Well this thread has died in the arse, and Peaker appears to have fucked off for good, so it's about time you lot had a decently sordid story. I can;t give you any tales of having unprotected sex with 18 year old crackwhores (well maybe I can... but I won't ) but I did visit the local rub and tug this afternoon. Read on...

So, it all started with a a 4 hour dive in a sewage channel on friday. As anyone who does my job knows, operating power tools for several hours underwater while wearing two weight belts and a diving helmet is murder on the back. To compound this several hours later I come down with a sudden case of gastro- in addition to squirting like a busted fire hydrant from both ends, every muscle and joint in my body hurts like fuck all weekend. Luckily by monday morning the invincible combination of elcotrolytes, immodium and a immune system finely honed by a quarter century of alcoholic abuse have won the day and I'm back at work. Unusually for me, I spend the entire afternoon at a desk, writing documentation. This all adds to to the fact that by this afternoon my shoulder and lower back are hurting like unlubricated buggery.

Deciding that some sort of relief is in order, I stop by a local massage place. Typical small hole in the wall place offering chinese/thai massage. Tasteful pictures of people lying on white linen getting a wholesome massage in the window. Whitewashed walls. inoffensive piped muzak. And a sign firmly stating “No sex here. We offer a strictly non-sexual service”. Ok. All seems legit then.

I open the door and enquire if they have a masseuse free, the cheerful thai woman waiting in the lobby smiles and says they do, and shows me the prices. $35 for half and hour shoulders and back, seems standard. I then realise I don’t have enough cash so excuse myself to use the ATM, she gives me a cheeky look and say “you cum baaaack!” in more than slightly suggestive way. In retrospect I really should have got the hint then, but I’m not the type to make racist assumptions, am I?

Anyway a few minutes later I’m back and she shows me into the room with the massage table. Still all looks pretty standard. I start stripping out of my overalls and she says “you pay now?” This strikes me as a little odd because normally you’d pay at the end, but whatever. Redfern Waterloo is a sketchy area, maybe some of the locals aren’t good payers. I strip down to my pants and lay face down on the table. Madame masseuse comes back into the room. I hear her rummaging around a bit then she squirts a bit of oil on my back and starts work. she touches the tattoo across my shoulders and says “ooh, sexy.” At this point I’m definitely getting slightly perturbed. But I remind myself that after all the the woman is only human, and has her hands on 94kg of prime NZ beef. Poor thing probably just forgot herself for a moment. Anyway I close my eyes and relax. She’s a competent enough masseuse, but I can’t help thinking that the whole thing is definitely feeling a bit too much on the….sensual side. Occasionally I hear the sound of clothes being adjusted. I really hope she isn’t removing them, and I don’t look up to find out. I try to point her to the sore spots and encourage her to get stuck into them properly. To her credit, she does, and keeps her hands above the hem of my pants. So all in all it’s going ok, except that about 15 minutes in, I hear some old bloke who sounds like a stroke victim come into the store and complain to another staff member that he’d left his phone there. As I said, it’s a weird neighbourhood.

Anyway after 25 minutes or so I’ve had a reasonably satisfactory rub down and she’s hit most of the sore spots, if not really made a good deep impression on them. Then she pauses and asks… “you like happy ending massage?”

Awkward pause… but not too long and awkward, because while I’m a bit slow with reading people’s social cues I’m not a complete sperger and even I was kinda seeing this coming. So I keep my eyes firmly down and reply, “no, just keep working on that shoulder, it’s really stiff”. No double entendre whatsoever.

She replies “aww, you shy!” but complies and keeps working on my knotted right rhomboid muscle. At this point it’s doing the job, but its fair to say I’m starting to feel less than comfortable with the situation. To make matters worse, stroke victim has returned with a friend and they're loudly claiming that they know his phone is there because they tracked it using find my iPhone (how the fuck do disabled houso pensioners afford smartphones anyway?) and they’re about to call the cops. I’m starting to see visions of myself getting caught up in a full scale police raid on an “illegal brothel” wearing nothing but undies and a towel. Fucking great.

Madame masseuse finishes up and asks me if I would like more time. I politely but firmly decline and she towels the excess oil off my back and departs to let me dress. Fortunately I never find out whether or not she got her kit off.

I dress and leave hurriedly. Stroke victim’s mate is still arguing with her workmate near the doorway. I quickly duck across to my car hoping nobody else who knows the place is actually a rub and tug (probably the whole fucking neighbourhood) sees my exit. I feel ashamed and dirty, might as well have got the hand job anyway. But hey, at least I save a few $$ by refusing it. And there’s still a knot in my shoulder. Fuck my life.

Quote:

Originally Posted by jdoodle View Post

not liking yoda is like knocking back a root when presented nude in a YD change room

Quote:

Originally Posted by mischa21 View Post

^mmmm all this talk of meat is getting me excited.