Monday, November 26, 2007

Erotic Massage

If you're like me, an "erotic massage" usually constitutes scuttling into a tawdry dump, paying Mama-san a hundred bucks and getting a a quick "happy ending" from some broad that charged you an extra twenty to take off her top - revealing a pair of boobs that look like cucumbers or maybe saddle bags - and who keeps looking at her watch and asking if you're close yet. Did I mention she's snapping her gum the whole while and wearing something "sexy" that even Frederick's Of Hollywood wouldn't sell?

But when women want an erotic massage, you're in for a real horror show: scented candles, bubble baths and white wine. Now, if you're somebody who doesn't mind this beeswax you're probably massaging some a wasp-waisted figure skater named Raul. But for the majority of guys this can be a situation to be avoided at all costs. You could wind up in a black satin thong rubbing down the old lady or facing the consequences. It's a feeling a Christian Scientist with appendicitis know only too well.

We've all been there. You're watching the game, knocking back a cold one or minding your own business smoking a bowl in the basement so the kids won't find out and raid your stash, then BOOM! She springs out at you in a red see-through number (that you don't particularly want to see through) and smelling like she spent your next week's weed money at Bath And Body Works.

Short of ripping your shoulder out of the socket discreetly while she's lighting the scented candles - the ones that cost ten buck and have fruity names like "English Rose" "Midnight Passion" or Almond Berry" - you're probably sunk.

In that case, do your best to get it over with quickly. Rub some of the lesser-repulsive parts - feet are always a good bet unless she has six toes like my fourth wife - and get down to business. Don't forget to make those ugly faces like porno actors do to show there really into it. Try saying some stuff, too. I've always had good luck with things like, "Oh yeah, Baby, I'm gonna tear this UP!" and "They call me MISTER Tibbs".

With any luck she'll go for it. If you do alright she may even make you a ham sandwich later, but generally only if you sold your soul to Satan and actually given her an all-over massage, you traitor.

The old slap and tickle is your best bet and beside, you've probably been doing it for 20 years anyhow, so the shock has worn off. Chances she'll be basking in the rosy afterglow and you can stage an escape before she wants to cuddle.

1 comment:

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