Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Confesions of an Erotic Undercover Detective (Part 1)

My little confessions over my vacation were not the only uncomfortable moments that week. In fact, the whole massage parlor, masseuse thing became kind of a running joke. Let me explain.

In Atlantic City, the boardwalk is chock full of cheesy souvenir shops, greasy diners, amusements, and (... drum roll please... ) massage parlors. But these aren't the kind that I work in, or even the AMPs that I deplore. On the boardwalk there are actual massage parlors filled with rows of massage tables and chairs for all the world to see. They are not happy ending places, but more of a walmart of massage services.

They rely on the tourists and make their money with low prices and high volume. And by coincidence, they just happen to all be run by asians. I can't claim that they're all sex slaves trapped by the mob - particularly since there's no sex going on and half the staff are guys.

So there we are... Derek and I walking down the boardwalk and passing these places every day. It started off with little jokes like "Hey CJ, is that what you do?" or "You wanna try it?" At first I would just laugh it off, but then it became "how about a couples massage?" or "I bet you could show them a thing or two."

Oh you have NO idea.

But it just got old after a while. I mean he just kept bugging me about it until I had to tell him to knock it off. However, I felt guilty for snapping at him and eventually it was me who brought the subject back up. As a peace offering I actually offered to buy him a massage. Heck, I should have thought of it before - for just $30, he shuts up and I get 45 minutes of uninterrupted shopping.

Unfortunately it backfired. When we got inside one of these boardwalk places, they did the hard sell and tried to get us both in. Now let me take a step back and describe what these places look like. They're basically an entire shop space that's nothing but massage tables and chairs. There's no store front, so you can see inside the entire thing from the boardwalk. People just walk in and get a table or chair massage while hundreds of people walk past and gawk at you.

Needless to say I was horrified at the thought of lying down on one of these nasty ass tables while teenage boys point and giggle. You may think I'm in no position to criticize another parlor, but let me tell ya, in my room at The Business, you could eat off those floors (just in my room - Audrey's room was a biohazard).

There was NO way I was gonna touch those tables, but I did agree to a 30 minute foot massage by a rather fatherly looking Chinese gentleman in a dress shirt and tuxedo vest. Meanwhile Derek arranged for a 45 minute full body massage with a short, round Chinese woman wearing a T-shirt with Justin Bieber. Derek double checked to make sure I was OK with him getting a massage by another woman, and I was like "knock yourself out."

Now let me add one more piece to the puzzle here. This place was basically a line of 6 massage tables and massage chairs, then there's a privacy divider in the back. Apparently there's one more table behind the divider that can't be seen by the public. And behind that is the business office and restroom for the staff.

It was behind this divider that a short, busty Chinese girl suddenly appeared. And when I say "busty" I mean artificially busty. I think both my eyes and Derek's popped out of our heads. He gave me this sort of "I'm sorry" kinda look as she led him back BEHIND that divider. I figured there wasn't much trouble he could get into in a place like this, BUT I wasn't going to touch him until after he thoroughly scrubbed himself off back in the room. All I cared about at this point was getting my foot-on.

Let me tell ya something... I've never had a professional foot massage before. I mean, I've done the pedicure thing where they might rub your feet for a minute or 2, but that is NOTHING compared to 30 minutes with a professional. Holy Shit. I swear to Gawd, if this old guy was a sex slave owned by the mob, I might have to reconsider my stand on AMPs. It was soooooo good that HE made a foot rub feel like a blowjob. It was THAT good.

I completely forgot all about Derek and his petite top heavy masseuse behind the divider. She could have been blowing him for all I care, as long as it didn't bump me from the cloud I was floating on. But alas, all good things must come to an end. I didn't need a happy ending to my foot rub because 25 of those 30 minutes were pretty much happy ending enough for me.

I wrapped up before he did, so I got to sit in the massage chair and just relax for a few minutes. I asked if I could smoke a cigarette, but Tuxedo said I'd have to go outside first. Damn men are all alike - they thrill you then leave you.

Derek walked up a few minutes later and we walked out together. I asked him how it was, and he said not bad considering he had all his clothes on (you don't disrobe in these places - they just do you in your shorts and T-shirts). I asked him jokingly if she offered him a "happy ending" and he said no, but she did offer him something else.

He motioned for us to keep walking while he fished in his pocket for something. A few store fronts down, he pulls me around a corner and shows me a piece of paper. "She gave this card and told me to call this number if I wanted anything else."

Why that little motherfucker. That full service skank propositioned my man right in front of me! I wanted to storm back there and tear that little slut a new one, but Derek calmed me down and convinced me to just laugh it off. Ha ha.

Now the business part of me actually wanted to call that number and see what the deal was. Is this how parlors advertise in Jersey? I have to admit I was curious.

But this wraps up part 1 of my expose on Atlantic City massage parlors. Time for me to get my ass to work!


Thursday, August 19, 2010

Confessions of an Erotic Confessor

Hey guys. My little vacation was exactly what I needed to recharge my batteries, but it's funny how sometimes work just follows you no matter where you go. Let me explain.

I have a bunch of things I wanna share with you from last week, but I need to keep it simple else I'll be blabbing here all week. Anyway, let me start off by saying that this vacation was the longest time I've spent with a guy (Derek) in a very long time. And it was interesting in an academic kinda way. I'm back to those age old questions of what do I tell him and when. I spent the week pondering things such as:

Should I tell him about The Business?
How much should I tell him?
Confess that I'm not really a shampooer?
Admit I'm really a massage therapist?
Tell him I occasionally strip to a bra for extra money?
Tell him the whole thing is temporary?
Say my coworkers are all full service sluts, but I'm a good girl?

Makes for interesting conversation when he's saying something like "...I hope to manage the store in a few years and I may go back to school for my MBA..." Meanwhile I'm thinking "... I could tell him about the foot fetish guys, but definitely not the cross dressers..."

Now to make a long story short, I told him I'm really a licensed massage therapist and not a shampooer. I lied because guys usually expect massages all the time (which is another lie - most guys actually don't care and never take advantage of those particular talents of mine. Go figure). Derek was cool with it and said he understood (but I knew he didn't).

He then felt compelled to confess to me that he wasn't exactly truthful about how he found out where I worked. Apparently, he had gotten the directions from that skank girlfriend of mine, but then googled The Business and couldn't find anything. Said he knew all along there was something weird about my story, but didn't want to ask about it till I was ready. Thank Gawd he didn't try stopping by again!

Laying that much stuff on the table was easy. The weird part was towards the end of the week when we were messing around on the balcony of the hotel. He wanted me to "use your hand in that special way" (yes - he said it that gaily). So I told him to sit still so I could do it right. I went in the bathroom and got some baby oil from my bag (never leave home without it!) so I could give him a proper hand release. A few minutes later he was grunting and slapping the arms of his chair while I jerked him off onto the balcony floor. He turned to me, looked me straight in they eye and said "Where on Earth did you learn to do that? I swear that it felt just like a blowjob."

I wanted to tell him about my infamous double-handed criss-cross technique, and the various cell-phone videos of it floating around the web. But instead I just said "I musta picked it up somewhere."


Monday, August 16, 2010

The Craigslist Killer - Good Riddance

Hey guys - I'm back.

So much to talk about from my first real vacation in a couple years. But for right now all I want to say is good fucking riddance to this fucking asshole...

This piece of shit made me sick. And with him gone it's 1 less reason for all of us to look behind our backs. It's not like this way of life isn't dangerous enough as it is, but for this fucker to prey on women just trying to make a living in a world that isn't protected by the law just really put me over the edge. I hope that mutherfucker is burning in Hell right now.

Can you tell I'm slightly affected by this story?

Anyway, for me this was fantastic news to cap my relaxing (and eventful) week at the shore. I'll go into detail later, but let's just say that it started with flying down the PA turnpike at 100 mph in a rented car and ended a week later with me almost getting run over by an Amish horse and buggy. That's Pennsylvania for ya.


Thursday, August 5, 2010


No... not the TV show with all the oiled up freaks. I'm talking the real deal. I am going on my first beach vacation in 2 years now! The guy I'm kinda more or less sorta seeing, is taking me to Atlantic City for a very long weekend. So the bad news is that I may not post anything till later in the week. But I'll try to check the comments and stuff.

In the meanwhile let me fill you in on the stuff that's been happening around here. First of all, we finally started to see newbies again (THANK GAWD). After a couple months now of turning away first-timers, we're now starting to offer options to new customers that we're comfortable with. Things have seem to settled down around here after the crackdown, so we all agree it's time to get back to business as usual.

Also in the news, I got interviewed by a girl claiming to be from a "real" magazine. She asked me a bunch of questions about the "happy ending." I was kinda nervous and suspicious after the whole Playboy Radio fiasco, but I figured maybe something in writing would be safe. I don't know if she's going to plug my blog or not, but when I find out I'll give her a shout out here. I don't want to just start bragging about being quoted in a magazine article if it never ends up happening.

Plus she sounded kinda weird on the phone. Kept asking the same question over and over again. Made me wonder if she was really a reporter or perhaps a suspicious housewife. Of course I was paranoid at the time about that subject since it made for some heated discussions around here. Oh well.

So have a good weekend guys and try not to miss me too much!


Monday, August 2, 2010

The REAL Client List

This is something I've been wanting to bring up for a while now. Some of you guys out there have expressed concerns about getting arrested or "outed" if you just happen to stop by a massage parlor at the exact wrong time. Believe me, for the most part you have nothing to worry about.

Yes we do keep a "client" list here at The Business - but it's not what you think. It's basically just our own log of how many customers we have during the day, how long a session they requested, and anything else noteworthy. Nothing different from what you would find at a day spa. We do make it a point not to gather any personal information from clients, since this obviously scares the living shit out of them.

Most entrees look like this:

Tony. 3:30. Walk-in. 45 min.

Pretty much harmless stuff. Now what you see in the movies and the newspapers about client lists being submitted to police - that's another story. When you're running a high-end escort service or bordello - no matter what they tell you as a customer - they will go out of their way to gather as much dirt on you as possible. So when they do get busted, the owner can use it as a bargaining chip. Heck - look at Spitzer. For his $5000 hookers, he bought absolutely no privacy, did he?

When you're at a local place like The Business, and the clientele are auto mechanics, truck drivers and travelling salesmen, the prosecutors really have no interest. In a small town like this, there are no political points to be scored with a witchhunt of the Townies.

If there's a big scandal like when the DC madam revealed her client list, it's because there's some ulterior motives involved. One politician trying to destroy another, etc. When you're small beans, like us, people really DON'T want to know who's been a customer.

For example, when I first got into the business (a few years ago, ahem) there was a scandal involving a rival parlor. Apparently there was a big sting and they ended up catching a couple cops and several "upstanding" local citizens. And when all was said and done, the only thing the city had to show for it was a giant embarassment to the police department, and several high-profile divorces. AND the parlor later reopened across town as if nothing ever happened!!!

So in other words, there really is nothing to worry about if you go visit your local massage parlor. There are no hordes of police and camera crews waiting to pounce as soon as you drop your pants. Unless you're a former vice president of course.