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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.

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

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.

Well, I haven’t written for a while because life has been boring. I had been working at a new massage parlor to get it going, and very busy with normal customers. I am sometimes asked to fly into a city and work a new massage parlor because I am hot and a pro. The owners know they can place me and I will be a pleaser: a hottie that customers will tell others about to bring more business, and a pro who can pick up on the nuances of unfamiliar customers. I’m also someone who will make herself scarce after the reputation is set, never to acknowledge having been there before. I command a steep price for my services, but it’s a one-time deal. Pay me up front, and I work to establish the place for the first month. In cities I know well (NY, LA, etc) it is boring.

Today, however, I have a story to tell. An amazing story. You won’t believe it, but I don’t care. Leave a comment please.

Yesterday I completed my contract at the new asian massage parlor in LA. I did a GREAT job as token blonde Amerasian beauty, to rave reviews. Today I visited a friend’s parlor outside (redacted cityname) which I now know is a bottom of the barrel Chinese hand job factory. Wow. I have been away from this filth for too long. I can barely stomach it.

Anyway the story comes in this not very young Chinese lady I met today, who is an “old pro” according to my friend, the owner. This lady has very young skin and a young-looking face, but she’s almost 50 years old. She’s very petite and her fast-moving, high-energy, tight body fools the American guys. As she buzzes around with her high-pitched voice and smarty pants broken Engrish, they come to believe she is young and hot. The owner was right – she is a pro. She can work a customer like few I have witnessed. They leave happy – thrilled even – despite the entire visit lasting but 20 minutes from initial payment to door closing “c-ya-honey”. This lady is a massage parlor queen and a hand job machine, but with a secret.

I was visitng to check things out for my friend, and because she wanted to show me this “lady” who was a profit machine. I wish we had not witnessed it before dinner.

This little Chinese lady wears one of those crew neck rash guard shirts, like competitive swimmers and river rafters wear. It’s like a compression shirt you might wear to the gym, dark polyester and and clings tight to her body. But it is also waterproof, or at least it doesn’t show moisture from sweat. The neckline is tight-fitting to her neck, like a low turtle neck would be. She runs around hard and under her clothes she gets all sweaty but that shirt stays smart and dry… at at least that is what she explained to me. She loves her shirt, and has three of them. “Bewwy exprensive!” she tells me, “but worf it”.

She is strictly a hand job massager, so the shirt never comes off, although the thinness of the polyester and her her tight torso probably make for some fun groping for the guys. She looks like half way to an A cup but her nipples were obviously large. I later learned that it is actually a one piece body suit she wears. The shirt we see continues down around the crotch, much like a dance leotard. I wish I could remove the mental images I now have from when she showed it to me…. but that part of the story is coming.

So anyways as I get to know this lady through the day she starts to feel confident and try to impress me with her methods… which are truly unique. She moves the guys into the room, holds their crotch through the pants while setting terms and taking money, and leaves them with explicit orders to “undress and get hard – don’t waste time, I give you fun. Don’t make me mad”. She says she returns to hard customers almost every time, and I didn’t ask what she does if they need more foreplay than her commands provide. She is so intent on speed and efficiency I would not be surprised if she had a vacuum cleaner attachment for those who need more than 10 seconds to rise to the occasion.

Once the stage is set, she goes to work with her allegedly legendary hand and mouth skills, to produce the edge of release within as few minutes as possible. It is here that we get wierd. By the end of my time in that massage parlor I learned that, at the time of release, this little Chinese massage firecracker pulls down on her crew neck and aims the customer’s weapon at the nape of her old-looking-now-that-I-pay-attention neck. The shape of her neck as she strains her head upwards (to protect the eyes, I suppose) creates a river gulley down her shirt, further exposed by her pulling the neckline away a bit while she aims his thang. A powerful release smacks against her neck, before flowing down under her shirt. A less-powerful ejaculation simply pulses onto the skin under her chin, again flowing down the valley under her shirt, disappearing to god knows where (and sadly, so do I now that she showed me). Since the shirt is waterproof and dark, nothing shows after her body has consumed the human waste. She is basically flat chested but her small mounds and nipples define a pathway for that goopy stuff, and the tight shirt keeps it all pressed against her skin and out of view. In short, her chest (and then..?) act as a sewer for her customer’s man juices. No need for towels or mess, she takes it all down her shirt and wipes the drops off on the inside of the neckline. When she showed me this part of her procedure, she snapped the neckline back into place against her body, and I imagined a splatter of white droplets flying around the room. No, she assures me, there is no mess. She patted her chest and I think I heard the tympany of a wet swimmer patting her swimsuited chest. Too slappy to be dry, although it looks dry from afar. No, I didn’t feel it.

“Ewww..” I said, and she looked at me sternly. “No ew. Very clean. Everything under control. Even today — busy day — everything okay“. She patted her pussy as she said “everything ok” and something clicked in my head.

Oh sure it shoots down her neck and under her shirt, but exactly where does it all end up? And what exactly is a busy day? EWWWWWW!

Yes, folks, she did proceed to show me just what a busy day means, and just what that soft bulge between her legs was that she had patted. This lady dropped her shorts and showed me a body suit bottom full of the juices of her day’s customers, held inside by the waterproof fit of her body suit. Her pussy was submerged in slime, and her underbelly was bloated like a pre-period 35 year old, even though her actual belly was tight as a washboard. She walked around the massage parlor all day in what was basically a dry suit designed to keep moisture inside. She had dumped what looked like over a pint of fluids in there, and swam around in it all day.

I continued with my insistance that this was way gross, as she moved to the shower and turned on the water, still yapping to my friend and I that she was very clean and everything was very controlled. I figured she’d step right in wearing what was bascially a reverse bathing suit, and start cleaning up in the running water but instead she turned around and pulled the suit  down around her waiste. Yes, she was basically flat and had probably raised a toddler or two based on her large, well-used nipples. Her skin was amazingly young looking, although it was obviously slimed. It looked as though she had coated herself with Aloe after a sunburn, sans the sunburn.

She then lowered the fabric down below her belly button (yes, she was human) and stopped to show me a pool of clear liquid. Her vagina was underwater in several inches of clear liquid, of the consistency of glycerine. I could see her pubic hairs soaked and clumpy, and the body suit had failed to contain this amount of fluid 100% because I saw a few moits spots on the outside but it was amazing it had held so much for so long, through so much activity, and had not leaked.

As she her body suit further the slow motion flow of slime over the edge and down to the floor was unmistakable… not that I held out this was not the up-to-12-hour-aged semen that it most certainly had to be, but the clearness of the liquid had thrown me off. What goes down her neck as clumpy white goop ends up as a pool of smooth thick clear slime in which her ass and vagina sit for the rest of the day. I had to see if she had some sort of rubber micro panties or a female condom or something protecting her uterus, so I looked closely and encouraged her to pull her pants all the way down. Nothing. An open, soaked pussy that would pop the cork for Bukkake and creampie fans the world over. Sitting in a pint or two of semen all day long, to be repeated day after day. Yes, indeed, this had been a busy day in the massage parlor. And yes, she had an amazingly youthful looking kitty, despite the almost unbearable smell of fermenting spunk and the unforgettable visual proof of unhealthy, repeated violation in a biological sense.

Funny to think this lady insists she is “hand job only”.

So boys and girls there you have my story for today. I’m still sick of the image of her pulling down the fabric to show me her daily productivity tally, with her wirey hairs glued to her belly and her little clit pointing proudly at me, and that river of slime flowing forward out of her pants to the shower floor in front of me.
Never before.. never saw anything so strange, and hopefully never will again.

Guys, you simply can’t make this stuff up.

All these years somehow I avoided getting “reviewed” by my customers. Maybe I’ve always been simply “that good” they wanted to keep me a secret. Anyway, finally there is a review posted at The Erotic Review. You can get in as a “free” member and see some of the details, but the juicy bits are reserved for “member’s only”. I’m not sure I like how some guy is making money off of gossip, so I here’s a link that gives a share of the profits to charity if you sign up.