The Day I Discovered Whats Behind The Massage Parlour Plackards.
It was my first day in Thailand and I had spent the entire day exploring Bangkok with a friend. We were drained and in desperate need of some relaxation. As we wandered around and saw the hundreds of massage parlours in the streets, we went in search of a relaxing oil massage. We chose the cheapest place we could find and followed the guy holding a sign through the maze of neon lights and street hookers advertising their stores. The entrance to the massage room was hidden behind dusty velvet curtains and we were quickly ushered inside.
Coughing as I inhaled the overwhelming scent of incense, I waited for my eyes to adjust to the dingy light. The room was bare except for a couple of paintings adorning the walls and several bottles of massage oil on the shelves. As I noticed the peeling wallpaper and two faded mattresses laying next to each other in the corner I couldn’t help but start to feel a little uneasy as the room was unlike any massage place I’d been to before. “You must remove clothes now. Before I am back.” She said, an old looking lady who seemed experienced though.
There is nothing more unsettling than standing naked in front of a woman you do not know. Insecurities make you fidgety. It is such a terrible feeling because you do not know what to do with your hands. You do not even have a pocket to hide them in. So you fumble with them clumsily before resting your hands on your crotch like a child being scolded for breaking the flower vase. A lot of questions rush through your head. What is she thinking? Is she looking at the paunch of my growing tummy or is she staring at the size of the bulge from my boxers? What does she think of us- the growers, vis-a-vis showers? And what does she think of my boxers? Wait, what boxer am I wearing today? Are they my Arsenal boxers? The one I wear when all the other ones are dirty?
I found myself in this state of utter disorientation and mental incoherence at the parlour, standing in front of an impatient masseuse. Questions abound. I tried to guess how many men she has seen naked. I wondered how I compared to them in her eyes. Okay. For some time I found myself wondering how I ended up in this situation. That’s when fantasy separates itself from reality, vanishing like a cold day puff into the thin air. And then reality hits you more harder, you are a bachelor trying to wade through life. You refused to follow the constant trajectory of the normal man, whose life is pretty linear from childhood straight into adulthood with no misadventures along the way, but will you make it today.
This woman is supposed to wash your back after the hectic day burning under the scotching sun. Then she is supposed to give you a little rub to open up your scrambled back muscles. In a way that should make you go back next time. She takes you to this slanted chair where you are made to lie back with your head over a sink. She squeezes liquid soap on your head. It is cold, this soap, one would imagine it was harvested from Amazon forest and deep freezed all the way from Brazil to Bangkok. Warm water running rinses the cold away. She stoops over you as she scrubs your hair. She leans a little bit too close. You can feel her warm breasts pressing on your chest. You do not mind. Naturally, something wakes up in your pants. Naturally, you do not want her to stop. You want her to wash your hair until you do…..
You lie there, wondering what to do next because you have never been to a massage parlour before. You do not know how this works. To you, massages are one of those things that never happen in real life. A life only in movies, books to move the plot along. “I remove everything everything?” You ask. I can come back if you are uncomfortable.” You do not answer at first. That must be a trick question, you think. If you say yes, she would know that you are shy, that this is your first time. If you say no, she might think you just want to flaunt your balls. But before you can answer, she hands you a surprisingly white towel and walks out, followed by her ass that leaves you trying to hide the beginning of your own erection. And now here you are. Waiting for your turn. You do not know where to put your trousers.
In them there is your few dollar and I phone 7 plus which you services provided help ins financing so you can spend more on data bundles, by now you are convinced this woman is trying to steal from you. You imagine that she is planning to massage you to sleep then steal all your clothes and leave you there. Naked, confused and embarrassed. So you hang your trousers on a wall hook, remove your phone and wallet, put them under the pillow of the bed, cover your black buttocks with the towel and lie face down on the bed. The door opens. She walks in. You promise yourself that whatever happens, you are not going to sleep. Neither are you going to get a hard on. Your breathing is shallow now. Shallow and fast. You can feel your insides quake as if they have just been invaded by America. Shit, this is happening.
This is indeed happening. Oooooh, it is happening. You cannot believe this is happening. Your thoughts find your voice. “Shit. This is happening.” She hears it. “Does it hurt?” “…uhhh…ummmm. Never mind.” She giggles. “This is your first time getting a massage?” she asks. “No. What are you talking about? I have been massaged a million times.” That’s the man being a man inside you talking not you. You lie even though we all know you are not fooling anybody. She is breaking your massage virginity, and you cannot believe it because you think there is a chance as fat as her donkey that she is might be a hooker. Those sly ones that do not stand outside Motel, but lure clients into this small den where she entices them with body rubs.
You imagine that she will fire you up real good; to the point that by the time your little goon rises to the occasion like the good soldier it is, you will be in no position to say no. It is tender and slippery. It kneads the hard flesh on your shoulders with gentleness so calming it manipulates you into whispering the name of the Lord in between silky moans of ‘aaaah’ and ‘yeaaah’. Even your little goon nudges you beneath the towel in celebration. You try to lie still and let this woman touch you. And with every touch you feel your body respond to her. It opens up to her like a sinner seeking redemption. Her fingers do impossibly beautiful things to you as she trails the back of your body with them down to the back of your thighs, to your inner thighs, and then up till you can feel her touching your balls.
Then she says, “Turn around.” You do not move. Part of you wants her to leave. You want to yell, “Get of out of here” but the other part of you reminds you that it is a little bit too late. Temptation has you by the balls. Literally. Plus you are no saint. You do not run away from it. You either eat it or deep it. Or both in that order. Then it hits you. This woman may not be moonlighting as a hooker. She is probably just an honest masseuse trying to earn an extra dollars. Yet here you are with your erection giving her a hard time. At that moment you start imagining ways to return your boner back to a limp. You turn, holding on to the towel to cover your embarrassment. “Can I remove this?” she says pointing at the towel which your pecker is already trying to hand over. She takes it away slowly, unwrapping you like a present. You lie there looking her at her in that dress that is too short and tight to have be well meaning. You look at the little dimple on her thighs and think of how you want to plant kisses in it. If she lets you, that is. As the towel sheds off, your nakedness is revealed. Completely. Like the truth at a confession.