You’re a student studying totally legitimate massage therapy and today you’re going to realize how stupid your career choice is.
“Why am I studying legitimate massage therapy when I could just as easily be studying erotic massage therapy instead?” you’ll say as you knead the small of a man’s back to relieve tension.
“I have no idea,” he’ll say, turning over.
The two of you will look one another in the eye and smile, then shake hands. Then you’ll start jacking him off.
When he comes he’ll shiver with delight, and as he leaves he’ll drop a hundred dollars on the massage table.
“I think you dropped a hundred dollars there, sir,” you’ll say as he leaves.
“I don’t think so,” he’ll reply, winking.
You’ll be sitting around reading romance novels for several hours afterwords before it dawns on you that that man paid you to jack him off. This realization will form the kernel of a business strategy you probably should’ve come up with ages ago that will propel you into financial stability and out of crippling student loans that you had to take out to go to massage therapy school.
Congratulations Massage Therapy Student!
Showing posts with label prostitutes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label prostitutes. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Congratulations on Restraining Yourself!
Prostitutes charge extra after they’ve been with you once. Most of them won’t refuse to see you a second time, so you’re obviously not that bad a john, but they will make you dole out a hefty payment because of the “weird shit” you usually visit upon them. And since you tend to wheel out more and more of your little secrets as you get to know them better, since they’re the only people you can really open up to in the first place, they tend to charge more and more as time goes on.
Eventually, inevitably, their rates rise too high and you must refuse. Then the two of you share an awkward goodbye hug (another exorbanant charge you insist on levying) and go your separate ways.
You’re okay with the rising cost of love in the world. You’re even okay paying for sex. But you just cannot afford to keep going through this cycle with a new sex worker every month. That’s why tonight, when fresh faced young Shelly come by you’ll strap yourself into restraints and tell her you just want her to “go to town” on you.
When she asks what you mean you’ll shrug and tell her to get as bad as she wants. Thinking you’re a John looking for a scare she’ll pull out her entire bag of tricks, an astoundingly filthy selection considering she’s a schoolteacher during the day. You’ll want to ask her for more and more but you’ll stop yourself this time, submitting to someone for the first time since Margaret ruptured your colon.
When she finally finishes, drenched in sweat, the two of you will both be smiling. Shelly will stroke the side of your face and charge you the arranged rate. She’ll release the cuffs and tell you to call her again, shaking her hips as she leaves the room.
You’ll feel hopeful for the first time in months. Not because you’ve found love or a new life for yourself but because you’ve found a sex worker who gets you and enjoys touching you in exchange for money. And really that’s just as good.
Congratulations on Restraining Yourself!
Eventually, inevitably, their rates rise too high and you must refuse. Then the two of you share an awkward goodbye hug (another exorbanant charge you insist on levying) and go your separate ways.
You’re okay with the rising cost of love in the world. You’re even okay paying for sex. But you just cannot afford to keep going through this cycle with a new sex worker every month. That’s why tonight, when fresh faced young Shelly come by you’ll strap yourself into restraints and tell her you just want her to “go to town” on you.
When she asks what you mean you’ll shrug and tell her to get as bad as she wants. Thinking you’re a John looking for a scare she’ll pull out her entire bag of tricks, an astoundingly filthy selection considering she’s a schoolteacher during the day. You’ll want to ask her for more and more but you’ll stop yourself this time, submitting to someone for the first time since Margaret ruptured your colon.
When she finally finishes, drenched in sweat, the two of you will both be smiling. Shelly will stroke the side of your face and charge you the arranged rate. She’ll release the cuffs and tell you to call her again, shaking her hips as she leaves the room.
You’ll feel hopeful for the first time in months. Not because you’ve found love or a new life for yourself but because you’ve found a sex worker who gets you and enjoys touching you in exchange for money. And really that’s just as good.
Congratulations on Restraining Yourself!
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Congratulations Feminism!
You’re a Born Again Pastor with a mean streak a mile wide, a strong misogynistic opinions and a taste for whores. Cheryl is a woman’s rights activist from San Diego with a chip on her shoulder, a pretty face, and a steel-trap mind.
The two of you will meet in a hotel bar just a few miles from the Tucson airport. You’ll be on a lecture tour throughout what you call the “Real United States™” and she’ll have known you were coming.
She’ll have been waiting for a full day after she bribed your personal assistant to find out where you were staying, establishing herself as a lady of the evening in transit to parts unknown, just trying to scare up a little cash. She’ll have staged a man-friend of hers coming to visit and soliciting her for sex to make them think she was taking Johns (he’s actually just a fuck buddy) so that when you take her up to your room none of your entourage will think anything of it.
And you will take her up to your room. She’ll be the single most entrancing woman you’ve ever met, far more interesting than the sullen, slow-witted whore that you married. And what’s more she’ll be elusive, despite her price tag. Her mind, her identity, will evade you at every turn. She’ll talk like a prostitute and pontificate like a Berkley scholar in equal measure.
Perhaps part of her charm will come from your relative exhaustion. You’ll have just finished up a long, ranting tirade on why women, blacks, Jews, and gays are destroying the economy through the displeasure they visit upon Jesus Christ, our lord and savior, praise him, Amen, and it will have taken a lot out of you. It’ll be the speech’s premiere, and you give your all when you roll out a new speech.
And you knocked this one out of the park. There wasn’t a person within a mile of you who didn’t feel a mind searing rage before you were done, either against you or the fictional people you screamed about, and that’s what you love.
Cheryl won’t have known it was your first night giving a new, more hateful speech a try, but it’ll make the whole thing that much more worthwhile. Cheryl will begin her night by videotaping the two of you having brief, awkward sex (the best kind, am I right?! Seriously, though, take a class). Then she’ll give you some drugged whiskey which, as a misogynist, you’ll have requested and you’ll be out like a light.
This will give her the time and access she needs to arrange for your suicide. She’ll forge a scribbled note in a perfect re-creation of your writing and then insert a lethal dose of heroin into your body. It won’t be pretty.
When the sun rises you’ll be dead in a hotel bed, the shades still drawn, housekeeping waiting patiently to enter the room and remove the sheets to wash the mottled sex off of them. They’ll be waiting there until two in the afternoon and Cheryl, whose name is actually Sarah, will be long gone. Before the day’s end, so will your reputation and all the work you’ve done in the name of intolerance. Your followers will attribute your death to the devil’s presence in your new hate speech. Your opponents will see it as just deserts and the product of repressed desires under a thin veneer of morality. But they’ll both be a little sad.
They’ve both lost a man who made their lives simpler and gave them a symbol to rally around. Now if they want to engage in water-cooler conversation they’ll have to try their hand at rational discussion, something most people who watch you are incapable of.
So there’s only one true winner here: the rights of women everywhere. Congratulations feminism!
The two of you will meet in a hotel bar just a few miles from the Tucson airport. You’ll be on a lecture tour throughout what you call the “Real United States™” and she’ll have known you were coming.
She’ll have been waiting for a full day after she bribed your personal assistant to find out where you were staying, establishing herself as a lady of the evening in transit to parts unknown, just trying to scare up a little cash. She’ll have staged a man-friend of hers coming to visit and soliciting her for sex to make them think she was taking Johns (he’s actually just a fuck buddy) so that when you take her up to your room none of your entourage will think anything of it.
And you will take her up to your room. She’ll be the single most entrancing woman you’ve ever met, far more interesting than the sullen, slow-witted whore that you married. And what’s more she’ll be elusive, despite her price tag. Her mind, her identity, will evade you at every turn. She’ll talk like a prostitute and pontificate like a Berkley scholar in equal measure.
Perhaps part of her charm will come from your relative exhaustion. You’ll have just finished up a long, ranting tirade on why women, blacks, Jews, and gays are destroying the economy through the displeasure they visit upon Jesus Christ, our lord and savior, praise him, Amen, and it will have taken a lot out of you. It’ll be the speech’s premiere, and you give your all when you roll out a new speech.
And you knocked this one out of the park. There wasn’t a person within a mile of you who didn’t feel a mind searing rage before you were done, either against you or the fictional people you screamed about, and that’s what you love.
Cheryl won’t have known it was your first night giving a new, more hateful speech a try, but it’ll make the whole thing that much more worthwhile. Cheryl will begin her night by videotaping the two of you having brief, awkward sex (the best kind, am I right?! Seriously, though, take a class). Then she’ll give you some drugged whiskey which, as a misogynist, you’ll have requested and you’ll be out like a light.
This will give her the time and access she needs to arrange for your suicide. She’ll forge a scribbled note in a perfect re-creation of your writing and then insert a lethal dose of heroin into your body. It won’t be pretty.
When the sun rises you’ll be dead in a hotel bed, the shades still drawn, housekeeping waiting patiently to enter the room and remove the sheets to wash the mottled sex off of them. They’ll be waiting there until two in the afternoon and Cheryl, whose name is actually Sarah, will be long gone. Before the day’s end, so will your reputation and all the work you’ve done in the name of intolerance. Your followers will attribute your death to the devil’s presence in your new hate speech. Your opponents will see it as just deserts and the product of repressed desires under a thin veneer of morality. But they’ll both be a little sad.
They’ve both lost a man who made their lives simpler and gave them a symbol to rally around. Now if they want to engage in water-cooler conversation they’ll have to try their hand at rational discussion, something most people who watch you are incapable of.
So there’s only one true winner here: the rights of women everywhere. Congratulations feminism!
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