Getting away from it all

November sweeps and predictably the local TV stations turn to sex. One station went undercover (again) to two of the massage parlors in town – one near my office and the one from my aborted birthday trip. I only saw the promos for it but apparently the story left no doubt about what goes on there. A day or two later came the raids. Managers for both places were busted for immigration and health violations. A loophole in local statutes does not make sex for money illegal indoors; only streetwalkers get busted for prostitution. Needless to say, I’m glad I couldn’t find that massage parlor – the station could have been in production on that piece and I might have been a TV star. Gulp.

So not knowing any of this at the time, I went with Plan B and waited for my scheduled trip to the big city where there is a different culture of massage ‘therapists.’ There are several entrepreneurial women who work out of their apartments or the back of salons who give legitimate massages with happy endings. Most only provide hand relief which is just fine with me.

I decided to try a new provider and chose from several options based on reviews in the online monger (john) sites. I had been to ‘two-pop S’ a couple of times & decided to choose between a woman who worked in her lingerie but rushed through the hand job, or one who worked fully clothed but prolonged the pleasure. Before my morning meeting I called J (the latter) and made an appointment for that afternoon.

J gave me the address in an area that overlaps Chinatown and the theatre district, an odd mix of oriental markets and junk shops and nationally-renowned theatres and clubs. It was so nondescript that I had to call from my new cell phone from the street to find the door. She came to meet me and led me through a couple of narrow but brightly lit hallways to a small room off a kitchen area. There was a massage table and a bed with a nightstand and not much else. She asked me to get undressed took my money for the massage and left. She came back and turned down the lights, turned up some lovely Asian vocal music on a portable CD player on the nightstand and asked me to lie face down on the table.

J is probably late 30s, early 40s with longish black hair and a nice smile. She was wearing polyester pants and a striped boat shirt. The massage rivaled S’s - medium strength and seasoned technique. No towel covering anything, a good sign. She was very friendly and playful, making small talk as she worked my back with her hands, elbows and knees. She used pretty good English but didn’t recognize the bordering state I lived in. Must lead a sheltered life. She asked about my job and other niceties and commented on how thin I am. She must see her share of overweight men. Are you married? Yes, I blurted out. Oh well, maybe I blew my chance for something extra. Asked about children and was surprised to hear how old they are. You seem so young. I guess flattery is part of her routine.

She was very thorough with my back and legs & I thought there might not be enough time for the fun part. She asked me to flip over and began to get even more playful. Another good sign. She played very lightly with my nipples and gave a little tug to the few hairs growing there. She ran her fingers lightly over my chest and giggled some more. My cock was starting to grow against my leg. She brushed her hand a few times against my thigh and finally, Do you want a hand massage? Yes, Please.

J dribbled a good amount of oil on her hands and began to go to work. I was fully erect in an instant under her expert maneuvering. Ooo, big sex! Flattery will get you everywhere. She used a variety of hand movements - straight stroking, corkscrewing down, corkscrewing up, putting my cock between two fingers and alternating her hands up and down, and so on. I ran my hand up he legs and felt around her ass. Her bra seemed to be as stiff as cardboard but must have been open at the top because I found soft mounds of flesh rising under her blouse.

I was brought to the edge several times, to the point of pulsing without actually coming. I could feel the cum rising up but not quite triggering. She said Just say, J stop now. And she did. After each near-ejaculation I would die down a little but she brought me to the brink again. After a bit I just needed the release. It got to the point where I was thrusting myself into her hand and finally left my deposit as she stroked out every last drop being careful not to irritate my glowing throbbing head.

As I swooned in in post orgasm reverie, she cleaned me up and went out to wash her hands. I had ten minutes left so she finished massaging my legs. I got dressed and paid her a tip and went out. She said she lived there - that was her bedroom (the bed in there was hers). I hugged her and went back down the corridors and out into reality.

As I headed for the train I was reminded of a local radio commercial for a legitimate massage therapist with the tag line, We give a whole new meaning to 'getting away from it all.' My new motto.