Tales From the Massage Table

You guys would be proud of me. I actually dusted off my old massage table and busted it out of my mom's basement. I was surprised - it's still in pretty good shape considering how long it's been retired.

I needed it for 2 reasons. First, I actually got an appointment for a legit therapeutic massage. Friend of Derek's mom. Second, I'm trying to move away from the the bedtop massage. And this leads me to 2 funny stories.

Derek's mom's friend was a pity appointment. I knew it, but I didn't mind. I figured it was a good chance to practice some of my therapy techniques, break in the old table, and who knows - it could lead to more legit business if she spreads the word to her friends. And at this point in my career, business is business.

"Alice" was in her 60's. A rather large woman who was no stranger to massage, so she knew exactly what she wanted. She came across as a little bossy, which annoyed me a bit because she knew she was getting this session at a bargain rate.

And no - I didn't take my top off out of habit.

But we did start talking about the local massage scene. She even mentioned a few girls I went to school with. And it was when I had been lulled into a false sense of security that she asked if I used to work at The Business.

"Yeah... I left that place a while ago and... uh..." Oh shit. Busted. Fucked. Cat out of the bag.

Alice laughed. "That's OK dear. I won't tell anyone." Not only did she know about The Business, but personally knew a couple of our clients, and even knew Audrey in a friend-of-a-friend kinda way. Small world.

Now Alice was my first use of the un-retired massage table. "Andy" was my first non-therapeutic use. I was worried at first about how he would react, but I had made up my mind and knew I had to start somewhere and it may as well be with him. At first he was a little ticked when I showed up at his place lugging that thing up the steps, but he calmed down when he realized he was still getting a happy ending.

We did a standard 1 hour nude session, and I had almost forgotten what a joy it was to work with a table that was at the PERFECT height. No more fatigue in the arms from over-reaching, or cramps in the legs from kneeling on soft mattresses. And no more problems with leverage when applying pressure to certain massage points. This table was MEANT for massage.

But not meant for breast releases. And Andy wanted to finish with one. I really wanted to keep him on the table, so I had him stay on his back and I would lean over him. And like I said, the table was the perfect height for a massage done at arms length, not for leaning over and wrapping your tits around an erection.

But I tried - and boy was it awkward. I couldn't get the angle right without my calves cramping up, so his breast release turned into more of a hand release inside my cleavage. Andy wasn't complaining, so I just did the switch and stopped pretending. When he began to cum, I tried to angle his cock so it was pointing at my right breast. I was not expecting a violent ejaculation, so when he basically exploded in between my breasts, I turned my head to avoid the splash. When the gush (for lack of a better word) ended, I had semen on both tits AND both arms.

I breathed a sigh of relief when I realized there was nothing on my face or neck. I cleaned up quickly and thanked Andy for being a good sport about me springing the massage table on him. He actually said he enjoyed it because the massage was better. Hmmmm... Maybe this will work out after all.

I left Andy's place and went straight to Derek's. We were going to a movie and I wasn't going to have time to head home and shower. I cleaned myself up pretty good, so I didn't give it much thought as I walked in and kissed Derek hello.

He gave me a funny look and said "So... is there something you want to tell me?"

I didn't know what he was getting at, but almost instinctively, I reached up to my hair with my right hand. It was a giant gooey mess. I'm talking "There's something about Mary" gooey.

So what do you do when you're standing in front of your boyfriend with your hand coated in another man's jizz dripping from your hair? You give him your biggest smile and say "Ohhhhhhhh - that must be popsicle from Terry's kids. I stopped by just before I came here and one of them must have stuck his popsicle in my hair." Then you make a beeline for the bathroom and pray he has no curiosity about the flavor of the "popsicle" you're about to scrub off.

Now I can't wait to see what my 3rd session will bring me with that damn table.

CJ

Therapy

Wow - I feel better. I feel better after talking to Velma. I feel better after writing that last entry. I feel better after taking a few days off. I totally thank him for being right - I needed to start at the bottom so I could start start moving up.

I haven't even looked at the damn computer for a couple days now. I re-read my last stuff today and let me tell ya - that was one of the most difficult things I've ever done in my life. Sure I've done humiliating things before in the name of "work." But then sitting down and describing it in detail for lots of strangers to criticize? HOLY SHIT. If that's what therapy is like, then it works.

And it took that moment for me to actually start remembering some other stuff that you guys might actually find funny. I think I had gotten so depressed, that nothing else seemed to matter anymore. But now I feel pretty good and promise to try to cheer up and get back to what this blog is all about - funny stories about weird shit that happens around me.

And on a side note, I've been reading all the comments and taking them to heart. Thank you to all the guys that have said things to try to cheer me up. I'm sorry if I'm not replying to each of you individually. I have been trying to catch up on e-mail though. And thanks for all the advice you've been passing on. I've taken some of it to heart.

Velma has agreed to look into compiling the last couple years of all this crap and trying to put together an e-book, or whatever you call it. I don't have the time, or the patience (or the english skills) to try to make some sort of sense of all my ramblings. But she said she's willing to give it a try.

And finally, you guys will be happy to hear that I'm now sticking up for myself and not saying "yes" to anything for a buck. Two bucks maybe, but a single buck? Hey - I still have standards.

CJ

"No Where To Go From Here But Up"

The other day I had a talk with my Techno-nerd Velma, and that's what she said to me. I called her up and said I was seriously thinking of giving up the blog. When she asked "Why?" I said "don't you read this thing?" She said "not recently" so I told her to "go fuck yourself."

Eventually things settled down and she admitted that she was getting worried about me. She asked what I really meant by "rock bottom" and that's when I clammed up. I realized I was in some sort of pit of depression that I couldn't climb out of. Velma suggested that to get out of this pit that I had dug for myself I should just start at the bottom and work my way up. So for the next couple of hours, I basically told her in gory detail everything that I've done (or had done to me) for the last couple of months.

She said the less I wanted to admit something, the more healing it would be. So I didn't hold anything back. And you know what? She was right. I actually felt a lot better about everything when we were done. Velma didn't pass judgement. She didn't comment. And she didn't really agree or disagree with anything I said. She just listened, and would encourage me when she thought I was leaving something out, or not being totally honest. And yes - I did try to avoid a LOT of things.

When we were done she said it looks like I have quite a bit of things to write about now. "But where to start?" I asked. She said to start at the bottom. It could only get easier from there.

So there I was... naked on my knees in front of "Roger." We were in his bedroom. His wife was gone for the morning, so we didn't have much time. Roger had been a pain in the ass ever since I arrived at his place. Kept saying things like "So what'll I get for any extra $100?"

I said "My undying gratitude." But after the 5th time it was starting to get on my nerves. The massage was quick, which didn't matter because he was itching to get to the happy ending before his wife came home. That extra $100 kept weighing on my mind all during the session. But the shit he wanted me to do just wasn't worth it. By the time we reached the end of our hour, I figured there wasn't much else he could bug me about.

Then he said it. "How about a facial?"

Now don't get me wrong - I'm not a total prude. With boyfriends I've done my share of cum play. I'll even lick that shit slowly off my fingers, if the mood strikes me. Under the right circumstances a facial can be erotic, arousing, and if done properly, even a tiny bit humiliating. But at work, it's usually just that - work. A facial means I'll need extra time to wash my hair, and in some cases a stinging red eye.

I was meeting my mother for lunch right after this session, and I knew that the last thing Roger was interested in was letting me shower off at his place when we were done. But he kept pressuring me and I really needed the money.

Of course I needed the money. I always need the money. It's the story of my life and the root of all my problems.

Anyway, we started arguing over the details. I usually control the facial by performing the handjob myself. That way I can direct the cum where I want it, and thus preventing collateral damage to my hair and eyes. But Roger wouldn't budge and insisted on doing it himself. After a while I just got sick of arguing and that's when I uttered the famous line "Go ahead, just don't get it in my eyes."

I knelt in front of him while Roger started jerking his cock. Now have you every really watched a guy jerking off from really up close? It's not a pretty sight. The motion itself is just sort of violent and nasty at the same time. And on top of that he's sweaty from our session, and not in great shape, AND he smells. The look on his face as he's trying to cum is almost scary, so I focus my attention elsewhere.

Behind him on the walls are pictures of his wife and kids. I can see her dresser with a pile of folded shirts on top of it, waiting to be put away. There's a fancy looking clock which I guess is a gift of some kind. A small flat panel TV is perched on a stand facing the bed. They probably watch the Tonight Show on it before they go to bed. I wonder if the kids have TV's in their rooms too. Personally I don't think kids should have TV's in their own rooms since it'll only distract them from their homework.

I feel the semen hitting me on the cheeks, nose, forehead, lips. I squeeze my eyes shut just in time to prevent me from reassuring my mother that I really don't have pink eye. I don't have to look in a mirror to see if there's any in my hair. I just know there is.

Roger grunts a few compliments like "You're so hot" while I'm feeling around for something to wipe my face with. It doesn't matter what he says at this point. I just want my money and to get the fuck outta there. I'm going to be late for mom's now.

So there I was, kneeling naked in front of a married man, in his wife's bedroom with pictures of his family staring at me while cum drips down my face that I starting thinking that if I just fucked him, there would be no mess to clean up and I'd be on time for lunch. That's when I realized I had hit rock bottom.

Rock Bottom

I don't like doing this anymore.

I think that's obvious considering how often I update nowadays. It's not that I don't have the time anymore. In fact, I probably have too much time on my hands. It's just that every time I sit down to write something, I get embarassed or even depressed over anything I have to say.

This started off with my "confessions" over some of the wacky shit that happens to me at The Business. But now that I'm independent, everything has changed. The one thing I considered constant in all that's happened is Me - "CJ." Whatever I had to talk about, it was about my take on all the insanity that was going on around me. I've always considered my stories not so much about me, but about everything else. I was the one thing that remained constant.

But now it feels that all that is out the window. At least when I was working within the walls of The Business, there were rules and I knew what to expect and people knew what to expect of me. Today it feels like there are no rules and I have to constantly adapt to my new situation.

Part of the problem - to be totally honest - is that my clients expect more from me. Outside The Business, they think anything goes. I've had some customers for years who always asked for the exact same thing in session. But when we move things to a new location like a hotel room, they're asking for blowjobs, fingering, going down on me, etc. I mean, it's always been the same me - it's just the room that's changed. What makes you think I'm going to say "yes" now?

Well for starters, there is no Audrey looking over my shoulder. At first I thought it would be a sense of relief to go independent - and it was. But then I realized that guys weren't just following my rules, they were following the rules of The Business. Something about a storefront and a sign that makes guys want to obey the rules.

Then there's the money. I'm making more per client, but my numbers are no where near what I had before. So now I'm, for lack of a better word, desperate. There, I said it. I need the money, and suddenly I'm blaming myself for being "uptight." What's the problem if a customer wants to stick a couple fingers up my pussy. It's just for a few seconds, right? That's the deal. Two fingers. I'll moan a little bit to make him happy, then it'll be over. Car payment made.

THAT is the kind of shit I've been tortured with over the last couple of months. So now do you blame me for not wanting to sit down at the end of a day and share my latest adventure with you? Before, a typical story was a guy wearing women's underwear. Today it's how I spent 45 minutes convincing myself NOT to let a customer go down on me. Or how my last argument ended with the words "Fine. Just don't get any in my eye."

Now it's all about me and I don't like it.