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Nathan G-Chats me on Friday afternoon to suggest we start our weekend inhaling dumplings in Chinatown. During dinner, he tells me more about a girl he's just begun seeing. He's excited—they've just had their first sleepover on Wednesday, which is always nice.
But he didn't sleep well in her bed. He'd been positioned awkwardly and was now nursing a kink in the neck. He's right. We decide there is no time like the present—especially since we're Massage end happy Chinatown. We stroll around the neighborhood, the stench of fish markets overtaking everything. Nathan chooses the first not-so-shady-looking establishment we encounter. A woman at the front desk tells us we don't need an appointment and that our respective masseuses will retrieve us momentarily.
A few minutes later, a woman who appears to be about our age mids le Nathan to the back of the building. Shortly thereafter, a slightly older woman emerges and summons me back. I follow her through a beaded curtain to a hall with a bunch of doors, one of which she points me through. She tells me in broken English and hand gestures that I should disrobe, don a towel, and lie down on the table. She leaves the room so I can strip down to my privates in private.
Let me be clear here: I did not expect any sort of funny business at this point. She begins by standing above my head and kneading Massage end happy it, which feels fantastic. I don't know why, but having another person wash your hair is the greatest feeling in the world, next to an orgasm Massage end happy, I am told, love. Before this experience, I have only ever had massages from my mom's go-to practitioner, a woman named Faye who only speaks English—and a lot of it—while she's working on you.
Thinking of Faye, I take a stab at conversation, asking the woman how long she's been giving massages. I come to when she taps on my side. I pull my head from the table's donut and groggily digest that she is motioning for me to turn over onto my back. She starts with my legs, which feels pretty groovy, and I close my eyes again.
The masseuse gently removes the towel, which makes me open my eyes again. I glance down at my torso to see what's happening I discover that I have an erection. This is not really a surprise because I'm the kind of person who gets boners if you look at me the right Massage end happy.
Sometimes I worry that I'm going to prematurely use my genetically allotted sum of boners before I turn Watch this video to learn everything you never knew about the male anatomy:. This is unexpected. I know at least 10 other dudes who have gotten "happy endings," and with the exception of myself and one other, they had all sought it out. They'd diligently researched their destination and strolled in the door knowing they'd get a rub 'n' tug. One claims to have had sex with his masseuse, but I can't verify that.
I'm the only one who has had it happen without any discussion. For a moment, I find it funny that she's putting a condom on me for a hand job. I've never heard of such a thing. But then it occurs to me that she's likely already touched several other dicks that day, and then I feel vaguely disgusting but also thankful for the condom. I think about stopping her, but she's already tugging away. Instead, I laugh on the inside about the absurdity of this situation and decide to go with it. I close my eyes and fantasize about Aubrey Plaza.
I do not time myself, but it is not long until I am sufficiently "relaxed. After all, there's not really much of an art to it—it's more about torque. When it ends, she points to a trash can and leaves the room. I dispose of the condom—without peering into the horrors that wastebasket undoubtedly contains—and put my clothes back on. That jerkoff doesn't want to talk to me about how we just got jerked off. I don't pause for her reaction. I go home and take a nap. The party is enjoyable. I get very drunk and somehow end up at a woman's apartment. This excites me, as it does not happen all that often.
The going home with Massage end happy girl part. Not the "very drunk" part. That happens all the time. My excitement quickly wanes, however, when it becomes apparent that I cannot achieve more than a half-mast boner while we're messing around. I understand. I refrain from telling her that I can't get one up not because of my whiskey consumption, but because I have shot one off at the hands of a masseuse mere hours earlier. I wake early and exchange groggy goodbyes with the woman. She Massage end happy give me her phone but also doesn't make any jokes about how I might want to try Cialis or some shit, so I'm thankful.
I meet Nathan and some other friends for brunch.
Since most of the group has seen me leave the party, they grill me about the rest of the night. I tell them I was unable to get one up. I don't usually, you know, pre-game orgasm like that. Scott Muska is a writer in New York City. You can follow him on Twitter scottmuska, or him at srm gmail. Weight Loss. United States. Type keyword s Massage end happy search. Today's Top Stories. Masala Pepper And Cauliflower Omelet. This content is created and maintained by a third party, and imported onto this to help users provide their addresses.
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