"Near the end of the hour, she said, “Turn over.” When I did, she turned around and immediately grabbed my penis by the shank and started to massage it, too.
I was startled but not surprised. I pulled away, shook my head and said, “No, that’s OK. I’m married.” She apologized but remained otherwise stoic.
With seven minutes left in the hour, Rose told me to flip over, then immediately gripped my penis and began to rub it. When I shook my head and said, “No, that’s OK,” a range of emotions washed across her face, from confusion to embarrassment to fear. She apologized profusely.
I, too, apologized and felt terrible, reassuring her many times that I wasn’t a cop. She relaxed a bit but seemed chastened and unsure what to do next except help me dress. When I explained that I’m married, she said, “You dumb as brick, but good husband.”
our local (arts) paper just did an expose' on asian massage parlors in the area.
the journalist visited four. i think we were supposed to feel sorry for the girls, but really the story just made me want to go to one of them.
"Candy drew the half-curtain in the doorway closed, dimmed the lights further, then got down to business. She was very friendly and talkative, originally from a town outside of Seoul, South Korea. She said she’d just arrived in Vermont a day earlier from Manhattan, where she’d lived for 10 years. I asked if she was more a city girl or country girl.
“City girl,” she said, giggling.
I asked if she had a boyfriend back in New York City.
“No, you my boyfriend,” she said with a flirty smile.
Candy’s massage was athletic and rigorous. She sat on my ass, stretched my legs in all directions and deliberately pressed her breasts against my head several times. As a new employee, she said she’d work seven days a week, from 10 a.m. until 11 p.m. for about a month before she gets a day off. She also claimed to live on site.
As I lay on my stomach with my arms draped over the sides of the table, Candy lifted my hands and planted them firmly on her thighs. Next, she asked if I wanted to see her breasts. When I smiled but said nothing, she removed her top and bra, then pulled down her pants.
She fingered her pink thong seductively and began pulling it lower, asking if I wanted to see more. I knew exactly what she was offering, and it sure as hell wasn’t foot reflexology. When I declined, she asked, “You shy guy?” then gripped my penis firmly with one hand and made it clear that everything was on the table, including her, if I wanted it."
I've found that a good rule of thumb for deciding whether to participate in an activity is to answer the question: Will this bring shame on me or my family? If the answer is yes and you do it anyway, you are well aware of the risk you are taking. I do not feel sorry at all for this guy.
Last edited by SONNY WERBLIN; 06-14-2013 at 12:46 PM.
I've found that a good rule of thumb for deciding whether to participate in an activity is to answer the question: Will this bring shame on me or my family? If the answer is yes and you do it anyway, you are well aware of the risk you are taking. I do not fell sorry at all for this guy.
You mean the one that says we suspect this man masturbates in the privacy of his own home. That's not news to anyone. Is that supposed to shame me? It's not like my name is in the paper as a husband and father that has violated the law by paying for the services of women involved in illegal sex trade forever diminishing me in the eyes of my very own children, likely leading to the break up of my marriage, and subjecting me to ridicule in my community.