NOLA

Believe it or not I was in New Orleans for business recently. I had never been there so I can't do a before-and-after-Katrina description but I'm sure the city is still a ghost of what it once was.

Checking the Internet forums I found out that there were a couple of Asian massage parlors open & one was in walking distance of where I was staying. The number was allegedly on craigslist. I had some time to myself the first afternoon I was there & tried the number but it wouldn't go through. Figures. I tried a few more times over the next day or two, both on my cell and public phones. No luck.

I was feeling disappointed and on my last night there I decided to try around Bourbon Street. There are several strip clubs and other sex places along the street along with the daiquiri bars and souvenir shops but I'm sure they were rip-offs. There were a few promising clubs along a couple of the side streets and I nearly went into one but I was afraid of running into my colleagues who were out and about.

I decided to wait a little while & went back to my room. Around midnight I went out and walked down a street, kind of an alley of sorts, and noticed a big window on a two-story brick building with shear curtains lit up by lavender-colored lamp. On the wall next to the window, in big letters:

Asian Spa
Body Rubs

Hmmmm. My body could use a rub. I took a casual walk by. It's on a narrow street with huge dumpster next to it and a small Asian bodega (sorry for the lingual mixup) next to that. There's a parking garage across the street and not many people around. As I walked by the big steel door opened and an Asian woman, probably Korean, in a skimpy black bikini was escorting a smiling client, a guy about thirty, out to the street.

I walked nonchalantly past the dumpster, past a guy rolling a joint with his girlfriend in a dark doorway, around the corner onto Bourbon Street; stepping over the horseshit from the mounted police and the unidentifiable liquid on the sidewalks, finishing my way around the block full of restaurants and high-end antique stores, I found myself in the doorway of the spa on the now-deserted street.

I know New Orleans is an open city where no one cares what you do, but I still feel better if no one sees me enter or leave a place like this. I tried to stay out of the light from the overhead lamp as I rang the bell. The door I saw open earlier had an exit sign on the inside so I figured the other door was the entrance. It was a steel and glass door with steel mesh covering the glass part. The glass was painted black. All I needed a trench coat and hat pulled down over my eyes to complete the scene.

The exit door opened behind me and there stood a woman in a sheer dress showing lots of cleavage and a big smile. She introduced herself as M and asked me to sign in and pay the initial massage fee. I scribbled something on the clipboard that looked like all the rest if the illegible 'signatures.' M walked me up the stairs past the lavender curtains and into a small dark room lit up with soft reddish light.

She was quite enthusiastic as she kept exclaiming in broken English how handsome and sexy I was. I knew it was only a line but it set up the atmosphere for the whole visit. She asked me to get undressed and went away for a few minutes.

The massage was not too bad. It was not anywhere as thorough as those I get at the Chinese apartment and salon AMPs, and M used baby powder instead of oil. Chatting all the while about life in New Orleans since the hurricane, she worked over my back occasionally brushing her tits on me or putting her ass or pussy near enough for me to caress a little. At one point she sat on my lower spine, rubbing her pussy bone on my spine as she worked. When she got to my legs she started a stroking routine that ran from my ass and down my inner thigh and just grazing the tip of my head each time. We hadn't talked about extras yet but it was becoming obvious this was not just about a massage.

She asked me to flip over, still complimenting me on how handsome I am. What a joke, but I guess it's part of her job to make the customer happy. After working a little on my head, chest and legs, she came to the last muscle. "You want massage?" she asked. But of course.

We negotiated the tip for a hand job and she reached over for some oil in a spray bottle. Her top came down as she oiled me up and got things started. After a few stroked she knelt between my knees and offered her tits for a little Russian. I squeezed them around my cock and we both got into a rhythm that came close to getting me off. We backed off a little and she started by hand again, still cooing about how sexy I was. It didn't take long t finish.

After getting stuff to clean me off, M cuddled a little and did a little light touch massage just to bring me down. I got dressed after a while and as I was standing there, M kept hugging me and grabbing my cock joking that she didn't want to fall in love with me so I'd better leave. Only she wouldn't stop stroking me and offering her ass and pussy to my roving hands. As we were embracing like that I asked her if she ever got off. Sometimes, she said.

She asked me if I was married and I couldn't lie. I asked if that was a problem. Not for her - she sees lots of married men. One of her regulars is married and she asked him why he comes to her. "My wife won't give it," she quoted. "Sometimes your body just needs," she said in her own English. "Fall in love, no good. But sometimes your body needs."

M joked a little more about being afraid to fall in love with me and stopped stroking me just as I was getting hard again. She took me down stairs and we hugged one last time before I went out the steel door into the street. I saw no colleagues, but right outside the door was NOPD squad car idling with what looked like a streetwalker hanging inside the passenger window. I walked quickly in the opposite direction. I guess in some ways, New Orleans is still living up to its old reputation.