Happy Endings

After I graduated from college, I did a brief stint in construction, putting my art school skills to good use as a welder.  During that time, I had a friend and coworker named Joe Smiley.  Most paydays, Joe would go to a massage parlor and indulge himself in a rub-and-tug; a massage with a happy ending.  I used to quiz him about those massages, how it all worked, what the girl looked like, all the dirty details; and he used to get really shy and evasive and vague about it.  (it was pretty cute, because Joe was a big, tough-looking hatchet-faced fellow) It’s not like I was being judgmental or anything; I was really curious.  It was a window into a very male world that I knew nothing about.

It was after I had moved to New York and gotten myself a crappy job patching ATM machine code; a time when I didn’t really have any friends in the city, couldn’t seem to meet anyone, and I was spending ninety percent of my time hunched over a computer: coding all day and writing (or playing computer games/looking at internet porn) all night.  My back was cranked out, my shoulders ached, and I hadn’t had a non-self inflicted orgasm in months.  That was when I got the idea of going out and getting my own ‘massage with release’.

I made a couple phone calls, even worked up my courage to walk into one sleazy-looking place, but I got nowhere.  Every time I asked, I was told that they were booked solid, that they had no-one available.  They obviously didn’t want to deal with me because I was female; that or they thought I was a cop.

Oddly enough, I met Trish in a bar.  (I say oddly, because at the time I spent virtually no time in bars)  I was supposed to be meeting this guy I had been chatting with online (looking back, it is clear to me that I was getting desperate).  I wasn’t that excited about the dude, but had agreed to meet him anyway, despite my misgivings.  Now it appeared that I had been stood up.

This pretty cute fake-blonde chick was sitting next to me at the bar, and we started talking.  At first I thought there might be a spark there, but I quickly realized she wasn’t really my type, plus she was waiting for her boyfriend who was meeting her after work.

Her name was Trish.  She asked me what I did, and I told her that I was a writer, but that I did computer stuff to pay the bills.  When I asked her what she did, she told me she was a masseuse.

“Therapeutic massage?”

“Well,” she said, “I am a licensed massage therapist.”

“So do you give happy ending massages?”

She grinned like a canary-eating cat.  “It helps pay the rent.”

I explained my quest to her.  If she was surprised, she didn’t show it.  “I’ll take care of you,” she said.  She fished a business card out of her purse.  “Come by anytime.”

About that time, I finished my beer, and her boyfriend showed up, so I made myself scarce.  I went back to my apartment for Chinese food and internet porn.  But I held on to the business card Trish had given me.

The next Tuesday, after work, I made a detour over to the address listed on her card.  It didn’t look too sleazy; I wouldn’t have noticed it walking down the street, or I would have thought it was somewhere you went to get your nails done or something.

When I walked in, there was a pixie-faced girl with black hair and thick-rimmed glasses sitting behind the desk.

“May I help you?” she asked.

I told her that I’d like to book a massage with Trish.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “Trish doesn’t work Mondays or Tuesdays.” Aw, crap, blown off again. “I could go ahead and book you an appointment with her,” she continued, “or if you want, I could take care of you right now.”

Oh!  “Um, ok.  That would be good.”

“Have you ever had this kind of a massage before?”

“I’ve had therapeutic massage before…”

“Ok.  It’ll be sixty bucks up front for the room.  You can head on in, disrobe and lie down on the table with the towel on top of you.  I’ll be right in.” she said, “My name’s Liz by the way.”

I went ahead into the cranberry-colored room, which had a massage table and a neatly folded towel, some oils and stuff, a shower stall in one corner, and a rack to hang your clothes on.  I got undressed, layed face down on the table, and arranged the towel over my butt.  A minute later, Liz came in.

It was my first good look at her.  She was pretty cute.  She was a petite little thing with ropey muscular forearms, and she wore tight black jeans and a black vee neck t-shirt.  I was pretty sure she dyed her hair black.  And she had a pretty big set of boobs, for a girl her size.

“So I usually charge eighty bucks for a half hour fully clothed; a hundred to do it topless, and one twenty five to get all the way naked.”

“Um, topless I guess.”  I didn’t want to come across as cheap or anything.  And I was pretty psyched to get a look at those boobies.

“I, uh, usually take cash” Liz told me.

I handed over the money, and she stripped off her shirt and sports bra.  She did have really nice tits.  They were quite big for her frame, round and symmetrical with little pink nipples, and they were decidedly perky.

“One hundred percent natural” Liz told me with more than a hint of pride, and I believed her.  I can usually spot fake boobs a mile away, and hers definitely did not have that fake, plasticy look.  She had a pair of boobs on her that I wouldn’t have minded taking home to play with.

She proceeded to rub my back down with hot oil and to give me that massage I had paid for.  To my surprise it was a really good deep-tissue massage.  It had been ages, absolutely ages since I had gotten so much as a back-rub, and Liz’s ministrations felt heavenly.

We chatted as she worked:

-Gawd, what have you been doing to yourself?  Your shoulders are all knotted up!

-I spend all my time (gasp, groan) in front of a computer keyboard

-What do you do?

-I’m an artist and a writer, but I work on computers to pay the rent.

-Oh yeah, what do you write?

I told her the truth –Mostly perverted short stories, the occasional non-sexual short story or essay, and a novel that I’ve been plugging away at forever

-Cool, I like perverted stories.

She wanted to know if I was a lesbian (I’m not) and if I had a boyfriend (I didn’t)

I found out that she’d been in the business about four years, that she had gone to school for massage therapy, but soon found out that she could make more money in less hours doing this; that she was a rock climber and went to the Gunks almost every weekend and Yosemite or Joshua Tree a couple times a year; and that she had a boyfriend but he didn’t know exactly what she did for a living.

“I suppose I should tell him,” she sighed, “before things get too serious.  But I’m honestly not sure things are going to get any more serious between us.”

All the kneading and rubbing had gotten me into a totally relaxed semi-catatonic state.  Liz left my lower back all warm and tingly, pulled off the towel, and went to work on my buttocks.  It felt awesome, and her strong hands back there woke up the smoldering sexuality that had sort of drifted off to sleep while my back was being massaged.

“Ok, you can roll over now.  Hey, you’ve got really nice breasts.”

I flushed and suppressed a goofy grin.  I’ve never thought of my breasts as being especially nice; to me they look like a couple of smallish, slightly mismatched pears, but I like a compliment as much as anybody else.

“Now,” Liz said, smirking oh-so-slightly, “If there’s any part of your body you’d like me to massage, please indicate so by placing my hand there.”  She placed her hand in mine, and I (of course!) immediately guided her to that warm, fuzzy place between my legs.

“I’ve never done this before, so I may need a little guidance…”

“You’ve never fooled around with a girl?!”

“Well, um, yeah I have but it’s been a really long time…  What I meant was I’ve never done it professionally to a girl.  It’s always been a heat of the moment thing, you know?”

Well, for now she was doing just fine, tracing her finger up and down my moist slit, just barely teasing my (suddenly very sensitive!) clitoris.

I think I moaned a little bit and spread my legs wider.

“Does that mean I’m doing ok?” Liz grinned

“Oh Yeah.”

I looked down toward my crotch, admiring the way her big boobs jiggled as she worked.  It was pretty fucking sexy.  She was playing with my clit more aggressively now; peeling back its little hood and sort of strumming it with her wet and slippery thumb.

“That feels great!” I told her.

“You’re so wet!” she responded.  It was true.  I felt like I was making a big sticky puddle on her massage table.  My nipples were all sticky-outy.  Liz seemed to have found a method that she liked.  She toyed with me, bringing me to the edge of orgasm, then backing off, making me squirm and moan and writhe deliciously.

“This is fun!” she said, “I don’t get nearly this much reaction out of most of the guys who come here.  Would you like me to put a finger inside you?”

YES!

“Ok,” Liz said, “I don’t mind doing that for you.  I think it’s kind of sexy… I’d like to finger fuck you.”  As I watched, she slipped the middle finger of her right hand up my gasping pussy, keeping her thumb busy on my clit.

I was in heaven!  I pinched and pulled on my own nipples, watching Liz and her perky boobs as she fingered my pussy and rubbed my clit.  Her finger kept hitting me in that most magical spot inside my pussy, right behind my clitoris, and it was definitely going to set me off.

“Oh Liz, I’m going to come, don’t stop.  Please don’t stop!”

“Why would I stop?” she smiled sweetly, keeping up the rhythm with both hands.  I think she had added a second finger up inside my pussy.  I slipped right over the edge, coming hard, bucking and panting and gasping and crying, squirming happily on her talented fingers.

When I was all done, she got me a warm moist towel to clean up with.

“That was awesome,” she said, “That was really fun.  Was it everything you hoped and dreamed too?”

“That was amazing!” I croaked out, still riding high on the orgasm and feeling dazed and slightly retarded.

“Come back any time you want,” Liz said, “I’d be happy to massage you again.

I tipped her forty bucks, and she gave me a hug, a bare-chested, boob-to-boob hug that felt warm and genuine.

I walked out of the place and down into the subway, headed for my apartment and my computer, feeling happier and more relaxed and at peace with the world than I had in ages.  I felt like I was glowing.

END

2 Comments »

  1. Elsie Fan(ny) said

    It is fun to see you exploring more new frontiers. Both Liz and your main character really ring true.

  2. Marvin said

    Awesome stuff

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