Thursday, July 31, 2008


I figured out why I've been such a bitch this week (well, apart from the PMS that is). And the person who figured it out was my mom.

The other day I was just being a nag in general when she pointed out that this is the first July in years that I'm NOT going to the beach for vacation.

Wow. The realization hit me like a baseball bat. I have no boyfriend. No extra money. No time off. and now no vacation. Holy shit - no wonder I've been so mean lately. I think I cried after she said that (Not that it's a big deal -- when I'm PMSing I'll cry during a dog food commercial).

So there you have it. My life sucks and it took mom to point that out. Oh well... what I need right now is a nice sugar daddy to distract me from my troubles. You guys know any? LOL


Tuesday, July 29, 2008

The Dress Code

What a crappy weekend. Audrey riding my ass. A cancelled date. Made no money. And to top it off, I’m totally PMSing.

Last week I was reminded that I didn’t explain our dress code. Yes – we have a dress code, which sounds ironic in a Business where we get tipped to take them off. Let me explain.

Ever watch those HBO specials on the Bunny Ranch? Remember all the girls wearing lingerie while hanging around the bar? Well forget all that. Think Gap sales girl (or Abercrombie Fitch in my case). It’s harder to explain what we’re supposed to wear and easier to explain what we can’t. This is a list of what we are NOT allowed to wear to work:

Dressing Don’ts
Tank Tops
T-shirts with dirty captions

Swimsuit tops or bottoms
Tight jeans
Belly shirts
Low cut shirts
Short skirts or dresses
Heavy makeup
Cargo pants

Basically, we’re not supposed to wear anything revealing, dirty, or just trashy. In other words, don’t wear anything that a regular masseuse wouldn’t wear, like heels. Shortly after we hired the new girl, Audrey caught her in the back parking lot washing her car IN A BIKINI!!!! Audrey flipped!! In any other business, that wouldn’t have been a big deal, but in our industry we try not to draw attention.

What Audrey would like to see us wearing is harder to explain since nothing is really mandatory. I think the closest comparison I can think of is that we’re supposed to look like the girls in a hair salon – just in case anyone suspicious were to stick their nose in the door.

Dressing Do’s
Polo shirts
Plain T-shirts


The funny thing about all these do’s and don’ts is that we only really follow them when Audrey is around. I have what I call my “massage clothes” which are khaki’s and polo shirts – stuff I would almost never wear outside of work, but I save for when I'm on shift with the boss. On days that she isn’t around – jeans and T-shirts baby!

And I can tell you right now that customers don’t give a crap what we wear (especially since it’s usually lying in a crumpled heap on the floor within the first 5 minutes of Session). As for Audrey – she doesn’t follow her rules anyway. Her daily uniform consists of tight black jeans and a rock band T-shirt of some kind. In the winter she may wear a black, frilly shirt – kinda like a bad Stevie Nicks clone.

What we wear underneath the clothes is still our own business (thank God). During a topless massage I’ll usually wear my panties with SpongeBob, pirate skulls or something else cute on them (my favorite pair has a big smiley face). For the occasional G-string option, I keep 3 different ones in my purse – all from Hot Topic.

And before you ask, the answer is NO. We do not keep lingerie, fuck-me heels, riding crops, rubber ducks or anything else on the premises. Anything “special” that a customer wants me to wear he has to bring in then take home himself. And I’ll only wear stuff that’s brand new – No tag, no wear. Oh -- I also charge extra to dress up.

But I can bore you with those stories later on. I need to go yell at something. Then find some chocolate.


Thursday, July 24, 2008


I wasn’t feeling well this morning, so I cancelled an appointment with a Regular. I don’t normally do that, but this guy can be soooooooo annoying and I wasn’t in the mood. This guy’s married, which is fine by me, BUT every single time he comes in the conversation usually turns to his personal life and how unhappy he is with his wife, kids, job, mortgage, paycheck, neighbors, politics, weather, economy, blah, blah, blah. Hey – I coulda used the hundred bucks, but he hates EVERYTHING about EVERYTHING.

Listen buddy, you came in here to relax. I am not your therapist, chiropractor, teacher, counselor, doctor, financial advisor, coach, priest, mentor or psychiatrist. I am also not your carpenter, plumber, mechanic or electrician (yes – he once asked me if I knew anything about electrical wiring). And besides – do you really want investment advice from your masseuse?

Plus, Audrey got on me today about my outfit. Apparently she didn’t think my double tank top was “appropriate” for work. It’s 90 degrees and 100% humid outside bitch! Maybe you’d know what it was like outside if you ever bothered to leave this cave and get a life. So did I mention to her that she’s been wearing the EXACT same nasty-ass shirt for 3 days in a row now? Nooooooooo… Because I’m not like that.

And customers have told me that every time they get her in session, she’s always wearing that ugly, black lace bra with the hole in the left cup. So why don’t you look in the mirror first before you start critiquing MY outfit?!

Oh Gawd. I think I’m PMSing.


Wednesday, July 23, 2008

Erotic Massage and the Internet

In case you haven’t noticed yet, I’m pretty computer illiterate. I can just about manage to post these blogs by myself, but that’s it. As you can see, this page is pretty plain since I can’t figure out how to add a background or a list of my favorite blogs. All I’ve figure out how to do on my own is post the occasional picture.

My partner-in-crime (Velma) helped me set this up, and I’ve taken it over from her. But she occasionally logs on and corrects my spelling and grammar. And in case you were wondering, only 2 people on the whole planet know I have this website – Trina and Velma. Trina because she’s my best friend and she helps me come up with topics, and Velma because she’s my techno-nerd and Go-To-Girl when my computer freezes up.

Now until I can get him to create one of those lists of my favorite blogs, let me give a shout-out to some of my favorites. Of course I read “Confessions of a College Callgirl” (who doesn’t), but my favorite is Slutty McWhore. Just like yours truly, she’s an Erotic Massage Therapist. But what I love about her is that she does what I can’t bring myself to do – talk about her personal life. It’s funny – she recently told the story of how she revealed to her boyfriend what she does for a living. When I first read it, I was literally yelling at my laptop “Nooooo!!!! Don’t do it!!!!!” I haven’t yelled at a screen that loudly since they took Temptation Island off the air. Another one I like is A Date in the Life. It’s like all my dating stories but better written. She makes me feel like I’m not the only 1 who goes through that emotional crap.

My first real encounter with the internet was a couple years ago when out of boredom I did a search for myself on google. My full name is common enough, so there were like a million entries. Apparently I placed 17th in a 5k race somewhere in Iowa, and I was arrested for stabbing a man in San Antonio. So out of curiosity I tried narrowing it down using the name of the Business – and Bingo!!! I actually found an article posted in one of those adult sex chat rooms about massage parlors that mentioned me. Holy Shit I’m famous!

It was one of those sites where guys can give reviews and descriptions about the massage places they’ve been to. Some guy who I don’t remember left a review about the Business. He said that our place was very clean, and the staff friendly. Pointed out up front that we’re NOT full service. Said that his masseuse (yours truly) had “fabulous tits” and didn’t make him feel rushed. After reading more articles from that site I realized that not being rushed is actually a compliment. I then searched the internet for anything else on me and the co-workers, but nothing. I managed to find a few more references to the Business (location and hours), but nothing more about the masseuses. Oh well – so much for my 15 minutes of fame.

When I first saw my name up there on the computer screen for the whole world to see (well the perverted, trenchcoat wearing world that is) I have to admit that I was a bit creeped out. At first I thought - What if anyone I knew saw this? Then - What would I do if they had said anything bad? But eventually I wondered - Will this help me get customers? So after a while, I wasn’t creeped out anymore and actually felt complimented. He DID say something nice after all (I take them when I can get them, right?).

But now that I have my own blog, I get total control over what’s said about ME. And let me tell ya – it feels nice. And you guys really make me feel welcomed out here, so thanks a lot. It’s nice to know that my whole internet notoriety no longer consists of 3 sentences written by an anonymous guy in an adult chat room somewhere.

Monday, July 21, 2008


It took me about 2 years of giving hand releases before I even touched a customers balls. Heck – back then I didn’t even like touching the ones on my boyfriend. Looking back I can’t figure out why, but I imagine I thought they were just gross.

Now this was back in the days when I was still the One-Handed-Tug Queen. Then one day I was complaining to one of the girls about how I was getting tired of guys that really had to be worked hard. She asked me some questions and finally suggested I must be doing it wrong!

Wrong? What could I possibly be screwing up with the most simple and basic form of masculine stimulation?

1 – Grab
2 – Up
3 – Down
4 – Repeat 2-3 as necessary

She said, “No no no…you gotta stroke their balls.”

“Ewwwwwwwwwwwww!!!! Some guys ask me to do that, and I think that’s just gross.” I protested. Really – there’s not much about balls to be attracted to. They look funny and sometimes smell (Come on guys – you wipe AWAY from the balls, not towards. Get a clue).

“Yeah it’s gross. You don’t have to do it with every guy, but the next time you have a problem customer, just reach over with your free hand and start stroking his balls. He’ll cum in 2 seconds.”

WHY DIDN’T ANYONE TELL ME THIS SOONER? Hell – even McDonalds has training videos.

I have to tell you, from that point on my job got waaaaaaaaaay easier. And it saved my arm from tennis elbow! Not only did it help with the problem guys, but I quickly discovered that if I used it with ALL my customers, I could cut my happy ending time in half! Suddenly balls became a girls best friend. From that day forward, I started going straight for them when it was time.

Ironically, it backfired on me. I backed off on the ball stroking thing after a while because it was working TOO well. Some guys complained that I was cutting their time by making them cum too quickly. Well excuse me! Then I also realized that by shortening the happy ending, I had to make it up with massage time. So after much trial and error I eventually settled on a happy medium.

1) Grab
2) Up
3) Down
4) Repeat as necessary, else…
5) Grab balls
6) Repeat 2-3 as neccesary

Now guys felt like they were getting their money’s worth in the happy ending, and I was saving my elbow for my future career as a tennis star.

Balls were perhaps my biggest breakthrough in my hand release technique. As time went by I picked up other “aces” I could play such as dirty talk, the booby bounce, and my favorite – the ass grab. When a guy needs that extra bit of uuuumph to finish, asking him to grab my ass is pretty much a sure thing.

There ought to be some sort of training materials for this stuff. Perhaps an “Erotic Massage for Dummies” book. Maybe I’ll start working on that this weekend. Yeah right.


Thursday, July 17, 2008

Part 4 - Where are they now?

Welcome to Part 4 of my ever increasingly badly named 3 Part Series. After I finally finished telling that last story, I realized just how difficult it was for me to go through that again. I think that's why I just had no interest in sitting down in front of the computer and saying anything. The only thing I was sure of was that I wanted to change the subject and talk about funny stuff again.

For example... On Monday I had another 300 pound guy come in (Just gotta love them, right?). He took 1 look at me and (no lie) he said "I like 'em skinny. Is there anyone else working here?" I'm a freakin size 2 for gawds sake. When I told him no, he probably couldn't help but hear the resentment I had in my voice. He said "Fine. I'll take you anyway..." So I told him I had an appointment and he had to leave - NOW. How's that bi-otch! Nowadays I have just zero tolerance for assholes.

My girl Slutty McWhore (great blog - go read it it) left a funny comment about how she hopes our prices have gone up since the old days. Well, even though the job is more or less the same as back when I started, there are a lot of small differences. For starters, our prices have gone up roughly 50% since those days. Unfortunately, guys take longer sessions now - so the house makes more money while we work longer.

I continued being a one-handed-tug wonder for about 2 years before I finally started to improve my technique (not that anyone ever complained). I had been working for a couple of months before I got my first request for a "Breast Release" to which I replied "We don't do that here." After I told a co-worker about that freak, she explained that what he wanted was a good, old-fashioned Titty Fuck. Ohhhhhhhhh... Now I know. She said I could probably charge a couple extra hundred for it, then gave me some pointers on how to keep the semen out of my hair. That's when I realized that I could go from Mo' Money to Mad Money overnight.

A couple years later, Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dawn ended up losing that business after going partners with a man. They should have known better!!!! He ripped them off for everything until the place was forced to shut down - then he reopened a new place across town and took most of the girls with him. I'm still in touch with some of the girls to this day. Some stayed masseuses, while a couple others I lost to drugs or abusive boyfriends. A few went legit. I ended up working for that guy for exactly 1 week before I decided that I shouldn't have to blow anyone just to keep my job.

I worked for a couple different bosses before I finally ended up with Audrey. Over the years, the fate of most businesses has been to slowly turn to full-service. After a business stops offering massages, it's pretty much nothing more than a brothel. Then the cops take notice and they shut down. The sleazy owners (usually guys) then open up shop elsewhere, while the girls circulate through other Businesses.

The "Massage Parlor" is slowly becoming a thing of the past. It's getting harder in this business to keep things sexy without actually crossing over into sex - especially when the full-service places are just around the corner. I mean, we still have our fans - guys who just want to relax for an hour with a little something extra at the end. Then there are the fetishists who don't want sex and find masseuses very understanding of their needs.

I can't fault these girls for eventually making the jump to full-service. The money is usually better, but sometimes you have to because every other girl you work with does it. When you realize one day that customers keep going to all the other girls, you might just give in and let some guy finger you so you can pay your phone bill.

So there you have it - I'm the last of a dying breed! And that's a pretty good summary of what's happened around here in between my first happy ending and that last one from this afternoon. I'll try to be more upbeat next time.


Thursday, July 10, 2008

CJ Comes Over to the Dark Side - Part 3 - My First and Last Day as an Erotic Masseuse

I think you guys have been wondering why I’ve taken so long to talk about my introduction to erotic massage. I’ve been stalling on purpose since it wasn’t a particularly happy memory for me.

Anyways, to continue the story… This was my 2nd customer of the day, and how could things get any worse? I led this 300 pound trucker guy into a room and tell him to get comfortable. I go back to the front and ask Candy for any last minute tips, and she tells me not to be nervous, to just act totally business like and everything should be fine.

I go back in the room and dim the lights. This guy has stripped down to his underwear and is sitting up on the massage table. I’ve massaged women this size before, but never a man! I’m just wondering how I’m going to get through all that body hair. I try not to act nervous and just go through the script that Dawn had me rehearse, “Hi, my name is CJ. Our options are topless for $40, $60 for G-string and $100 for fully nude.”

Almost too quickly he replies, “I want you naked.”

Okaaaaaaaay… that was a little bit creepy the way he said “naked.” He doesn’t say anything else as I quickly take my clothes off. I remember what Dawn said about us not being strippers, and that it’s perfectly OK just to ditch the clothes without acting it up. I had to borrow a G-string from Candy (just in case this guy wanted that option) so in a way I was kinda glad I didn’t need it. But right then I started to feel really self conscious about the way he was just staring at me.

Oh shit! I almost forgot about the money! Rule #5 – always get cash up front. “Oh I almost forgot mister. That’ll be $100.”

He just keeps staring at me, and now he answers way too slowly. “I only pay $60.”

Now I’m getting nervous and a bit irritated. Rule #3 – options are non-negotiable. “Uh… I’m sorry mister, but I can only do a G-string for $60.” Rules are rules, and in a small way I feel like I can wield them like a shield of some kind. Hey – it’s all I had while I was standing naked in front of a 300 pound man. “You gotta pay $100 for the nude option.”

He gets up off the table. “For $100 I wanna blowjob.” Standing I can see he’s easily a foot and half taller than me. “I always get a blowjob” he repeats, but now he’s saying it like a threat. These rooms are about 10 x 12, so with him standing up he’s already within arms reach. Without realizing it, I backed up against the wall. I looked at the door just long enough for him to notice. “You fucking bitch. Where do you think you’re going?”

That was it for me. I completely forgot I was naked, but remembered everything I had learned in that rough neighborhood I grew up in. In 2 seconds I had slipped past him and was out that door. Fully naked, I made a dash straight to the bathroom while screaming “CANDY! CANDY!”

I’ll be the first to admit I didn’t think my escape plan through. I’m in an unfamiliar place surrounded by strangers, so I jumped in the 1 room I knew I could lock. And my purse and phone were in the office! Of course I didn’t realize any of this until that door was locked behind me.

From outside I can hear “Fuck you!” and “Fuck this!” and “Fuck that!” mixed in with other bits of yelling. Now I gotta hand it to strippers – they sure know how to manhandle a guy. I don’t know if Candy was packing or knew Kung Fu or whatever, but eventually the yelling stopped and she came and got me outta that bathroom.

But by then I was a hysterical wreck… so I hesitantly went back in that room to throw my clothes back on, grabbed my phone and purse, mumbled an apology to Candy, and ran for my car. All I remember about the ride home was that I drove way too fast, while my phone kept ringing and ringing. I went straight to my mom’s house and stayed there for a couple days.

I quit the Spa job and just sort of bummed around for a couple weeks. Neither the boyfriend nor mom seemed to care. Dee and Dawn called a bunch of times those first few days, but eventually stopped. I talked to Rita and she said that the trucker guy had been banned from the business. Apparently he had called up a few times threatening me and even threatened to call the police. I wasn’t the first person he had harassed, but I was the first that the owners had heard about up till then.

Two weeks went by before I finally got the nerve to call them back. I had no intention of returning, just wanted to explain myself in person instead of through Rita. One thing led to another and before I hung up I had agreed to give them another try. I don’t know what I was thinking when you consider everything that had happened 2 weeks before over the space of 2 hours. Maybe it was the empty checking account or the fact that my mom and boyfriend were getting on my nerves with me being home all the time. Oh well.

So there I was the next day, ready for the beginning of my very first shift. The funny thing is that after all that drama before, the idea of the Happy Ending wasn’t the biggest thing worrying me – it was wearing a G-string. I hated those things (still do) and was only hoping no one would want that as an option. I had purchased a bunch the night before - and they were sitting safely inside my purse.

Ironically, I really have no memory of my first “full” customer. I just remember him being a normal guy and a normal session. It was a topless option, so most of the stress was off me. As instructed, I kept my eye on the clock for the end of the session, then told him to lay back and relax. I had never given a handjob before using baby oil, so I over-lubed my left hand then gave him the speech, “If there is any remaining part of your body you would like massaged at this time, please indicate by placing my hand there.

Guess where he guided my hand? Duh.

And then I did what I had always done with the boyfriends – one hand firmly on the thigh, and the other one doing the good old-fashioned one-handed tug. Now I had rarely ever done a handjob to completion before, so I was actually surprised when he started to moan. Usually the boyfriends would just make me stop when they got hard – looking back I think those few times they came was by mistake!

So there I was tugging away. Well, I must have been doing something right because after a moment he started to moan louder. I asked if I was hurting him, and he gave me a big “Gawd No!” I kept tugging away and eventually he tensed up and gave out a load moan, then came all over his stomach. Up till that moment I had never really paid attention to a penis shooting cum before. As he lied there catching his breath, I remember thinking “Cool...”

And THAT my friends is how CJ gave her first Happy Ending. Not much has changed since then, except that I’ve gotten better at it. I still hate wearing G-strings (I keep 1 in my pocket at work – just in case). And I’m still fascinated with the male ejaculation (I think it’s a power-trip thing).

Oh – and I now carry a taser.


Tuesday, July 8, 2008

CJ Comes Over to the Dark Side - Part 2.5 - The Rules

Did we all have a good 4th of July weekend? Audrey closed the business for 3 days, so I got a much needed break from work. I didn’t do anything productive, just ate and drank with family and friends, plus fireworks on Friday and Saturday. The great thing about Philly is that there are always plenty of fireworks to see. I even had a real date over the weekend with the Brad Pitt clone, but I think he’s getting frustrated because I’ll make out with him, but I won’t let him touch my breasts. But enough stalling…

This is NOT Part 3 of our exciting 3 Part miniseries. I will get to that eventually, but some of you asked exactly how I learned everything I needed to know about the Art of the Happy Ending. When I first started writing about the “birds and bees” talk with Dawn, I actually began to describe all the sorded details of how they did business, but then I got bored with it and thought you all would get bored too. But I guess not. So here ya go… More of the mundane details on how I learned to properly administer a Happy Ending.

Now at the tender age of %^#$ I had already known how to give a decent handjob, but I had never considered it an important job skill. But let me tell ya, back in those days all I pretty much knew how to do was the standard one-handed tug. I mean think about it – in high school, you don’t really have to be particularly good at anything. Just look at an 18 year old the right way, and he’ll get off.

So basically I only had 1 weapon in my erotic arsenal. Dawn never asked if I KNEW how to give a good handjob – she was only concerned that I was WILLING to give one. Looking back, I guess I didn’t realize the full weight of what I had just agreed to cuz if I did, I may have just run back crying to my Spa job. Now that I’m writing this story down, I think that if they told me about the handjobs BEFORE they gave me that first customer, I probably would have just gotten up and left right there in the interview. Instead, my first customer gives me a cash tip bigger than most of my paychecks from the Spa, THEN I’m told what I was supposed to do to earn it.

(But maybe it’s good that I didn’t walk out, else I wouldn’t be here today telling you this exciting story).

After dropping that atomic bomb of a detail, Dawn quickly changed the subject and moved on to more mundane things about how a massage parlor is different from a spa. For example, the next thing she explained was the “options.” She double checked again to make sure I was OK with getting naked in front of strangers, and believe it or not, after that first guy I realized I was. The rooms are dark and it’s just the 2 of us, so who cares – right?

Dawn said I would offer 3 options – topless only, topless while wearing a G-string (Shit – I normally went without back in those days!), and fully naked. Each had its own price, and they were non-negotiable. She then pointed out that most of the girls offer a 4th option – the “Mutual” massage. – but it’s not required and I could work my way up to that. Let me tell ya – I’m glad she said that because even though I had just agreed to the Happy Ending bit, the thought of strangers groping me just freaked me out.

Dawn noticed the look I gave her when she brought it up, so she went on to say that the customers have no right to touch me in the rooms. This bit actually surprised me and made me feel infinitely more comfortable. I’m not sure why, but perhaps it gave me a feeling of control of what happens in session – I can touch you, but you can’t touch me. It was like this little boundary gave me a sense of security, but I would learn soon enough that it was a false sense of security.

“However,” Dawn went on, “you are allowed to let them touch ‘within reason.’” Why on Earth would I WANT them to do that? Ewwwwwwww. Then she explained that it’s all about the tips, and that I could earn extra money by letting the customers touch me. EXTRA money? There’s even more if I let a guy grab my ass? I figured out later that it was in the owners best interest for me to charge as much as possible – partly because it made me a happy worker, but mostly because it meant they could keep their own prices for extras high too.

The last thing she explained was that their sessions ran from 15 to 45 minutes, with the average being 30 minutes. This is different from a Spa where sessions run from 30 minutes to 2 hours. We were to charge the same for options no matter what the length of the session was, so Dee and Dawn wanted us to push the guys towards shorter times. And when I asked how we could possibly squeeze the massage into a 15 minute session (remember – I’m from a Spa), Dawn said “… we don’t. By the time you take your clothes off it’s time for the hand release. Those customers pretty much just want to be finished quickly so they can get outta here. You will learn to love your 15 minute guys.”

As for the 45 minute sessions, Dawn said there’s no point going any longer since you can’t charge extra for options and you’ll just wear yourself out. Plus, they were doing such good business (back then) that they couldn’t afford to take a girl off the floor for any longer. That’s the one and only thing I miss about the old days! Today, sessions are longer, and I rarely see a 15 minute guy anymore. I guess customers want their money’s worth in this economy.

We spent about 30 minutes going over all the ground rules of my new universe, and I tried to concentrate on them and ask intelligent questions since it helped distract me from the thought of giving my first dreaded “hand release.” When I couldn’t think of any more questions, Dawn took me around and formally introduced me to 2 more girls. Six girls in all worked for them, for a total of 8 masseuses.

With the first shift ending, Dee and Dawn left me with a girl I’ll call Candy (since she was a stripper). They wished me luck and said if I had any problems, just let Candy know. Luckily, she was the chatty type so I got a lot of dirt from her (some of which kinda scared me). The first customer at the door she booked in and then passed on to me. I led this 300 pound trucker into 1 of the session rooms and told him to get comfortable.

15 minutes later I was in my car driving 90 MPH and crying my eyes out. I didn’t go back the next day. I didn’t take any calls from Dee or Dawn. I didn’t go back the next day or the day after. And that was my first day in a massage parlor.


Wednesday, July 2, 2008

CJ Comes Over to the Dark Side - Part 2 – Anatomy of a Happy Ending

When I started writing Part 2 of my first day at work, I realized that there was just too much to cover. So I’m going to have to break this up into a 3 part series if I’m going to do it justice. Now if you remember, it’s my very first day at work in a massage parlor. I have just had my first experience with a customer who wanted to see me naked (gasp!) And he wanted me to give him a handjob! (double gasp!). Keep in mind that I’ve only been at work in the Business for about 60 minutes.

Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dawn had a good laugh at my expense with that first customer. He took that whole fiasco in stride since he was good friends with those two. As some of you guys have suggested, I think they had him come in just to break in the newbie.

I’m still shaken up by what’s happened so far, when Dawn takes me to the back office to explain the “Birds and Bees” of erotic massage. I think Dawn gave me the talk since she was also a LMT (Licensed Massage Therapist).

“I see that Rita didn’t fully explain what we do around here?” She said with a smile.

“Uh… No. What kinda place is this anyhow?” At this point I was mad, confused and embarrassed. Mad that they threw me into this. Confused by everything new around me. And embarrassed by my reaction.

“That’s OK CJ. Let me explain…” She took a deep breath. “This is what we call Erotic Massage,” She made quotation signs with her hands. “We give NON-therapeutic, relaxing massages to men,” I liked the way she stressed the word ‘non.’ “And we end each session with what we call a ‘Hand Release.’” She saw my eyebrows arch at that. “Have you ever heard of a Happy Ending… No? Well, basically it's a handjob.” She looked at me and let it set in.

Basically? -What the Hell does that mean?! I didn’t say anything – I just continued to look at her with my eyebrows arched. She must have thought I was mental. “Are you OK with that?" she asked.

I wanted to think first before answering. Up till now I’d only given handjobs to 3 different boyfriends, and most of those were foreplay – not to completion! But I felt really stuck there sitting in front of her, hearing all this for the first time, while that $100 tip was burning a hole in my pocket. I decided to just say yes.

She could tell I was nervous and did her best to put a spin on things. “This is NOT a full-service massage parlor” she said as if that explained everything to na├»ve, country-bumpkin, kid-outta-high-school me. “There is absolutely NO sex allowed in this Business.” I think the look I gave her was something between total incomprehension and relief. She continued, “You end every session with a hand release and nothing more. The customers are not allowed to ask for anything else, and the girls are not allowed to offer anything else, or I’ll fire them.”

Looking back I now see this was a load of crap, but live and learn, right?

I remember thinking “Well that’s good!” as if that 1 minute explanation really made getting naked and jerking strangers off completely normal and OK. But I think the burning $100 tip was slowly curing my confusion and irritation. She double and triple checked with me that I’m OK with all this, and I said I was. This is when Dawn finally told me the full rules of her Business.

The first thing she explained was that her Business offers “Relaxing” massages – not Therapeutic. I went to massage school, and they didn’t exactly cover the “relaxing” technique (nor the Hand-Release for that matter, but I digress). Dawn described it as “…deep tissue, but at half the intensity. Ever do a one hour deep tissue on a fat house wife?” My hands ached at the thought. “Well, we don’t do that here.” Phew! Even I liked that idea.

The next thing she explained was that all sessions end with a hand release.

All? Every single guy who walks through that door? Aren’t there any customers who just want a massage and a topless girl to look at?

“ALL sessions end with a release” she said as if that was the end of it. “Now pay attention because this is really important. When you get to the last 7 or 8 minutes of your session, end the massage with the customer on his back. “ She looked seriously at me then continued, “Now it is absolutely essential that you begin the hand release by saying the following…”

And this my friends are the words that launched my career, spawned a thousand handjobs, and continue to haunt me to this day.

“…If there is any part of your body that you would like to be massaged at this time, please indicate so by placing my hand there.”

And that is how CJ became an Erotic Massage Therapist. Mind you I was still a “virgin” since I hadn’t actually provided any happy endings yet – which is the true milestone of going over to the Dark Side. Dawn filled me in on the more mundane details of how they do business including what options we were allowed to offer, pricing, etc.

Armed with my new knowledge on how to offer a happy ending, I went back to the break room to await my first chance to practice the dreaded “hand release.” So for now I’ll just say that my first customer – the naked man asking me for a handjob – was the highlight of my day. It only went downhill from there.