"They get to know me, they like me, and they feel safe asking me. "Why would women pay for something they can get for free, either from their partner or from some guy they could pick up at a bar?" Simple. He said that he always gives them a massage, but "if they want to play after, I'm down for that." When I asked how much women are willing to pay for such a service, he said "about $200." As to not endanger his day job at the spa, he offers those women at-home appointments. He said that women do indeed pay him to give them "happy endings." He said that women make the first move by asking him to touch their breasts or butt, or sometimes the women literally move his hands to their body parts that need a little extra attention. He had a unique perspective from which to talk about women's needs and what men could do to better please women.
I got a great rub-down coupled with an hour of peering into the mind of a man who spends all his time listening to and touching women.
Sometimes I would ask him not to talk, but most of the time we would chat throughout the massage. I saw him every couple of weeks for almost a year. Licking my lips, I texted my friend: "That was just the most intense hour of foreplay EVER!" The only thing that made sense at the time was to walk next door and dive face-first into a huge juicy hamburger. I left feeling bewildered - and incredibly turned-on. "That's ok," he assured me, "We can do whatever we want in here, and no one would ever know." Gulp! At one point, I moaned quite loudly and embarrassed, promptly apologized. It was in the way he brushed my hair aside, the way he touched my forearm, and the way he stroked my inner thigh. His massages were a bit more, shall we say, sensual, than ones I've received before. He could pleasure women for HOURS, he said. Yes, yes he did, because he went on to discuss in detail how much he enjoyed pleasuring women. He was young and sweet and it was actually nice, for a change, to get to know my therapist.Ībout 20 minutes in, he said very casually that he has been researching the art of vulva massage and that he would love to perfect his technique, if only he could find someone to "practice on." I paused for a moment and had a "did he just say what I think he did?" moment. At first I cringed, but it was benign small talk about where we had grown up and where we lived now. However, as soon as he walked back into the room, he started chatting me up. I don't talk during a massage, and I don't like my therapists to talk. I got naked, as usual, and relaxed on the table.