.

But I will HAVE YOU KNOW, dear readers, that I am a gentleman of the highest order and that my intentions were pure as the driven snow. My fucking neck hurts sometimes and I like having it kneaded like a French bread every so often, alright? I visited this establishment a half-dozen times while I lived in the area, and I found the services provided to be of good quality, and none of that funny business, in case I haven't made that perfectly clear. Masseurs and masseuses are trained professionals and associating them with jobs that fall outside their scope of work is unseemly and poor behavior. Also, this place was cheap, like really cheap. Very attractive to my wage-earning wallet. I paid for an hour or half-hour of massage as my time allowed, tipped generously (because really, no way the employees are bringing home enough based on that hourly rate), and said "thank you" in Chinese because I am polite and it seemed to amuse the nice ladies.

Fast forward, about three months later. I live very far away from this place now, but it just so happened that it was on my way back from a job site on this particular day. How fortuitous, I thought, because I had tweaked my upper back the night before, and was generally sore from a recent return to regular exercise after a hiatus. Additionally, I was running on about 3 hours of sleep and had woken up at an ungodly hour to drive for 2 hours to the job site. Laying still in a quiet, dark room while my muscles were plucked, stretched, and rubbed down with hot stones seemed like a heavenly idea.

First I lay on my stomach, and my back was worked on as it had been several time before. No surprises, and the hot rocks were especially welcome this time. Seriously, you should try it if you haven't before.

Then I flipped on to my back. Each masseuse seems to approach this phase a little differently, so I was ready for whatever. Or so I thought.

I should have clued in the moment my chest and stomach were caressed, rather than rubbed down. I am a bit ticklish and was focused on keeping my cool, however. Let the professional work, I say. Then work began on my thighs.

It happened so fast, I barely understood what was going on. That of course is not really true: I knew immediately what was going on, but it was quite sudden and my senses overloaded. My life up to this point had not prepared me for this situation. I couldn't think straight, and since I had been more or less holding still the whole time it seemed only natural to continue holding still.

And then it was over, just about as fast as it started. Faster than I would have thought possible, if I'm completely honest. So quickly that I thought, absurdly in my mental haze, that there didn't seem to be much point. Then the massage was completed as normal, I paid the tip, and said "thank you" in Chinese as always, and left.

All I can really think of, some time later, is that I really wish that time had been spent on my pectorals. They're still damn sore.

Suu

All I can offer for this post is :mittens:. The punchline was gold.

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the afflicted persons get hold of and consume carrots even in socially quite unacceptable situations.

Faust

I've never seen the appeal of a happy ending: I love massages, and it doesn't take much to put me into a deep relaxation coma. It's in that state of bliss that I have zero sexual interest in anything.
Sleepless nights at the chateau

Mesozoic Mister Nigel

Wow! Holy shit. That could in fact be considered sexual assault.
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Cainad (dec.)

Totally arguable, yes. I'm finding that I don't feel particularly violated or done wrong by, more like I didn't communicate clearly in an awkward situation. And I think anyone in my situation would be well within their rights to consider it sexual assault.

I don't feel all that weird, and that itself is what feels weird. Like, I think I should feel more weird about it but I don't. The sheer clinical precision of it did feel weird though.

At least I'm not currently in a relationship. Then I would feel really bad about it.

Cainad (dec.)

Quote from: Faust on September 02, 2016, 10:59:24 PM
I've never seen the appeal of a happy ending: I love massages, and it doesn't take much to put me into a deep relaxation coma. It's in that state of bliss that I have zero sexual interest in anything.

I know, right?

Salty

Quote from: Faust on September 02, 2016, 10:59:24 PM
I've never seen the appeal of a happy ending: I love massages, and it doesn't take much to put me into a deep relaxation coma. It's in that state of bliss that I have zero sexual interest in anything.

In my horrible, horrible experience those looking for a happy ending aren't looking for anything else. The massage is secondary or a part of the fantasy. I no longer have to deal with these sorts of people, but just this summer I was short on cash and had to suffer craigsist advertising. 100% of the men I saw hoped/assumed there was at least a possibility of sex.

My first red flag is when I ask, "What can I do for you today? Any soreness, pain, anything like that?" Bear in mind my massage work is focused deep tissue, I work one or two areas at a time and try to break up tension. Low back and hips, upper back and neck; I spend an hour on one of these places. I don't really do swedish masssage a lot.

"Just relaxation," he says. Shit. I know what that means. When I take his arm in mine to work on it, he immediately grabs my arm, tries to caress it without caressing it. Later on when he's facedown (I always end them facedown so as to reinforce the reality that they're not getting off with me) and he starts slow humping the table.

During the entire massage this man's heart is racing, none of his muscles relax, his breath never slows down to the pace that it indicates the kind of relaxed bliss that occurs when I work.

I have converted some of these types to actual massage clients, their behavior is totally different. I even had one client say, "You know, when you left town I saw some other therapists, and even though they were cheaper and gave a happy ending, yours are better." 
:winning:
The world is a car and you're the crash test dummy.

Salty

I have been to such parlors. For one thing, being on the worker end, I was incredibly curious. Two, those Chinese style massage ladies are often way more talented and experienced than the average diploma mill schools here in the US. Less arrogant/Dunning Kruger shit too.

For those that aren't aware and want to see something truly digusting, check out rubmaps.com

It's like amazon for happy endings, with star reviews and everything. No idea how it's legal.
The world is a car and you're the crash test dummy.

Salty

Also, some fascinating reading:
happyendingz.blogspot.com/
The world is a car and you're the crash test dummy.