Massage Time

This post is 100% autobiographical truth (That sounds sarcastic but it’s not):

I put myself through college as a massage therapist. I was under the delusion that I wanted to be a nurse at the time. Just like 75% of the female student body at your local state university. I wanted to do rehabilitation and occupational therapy, and someone mentioned that having a massage therapy license would be a beneficial thing AND it would pay your way through college. They failed to mention the ass-load of hours it takes to get certified and the fact that you make about $4 an hour after taxes once you’re done. After you’ve bought your materials and $1,000 massage bed. But I did get to wear scrubs every day. So . . . that’s a plus?

I spent a lot of time rubbing down old ladies. Lots of old ladies. Too many old ladies. The company I worked for had everybody stay in at least their underwear, which was nice because I’d worried from day 1 about going near other people’s butts. I was not getting paid enough to touch people’s Grand Canyons thank you very much.

There was a month where I was financially strapped. Pay day was 6 days off and I had already overdrawn on my account twice. My car had needed service and my phone had decided to take an unexpected bath in the toilet that month. So I was resigned to eat a family size bag of tortilla chips for the rest of the week. The struggle was real my friends.

A girlfriend of mine recommended I put an ad online for massage therapy. Since I was licensed, it was completely legal for me to do so. But the company I worked for had a policy against doing outside work. But that bag of chips on the counter was screaming for me to make some more money.

I went online and found the quagmire of internet massage businesses. Holy smokes! I had no idea this seedy underbelly of society even existed. But once you navigated away from them, you found the real massage therapists who offered real work. My friend told me all the ways to avoid getting roped into a sexual situation that I didn’t want and what to put in my ad, etc.

So I posted the ad. Within 2 hours my Saturday was filled back to back with appointments. I loaded my supplies in my pathetic Honda Accord, AKA the Strugglemobile, and I went to work. I worked hard all day long and this time I got to keep all the money I charged instead of handing 25% of it over to my company. I was pretty sure I was going to quit my job and just do this.bath-bathroom-beauty-salon-3188

The second to last appointment of the day, it’s a young guy. Well, young-ish. I was in my early 20’s and he was in his early 30’s or so. The house was super clean and nice. He obviously had good work or least was bumming off his parents like a pro. He was different because he was probably the first client I’d ever worked on that I would have been attracted to in the real world. He was tall and had ginger hair and freckles but in a very strong masculine way.

I set up the table in his front room and gave him a moment to get settled. This was a professional common courtesy, give the client some privacy. He was lying face down and I saw that the freckles covered his entire body. His back was strong and I found myself working on it a little longer than I needed to. I’d been distracted. He had covered his lower half with a towel and so I was surprised to find a white freckled bare butt underneath it when I lifted it up. I had forgotten to explain that he should keep his underwear on. But that was on me, not him. It was okay though, they told us how to properly keep clients draped in massage therapy school and I did a great job.

When I worked the back of his legs I saw a hint of his scrotum between his legs, buried in a fluffy tuft of ginger pubic hair. I wasn’t married at the time and had never really seen male genitalia before outside of textbooks. I tried not to fixate on it but failed miserably. Eventually, my fingertips accidentally brushed up against it. Oh no! I wasn’t supposed to do that. He flinched on the table. I apologized profusely, he said to not worry about it, it just surprised him that’s all.

He rolled over and I began to work on his chest and arms. Massage work is hard work and I was exhausted from the day’s activities so I tended to zone out while doing the work. When I had finished his arms I looked down and to my shock, I saw an enormous bulge under the massage sheet. He was obviously very excited. It’s normal during a massage for a patient to become aroused by touch. But this was the first I’d ever seen.

It was . . . different than I had pictured. I always thought they’d stand straight up, like a pole. But this was laying down. The sheet was thin and so there was no doubt as to what it was. I kept my professionalism and kept working. When I started working on the upper thigh the sheet had gotten bundled up and moved, exposing him. I was supposed to move it back into place or encourage him to do so but I didn’t. I just ignored it and pretended I hadn’t seen anything. His eyes were closed in relaxation anyway so it’s not like he’d know I was staring at it. But I was.

It was fully exposed now. I long white shaft with a bright pink head. I could see veins and it pulsed with every heartbeat. His scrotum was large and his balls sagged in it. Everything was fringed in the bright ginger hair that matched all over his body. I wanted to touch it. I could feel my lower lips had swelled just looking at it and I was sopping wet. But I couldn’t. I just COULDN’T. I could lose my license and maybe this was a prostitution sting?! I panicked and covered it up with the sheet, laying my hand over it as I did so. It was warm and oh so very hard.

I got tipped really good on that one. I’d always wondered what would happen if I’d done something. Like, what if I stroked him until he came? What if I’d taken him in my mouth? Did he want me to? I’ll never know. I’ve thought about using this for the basis of a story in the future. I know a woman who pays some of the seedier massage places around town for a chance to give clients “happy endings”. Her husband is the bishop of their ward. 

Oh the things I know . . . Have a horny day!

BTW: I nearly made $500 that day!

Shameless plug: Buy my stories 


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