Disclaimer: So after posting this I’ve had some mixed reviews, and I was told that some of them were because people aren’t sure if it’s a real story or not. To clear this up I am adding this disclaimer to the post. It’s a fictional story. Of course in all fiction there are personal experiences and conversations drawn upon in order to be accurate and realistic, but the story itself is completely made up.
“Take off crothes,” she says, in her crazy asian english.
“All of them?”
She nods. I slip off my shirt and drop my pants and boxers in one quick move. I’m not shy, and she made no effort to give me any privacy. Not sure why hotel rooms are always freezing. I stand there only slightly awkwardly for a moment as she gives me a quick scan, and grabs a few of the hotel towels and lays them on top of the bed’s comforter.
Today I was at the mall and while standing in a bathroom taking a leak at a urinal a woman with a mop, mops around me with absolutely no hesitation. Who knows what’s normal to people of different cultures? I never do. I figure I’m like most people who travel and I attempt to pretend like I’m a cultured American, and that I am used to all of the foreign cultural abnormalities. Most places outside the states are a lot more comfortable with nudity. The point is getting naked for a massage in front of the masseuse doesn’t seem outside the scope of possible norms.
I lay down on top of the towels face down and the massage part begins fairly normally. Well my ass is completely exposed, which isn’t normal, but the massage part is consistent with my experiences. She moves to a position just above my head, and and slides her hands along either side of my spine from my neck down to just above my ass crack. About ten minutes worth of back work, and she moves to my side and the most thorough ass massage of my life begins. It’s pretty similar to my ass massage methods whenever a girl asks me to give her a massage. I grab a huge handful of ass and start kneading and spreading like I’m working stubborn dough. Usually using my thumbs to see how close I can get to her asshole or pussy before a protest. I didn’t realize how good that felt. I give really great ass massages. I do realize that this is fairly abnormal for a massage. The back is always the majority of a legitimate massage. In the states it’s all about the back. I even find myself getting anxious wondering if I even paid for a full body massage with the amount of time spent working on my damn back.
One of her hands starts moving across my ass to between my legs from behind. Also one of my moves. That feels pretty good too. I don’t know what girls are always bitching about. That feels a lot better than just an ass massage. A few purposeful incidental contacts with my balls and she boldly runs her hand underneath me and strokes my manhood. AWESOME! She’s not about to get any objections from me. I bet nothing feels better than a penis massage from a masseuse. Well maybe a hand job from a chick drummer. You gotta figure a drummer has great rhythm, and a good strong grip. I mentally add that to the “women-to-do list.”
So a hand job while laying on your penis is pretty much retarded. You have to kind of lift up your ass so the girl can run her hand up underneath you. There really isn’t any way to adjust and be comfortable with an engorged penis and a cramping lower back from trying to maintain your ass lift. I flip onto my back and she gets on the bed and sits between my legs. Sitting on her feet, she leans over and after a few pre-cum producing strokes, she puts my throbbing organ into her mouth and starts the beautiful head bobbing motion of a blow job. I lean back and enjoy the front row seat. I am starting to develop a fetish for the tops of women’s head’s bobbing up and down. Maybe that’s not really a fetish. That’s more of a Pavlovian response. I see the top of a chick’s head bobbing up and down and I’m hard.
After thoroughly lubricating me with her mouth, she looks up, goes back to stroking me and says, “how much?” NOT AWESOME! Timing is everything in a negotiation, and the advantage definitely goes to the person that literally has me by the balls, with my naked erect penis inches from her mouth.
You might think, what’s a good price is the first thing to go through your mind, but it isn’t. The first thing I think is what kind of loser pays for a blow job. The kind that doesn’t want to rape this girl’s mouth for stopping mid BJ. Maybe this is how God intended it. Most of my relationships with women probably would have been better if I just gave them some money for a good ass massage blow job and then sent them on their way. Love is paying to put your penis in the warm wet mouth of an asian masseuse. I’m convinced that true love is lodged behind one of her tonsils. If only I can get my penis back in her mouth to check. I know you wouldn’t think to find it there, but at thirty I haven’t been successful finding it anywhere else, it sure did feel like I was falling in love with her. Now that that’s settled I realize having never paid for a blow job, I’m not really sure what a good price is or how the negotiations even work. Probably the same as a couple of drinks from the bar. I mean I think that’s been the historical price I’ve had to pay.
“How much?” is what I decided to go with. I don’t want to think any more about math than I have to. After all she’s the one with all the experience anyway being the only blow job vendor in the room.
“150 Sing.”
That’s like one-hundred bucks. As she waits for for my response she idly continues stroking my junk. One-hundred dollars is a little more than I was planning on paying. That’s like ten drinks at a nice Vegas Club. My negotiating skills at this point are pretty much limited to head nods and random faces. So I do all I can to muster a good counter offer, and I shoot back with a look of disgust. Mostly the disgust is at myself since I know at this point I’m paying $100 for a blow job, but it’s all I can muster given the circumstance and the incessant pleasure brought forth by her nimble fingers.
Instead of dropping the price she gives me another quick suckle and looks back at me. Aaannnd she wins. Defeated I muster an “Okay”. Her head drops back down and I start to enjoy my 100 dollar blow job. Nothing too eventful just the constant repetitive, wet, in and out. Not that I’m trying to make that sound bad. Pretty much as long as there aren’t any teeth involved in the blow job, it’s pretty good.
After a few minutes of quality head bobbing, I start to think of how stupid it would be if head butting a person in the pelvis was an accepted self-defense move.
She sits up and pulls a condom out of her pocket. I hate condoms, but at least she’s kind of clean, and doesn’t want my little Michael Phelps‘ violating various cells in her mouth. She puts the condom on, correctly, and then hops up and begins to take her clothes off. Maybe I’m getting more than a blow job. I am immediately excited about my negotiating skills, mindlessly repeating my disgusted face. She looks at me questioningly, and I just smile dumbly. 100 dollars for a wet warm vagina is a much better deal than a mouth. The bra comes off and my hands immediately begin groping her breasts like a psychotic bread maker.
She straddles me and squats down sliding me inside her. I’m a big fan of cowgirls. I don’t know any cowgirls, but based on their sexual position I think I’m a big fan of them.
Something about paying for it really takes the passion out of it. I’m not here to make sure she has a good time, I’m here to make sure I have a good time. And I’m thinking I need to have one-hundred dollars worth of a good time. I’m not totally sure how to determine value in this situation. I mean I’m technically only leasing pussy for the amount of time that I need to cum, so longer is probably a better deal.
She bounces on me for a while like I’m one of those bouncy hop balls we had as kids, except she uses my chest hair as the handle. I make a mental note that my daughter will never own one of those hop balls and as I carry that thought out, neither will my son. Fucking pervert toy makers.
She pulls me over and on top of her, so now I’m fucking her like a missionary. I definitely like cowgirls better than missionaries. There’s a lot of moaning and heavy breathing which is really encouraging and makes me less upset about doing some of the work towards reaching the climactic goal. I think I’m doing a good job. I like doing a good job at fucking. It’s just one of those things that I think most guys want to be good at. Time to hump her like a dog. I’m glad human sex has lots of options.
I pull her up and move her to all fours, and somehow she instantaneously transforms from a cute asian masseuse, into a diseased hooker. As I look down at my dick, I realize the creamy center of this infested hooker is creating quite the juicy condom. I don’t want any of her biohazard to actually touch my skin. Condoms should somehow create a barrier from taint to bellybutton so I might have continued enjoying this. Now that I am immediately filled with paranoia over catching something, I’m less interested in fucking altogether. I don’t know why the sudden change, but I think it’s the less personal dog fucking position, but she is no longer safe. I start making shorter strokes so I don’t go too far inside of her, and avoid the creamy line from moving further down the condom and closer to uncovered skin. I start thinking about how I ended up here, but my hard penis keeps interrupting me with thoughts of cumming. At this point my goal getting off without catching anything. It’s good to have goals. Subjecting myself to this biochemical attack seems really stupid, especially given the organ I have thrown into the trenches, taking bombs. It’s time to pull out of her, and figure out a way to doff this condom. I decide if she pulls it off, my hands will remain clean, which should significantly reduce the risk of spreading contamination. Seriously, how am I here right now? She pulls the condom off, and I rigorously go to work on myself. I have mad skills like a drummer chick and it doesn’t take but a few key strokes the way that I know that I like, and I unload. With cockroach like quickness I escape her reach, and head to the sink and proceed to scrubbing the shit out of my dick with a brand new bar of hotel soap. She jumps into the shower. Help yourself, shit! Paying for sex is just stupid, but throwing in a shower too!
The shower turns off and she hops out and ruins a perfectly good towel, drying off.
“More massage?”
“No, thank you.”
It’s time for me, and more specifically you, to go. I mentally take notes of everything she is contaminating with her hands. 150 sing later and I open the door before she can touch it, and step aside to let her out of the room. The door shuts and a wave of relief hits me. I tip toe with a ballerina’s grace around the diseased sheets and towels now on the floor, and jump into the shower for a more thorough decontamination effort.
20 minutes of thorough cleansing, and I still don’t feel disinfected. Mostly because I feel like I just put toxic waste in here, and now I’m trying to get clean amongst it. I get out of the shower, and realize the hooker used my last towel, so I have to air dry at arctic temperatures. I hear you God!
I grab my bathing suit and head to the pool. Surely the chlorine will kill whatever I haven’t yet scrubbed off, or drown whatever tiny creatures may be lurking in the bush. A shiver of disgust at grossing myself out, and I head out the door.
It’s a short trip down a couple floors, and out to the pool. I take no time looking for a chair, any will do. The main reason for getting here is to begin my detox. I take off my T-shirt, and hop into the water, where I almost immediately go into shock from hypothermia. Of course, it’s probably as good as hot water for killing any kind of nasty shit I just collected with my body. After all any of the stuff would have been growing in the warm petri-dish of her vagina. My penis has almost completely backed itself completely into my body at this point, only the sensitive head is really protruding from my body. Good, you should go and hide. Stupid penis!
. The Battle for Terra movie is pretty much a movie that hates people, although claims that there are at least a handful of us that aren’t completely whack. And Living the GI diet, since I am sort of making fun of my parents having caged birds, which quite honestly I am envious of, have both lost over 20+ pounds and have kept it off using that diet, so I didn’t want you to picture this sloth like, morbidly obese couple eating bacon, and popcorn watching the caged birds. 
