I am a massage parlor girl.

I’m hitting the road for a few weeks. San Diego, LA, San Francisco, Portland, Seattle, a brief stop in Alaska (to fish!) and then Salt Lake City Utah. Las Vegas, Phoenix, Denver, Kansas City and then of all places, Cleveland Ohio (but just for a day thank God). I will then return to Tampa for just one week, and summer up north until I return to Florida in late September.

I won’t write much but I will be checking comments and emails. I’m visiting a lot of people in just a few months, but hopefully I will enjoy myself more than the last time i made the rounds. And I will be so happy to leave Tampa… you guys who run the dancers down here (you know who you are) I’m just so not into you at all, and very glad I’m Asian.

Today I worked a real brothel, for the first time in years. Not a massage parlor, although the sign outside said MASSAGE with big, red letters. Inside, it was pure brothel.

You enter through a door that leaves you in an enclosed alcove. It’s basically a very small enclosed porch. As soon as you enter we get buzzed, and can see you through several one-way windows as well as a peep hole. The way it works (I was a temp worker, invited to stay with a friend who was running it for a week), is we look at you and decide who gets you. If you look over 40, Mimi gets you (she’s close to 60, but says she’s 40). If you look twenty, the young girl gets you. She’s the hired help, a real pro, and in her late twenties. Twenty somethings don’t have much money and last forever, so we make her take them all. Better she get sore than me, right?

If you look crazy, the cleaning lady answers the inner door. She is almost toothless and wrinkly, but she likes to jerk a man and make an extra twenty. Her sales rate is about 40% meaning about 60% of the time she answers the door, the guy decides not to come in. No crazies.

If you are fat, we argue about who has to take you. If you are strong and fit, June gets you. She can smell a cop a mile away because she was married to one (and still is, technically, because there was no divorce). If you are normal looking I fight to get the chance. Actually, I’m happy to take just 3 per day because I’m not much of a brothel whore to begin with. I’m just here to keep my friend company, stay active, and cover my bills.

Today YOU came in and I got you. You saw right away it was set up as a massage place, but I was wearing a sun dress with nothing else underneath. You saw that the massage table was built of massive lumber, able to withstand just about anything a 200lb guy could be doing on it. But even though you saw these things, you stayed quiet and let me go through the full massage motions before you touched me to let me know you liked the way I was bare underneath my thin dress. Dumbass. You wasted 30 minutes.

You then failed to communicate to me what you actually wanted, so we wasted another fifteen minutes in playful conversation that bored the shit out of me and made me wonder how you think you will ever have time to enjoy anything with just 10 minutes left on the clock. You are lucky I didn’t leave you there to relax for that last 10 minutes.

By the time you were open to communicating clearly, my answer to almost everything was no. No BJ. No full service. No back door, and no, I would not lick you there nor put my finger there. So you overpaid and under delivered, honey. Not my fault, but yours.

You see, that first time I stood next to the massage table and put my bush right next to your face, while I held you hand and stroked your back, you should have moved my hand behind my butt so the two of us could have gently eased my mid section in towards your mouth, so you could kiss me through my thin yellow chiffon dress. I would have responded with the right sounds, and lifted my knee up onto the table. Had you then turned over and slid up on the table just a bit, to drop your head over the edge, I would have lowered myself onto your lips and enjoyed a warm up. Who knows, your fingers may have ended up somewhere interesting, coming from the back side like that. And, if things were going well, I would have probably dropped forward onto you, so we were chest on chest on the massage table, positioning my mouth convenient to your “privileges”.

For sure I could have been yours today, for at least 50 of the 60 minutes. Better luck next time.

I have to say this is the most interesting development in our secret little society in years. I had no idea, but now I do. I knew about “private stock” and I knew about “friends with benefits” that you guys have been enjoying since several states cracked down on massage businesses. You all told me about that. But you never clued me in to this Seeking Arrangements thing. I had to read about it in the New York Times!

Sugar Babies for as little as $150 ?

According to the story in the Times,

if eHarmony or Match.com is a chatty social mixer, Seeking Arrangement is a down-and-dirty marketplace where older moneyed men and cute young women engage in brutally frank transactions. They’re not searching for longtime soul mates; they want no-strings-attached “arrangements” that trade in society’s most valued currencies: wealth, youth and beauty.

SeekingArrangement.com “now claims more than 300,000 registered members…Sugar babies outnumber daddies 10 to 1,… providing what one sugar daddy called ‘the best fishing hole I ever fished in.‘”

According to reports, guys are meeting ladies who need as little as $150 at a time. I can’t believe it! That’s a marketplace for private stock! Click the picture to go to the site.

Private Stock Sugar Babies for as little as $150 ?

Has anyone gone in and posted that they seek someone to provide weekly massage sessions via such a private arrangement? We girls are talking about this site now, and I can assure you many of them will be signing on for free and listing themselves for just that sort of “arrangement”. Click to go to SeekingArrangement.com

Note from Missy: This is from a customer friend. He showed me he was writing to me, and I told him to send it to me and I would blog it. Let me know what you think…

I am composing this story in my head, as I lay here on a plain but clean massage table, in a dark, not unpleasant room, awaiting my attendant’s return. I will write it up later, and send it off to Miss June for her blog. It is my perspective – a man’s perspective – of the beauty of sensual asian-style massage parlors. I hope it tells a story, the way Missy tells her stories of her massage world.

I have been going to Asian massage parlors since 1995, when I first had real troubles in my life. I was a successful junior executive. I had climbed the corporate ladder on my merits. I didn’t play politics. Hell I didn’t even understand them, but my performance was exemplary. I am a salesman, and I know people, so I love to sell and my sales numbers reflect that. When I am on my game, I can sell ice to Alaskan ice vendors. I was on my game until I ran into office politics and was thrown for a loop. I was off balance, confused, and the jerk pulling the corporate strings was killing my career while I stumbled. While I hesitated, confused that some asshole would make it his business to ruin my career, he chopped me up and I was close to getting fired. That is when I visited my first massage parlor.

I was working in New Jersey, commuting into New York 4 days per week, while spending the other two in South Jersey. I drove a nice comfortable car, and spent a lot of time in traffic. Back then the parkway was still fast-moving, except for accidents and tolls. It was normal to travel a hundred miles south to north and back, but when you hit an accident you had to wait it out. These days you don’t plan to do that because traffic is ridiculous all the time, but back then it was okay.

I would rather get off the parkway and roam around than wait in traffic, so one day near Metuchen I got off 287 and wandered around. I looked for food, but discovered I was in an international zone and not one I was familiar with. I stopped near Oak Tree Road and parked, to take a break. Little did I know I was parked outside Nirvana, which would become well known as a full-service massage parlor.

When I noticed guys going in and out of a locked glass unmarked door, I thought it was a casino or poker house. I love that stuff, since I get to go “real time” with my people skills, kill time, and maybe make a buck or two along the way. I went up and rang the bell and was let in by a guy and then saw for myself – 4 or 5 clearly “international” ladies in Victoria Secret’s outfits, waiting around. I recall at least one central Asian, one Korean or Chinese, one Russian or Polish, and one American brunette. The guy was very nice and welcoming. Wow.. I had never done this before, so commercial like ordering a sandwich. I’d known plenty of professionals in my time (no one in high end sales can succeed without buying a few favors for clients now and then), but had never shopped for one for myself.

I chose the safest bet for my tastes back then – the American brunette. Her name was “Casey”, as she said “you know, like Casey at the bat”. She was petite, bright-eyed and very smart friendly. I got a massage which became a body-on-body rub fest and then she let me know she would do A B or C for me for X Y and Z dollars, which as I recall was a bargain. I think I paid a hundred bucks for a full service experience with her riding me cowboy on the table. We showered together afterwards, still having fun. As I left I thought to myself I wished I had tried the Korean, since it was such a nice place and so easy and I had gone the safe route with Casey. Funny thing – they gave me a secret number as I left, but I didn’t pay attention to it. Later, when Nirvana was becoming famous, you needed a secret number to get it. Damn.

That Metuchen area experience gave me confidence to try other massage parlors, and try I did. I found one just down the road but the experience was not good. Sort of like a Taco Bell compared to my first experience with Casey being a steakhouse. Once near the Meadowlands I stopped into a Korean place and tasted the Asian massage experience. Wow. I became a regular of Korean massage parlors.

So here I am 14 years later laying face down, awaiting my attendant’s return. She is Korean, about 25 years old, and is wearing a sun dress with nothing else underneath. I know because I am tall, and when she was standing before me explaining the rules, I could see everything down the front of her dress. Her skin, her nipples, and her black wiry bush. I am very sure she saw my eyes looking down there. I am very sure that was her hope, at that time. Now she knows where my interests lie, and that I am not bashful about it.

She left me to undress, and I am now naked on the table. I put a towel over my butt, mostly to keep warm but also so that she would immediately remove it when she returned. I know she will, and if she doesn’t, I have more communicating to do. I need her to know I am comfortable with her managing me naked, as she already knows I am very comfortable seeing her body beneath her simple dress.

I am looking down the hole in the massage table, listening to the noises of the massage parlor. I rarely hear anything more than conversations among the staff, noises of walking and doors closing, or the slapping of hands on flesh as someone gets their bodywork. Only once, in a regular massage parlor, did I hear “sounds of sensuality” from the room next to mine. Once, in 14 years. I still remember it well, and it still gives me thrills. Little girl whimper sounds from a little Korean girl getting her button pushed by some lucky customer…. continue reading at this link erotic massage blog and then come back and continue below)

Continued from erotic massage blog:

It is amazing to me that while I am looking down at a carpeted floor beneath the massage table, I only see images in my imagination. I don’t see the carpet. I see the room as if from above. I see the hallway, as the sounds of her walking get louder. Will she come in, or pass by again? Each time she passes by, I wonder how long until she comes back to ME. And this supports one of my fantasy theories about my Korean massage parlor experiences. Hardly anyone besides me is banging these chicks. That’s right.. I believe that. I believe that she is only parting her nether lips for me, not the other customers. Allow me to explain why I feel that way.

First let me say I am only talking about these upscale Korean parlors I frequent. I do not make any claims for the brothels, nor the quickie shops that service 15 guys per hour. I’m talking about the 2 or 3 girl shops, all Korean, that are quiet and clean. This one, for example, sees 2 or maybe 3 customers every two hours. For a given working girl, that might mean 6 or 8 customers per day.

When I get a girl I want to go all the way with, I have already filtered out most of the “will do any customer” types. Those types don’t appeal to me, so I opt for massage only or hand release in those cases. But when I get a cutie like this one, I know in my heart that she can’t be doing 5 guys a day while staying so bright and smart friendly. I’ve known enough of them over the years.

When I am engaged in the acts that lead to full service, I am exploring. I do not go from “okay” to full-on sex. I go from coaxing to foreplay to committed body contact, along the way to the final “yes” that leads to the full act. Along that path, again I filter out the ones that are so easy any customer can have them. If it plays that easy, I am turned off enough to opt for hand release or maybe my playing with her body, instead of going full service. It’s just the way I roll, but it means again, when I am doing full service girls I am not generally doing the same ones every one else is doing.

I know people, and that leads me to another reason I believe what I believe. There is a quality about lying, and a quality about deception that is often (not always) perceptible. Some people say they can smell a liar. I don’t believe that, but I do believe that you will detect hints of deception. If you then set up a follow on opportunity for deception, you can find out how deceptive a person is being with you. If I slowly reach for her breast to feel her through her dress, I can tell by her response how open she is to my advance. If her reaction is a lie (she blocks, but only because she wants an agreement of money) I can “smell” that. If she doesn’t block, I watch for her reaction to my touch, and of course I have adjusted my tough accordingly to solicit her reaction. If she allowed me to brush my hand against her breast, will she allow my fingers to fondle her nipple, and if not, what is her reaction? Is it honest? And if she allows the brush, and the nipple fondling, what is she watching for to block next? Or is she opening up for more access? All of this provides clues… clues I need to determine just how easy she is for what sort of access, and how she really feels inside about providing that access.

And I believe that in most cases, my 20-26 year old Korean beauties that allow me inside are only doing so for a small handful of customers on a weekly basis.

Now go ahead and call me a fool, as that is your right, but keep it to yourself. I don’t want to hear it – it is my fantasy, and one I pay handsomely for every time I tip the lady for her favors. I have paid for whores to provide, and I have earned my way into girls that would never dream of working professionally, and I am comfortable in my read of the ladies I pay for sex in Korean massage parlors.

And now she returns to my room. Quietly, she opens the door and slips inside. I can only listen, but given the soft sounds, in my mind’s eye I can “see” the whole room quite well. She comes in, closes the door slowly behind her and tests the latch to make sure it is secure. She slips off her slippers, and pushes them against the wall. She turns to my table, and places her hand on the towel, over my behind. She walks around the end of the table, places her other hand onto my shoulder, and leans forward with her long jet-black hair falling sensually over my back. Her other hand slides the towel off my body, as she whispers “you don’t need this, honey” in my aroused ear. Now with two hands on my body, her hair sliding off my back, she begins to massage me and I begin to get hard. This is going to be good, and I am starting to relax, as I feel my blood flow from my head and chest out to my arms and into my gut. I give myself to her touch and the womb that is the massage table, and start to dream of how and when she will begin to touch me sensually.

Every massage is different, and every girl has her techniques. Once I am established in the presence of the right girl, with an understanding of what is welcomed and wanted, life is bliss. My worries and concerns of the day are history. I don’t even know I have a boss or a job, and I have no awareness of traffic or schedules. I have no pain, and don’t need my vision. I have no idea where my wallet and keys are, nor do I care. If the massage parlor allows her to do her job, and time permits a full experience, I’ll be feeling her erect nipples sliding down my back within the hour, and I will mentally count the wiry pubic hairs on her mound as she slides it along my leg, bringing her face up to my head from behind, to nibble on my ear lobe and let me know she is on her way to rocking my boat.

My only curiosity at this point is all about her as a woman. What does she like? What is her approach to having sex with me? Will she surrender, or assert control? Will she lay upon me, slide up alongside and then roll over and expect me to mount her? Or will she have me flip over, work me up, and then ride me to satisfy me? Will she want to encourage touching of her body? Will she enjoy it, or simply tolerate it? If I somehow communicate to her that I consider her snatch to be pristine and delicious looking, will she enable me to snack at the intersection of her delicious thighs, or will she merely permit a taste and then move the communications towards her preferred activities?

For me, it is that exploration that defines my massage parlor experience. Getting there is the work of being a massage parlor customer. But once I am there, the joy of massage is the joy of discovery of how she and I blend together, and what becomes of that combination.

Looking back at what I wrote, I have to admit that I am partial to 25 year old bodies because of the cleanliness and the freshness, but I do not limit myself to younger girls. Some of my most memorable Korean massage experiences have been with the over-40 massage ladies, when they are of the right personal character and bodily hygiene. I gave the best head of my life to a 45 year old Korean massage worker, and received the best head ever from one of similar age. It’s not about the age, but the person, how life has molded them, and how they have survived the trauma that is life in this world. And I suppose that goes for me as well. For I am very sure that a good percentage of the quality of a good full service massage is based on my own demeanor, and that a good deal of her response to my advances is based on her own assessment of my character and bodily conditions. At least for the girls I choose to lay down with.

Out of the news comes yet another story of a male massage therapist molesting his female clients.See “Massage Business Owner Accused of Assault“.

I get so tired of law enforcement investigating “all female staff” advertisements as if they were some sort of erotic proclamation. Can’t you figure out that it is a bad idea to let an uncastrated heterosexual male oil up his hands and slide them around on the naked body of  a female of his species?

“Asian Bodywork – All female Staff” is not an offensive statement, ladies. It’s essential.

I’ve decided to reward those who excel at marketing their massage parlors, in the various states. This wil keep me busy while you all tell me what I need to do to make you come.

Let’s start with California, since it is close to my heart, and the major markets. San Diego would probably be a Google search for “massage san diego” or “san diego massage parlors”. Obvious achiever in that case is

Business is slow, so I’ve decided to do some marketing. I would like to know what I have to do to make you come to my massage parlor. Please tell me in the comments, guys, if I want you to come, what do I need to do?

I will close comments in 4 days. Please reply now…

Okay so I’ve been depressed for a while now, but tonight it’s feeling very real. Everything is a dead end, and I know it in my heart. There is so much I can’t say, but even if I could, it wouldn’t matter.

Whatever you say, doesn’t matter. What matters is what is inside my head, and what is inside my head is killing me. Slowly.

I know about depression. And I live with it. And I am dying with it. You suck, world, and you know it which makes it all the uglier. When I die you live on. No matter how I go, when I am gone, you live on.

I will have had pain and ugliness, to the point of extinguishment. But you will have not had enough, nor will you care that I have been eliminated. So why does it matter to me? Why do you matter to me?

Because I am desperate, and all I can see in front of me is you. Since you don’t care, and you are all I have available to me, you suck.

And that is my depression.

As we approach Thanksgiving I get depressed, as always.

A New York City massage parlor where I used to work just doubled its size. They expanded into an adjacent suite, which was vacated by an advertising firm. They literally knocked down a wall, installed a new wall with doors and made “rooms”. They added a shower and it all took less than two days. They are now open, and bringing in more asian massage girls to service the customers.

I guess business is booming for massage parlors in New York, while advertising is not doing so well. I wonder if advertising executives are getting massages to help relieve the stress?