What a day
I went to a massage parlor as I usually do. This time there were two things different: I went to a parlor near my place, and the place looks, feels and — as I will learn the hard, kinky way — touches weird.
The moment I stepped into the place, goosebumps moved.Together with the blast of the aircording wwere eyeballs of men sniping right at me. The massage therapists were interstingly bulky and muscled…like bodybuilders.
One client who was about to pay was obviusly one from the third sex. The other one sitting on the couch fired a head-to-foot glance at me. He was male, but he was reading Cosmopolitan. Had he talked or moved I could have assessed orientation with a higher level of confidence. But Cosmopolitan was enough for now.
“Hi Sir,” my therapist introduced himself. Gulp. This guy could beat me up black and blue and I’m lucky if I could live to tell tha tale.
I sat down and removed my shoes and socks. BUt I could hear the crunchy snaps of fingers whisking on a back of someone from the inside. I want that too. “Can I have a body massage instead?”
“Sure” my bodybuilder therapist smiled. It turned down to be one of the worst decisions of my life.
I slipped into a thin white boxer shorts. Looked up to the ceiling as if in prayer and laid flat down with my head right into those head hole. Maybe I’m just paranoid.
Then the guy stood directly over my head. Stretched. Then reached out for me. I realzied that the top of my head was touching an area of his body I dare not say. I imagined and smiled at how morbid we looked like if one was to watch us from a distance.
The dude, from the same position, then reached for my shorts and pulled it down. I kinda expected it. Until he pulled it fully down. With my buns screaming for the light, kissing the sweet dew of the airconditioning breath. I’m dead.
“Is this your first time here boss? I haven’t seen you here before,” he asked,” i muffled something just to make some sound. This is what molestation is.
So while i laid down flat, and he standing straight with my head uh, smack down his uh crotch, he reached down for my uh…buns. First it was only his thumbs which were on the soft pudgy mound, making smooth, slimy circular slides from the base of my spine to the two cheeks. But then the eight other fingers joined. No matter how much I deny it, his two hands are grasping, clawing, munching its way into my big fat butt.
“Is the pressure okay, boss?” he said. “Yeah,” I muffled. This is hell.
After almost two hours of squeezing, squeaking and fondling. My ordeal was over. Trembling, I drank my little cup of tea which was actually water with lots of sugar and some green coloring in it.
Then my bodybuilder walked towards me. Smiling. His biceps bulging. His chest exploding from his tight white undersized shirt. His hair shimmering and his teeth glistening through the soft yellow lights of the hallway He gave me a card. Then smiled. He actually had dimples.
Trembling, I looked at the card.
“Sanny 09273237765″
No way!
