Massage

Boy, am I craving a happy ending. From you….

I’ve had more massages than most humans – and more “massages,” too. The other day, I found myself wondering why a full-body massage leaves out the most interesting inches.

You thought I was talking about oral sex? No — I’m talking about how it feels to have a hot woman shampoo your hair.

The massage parlor offers certainty. The bar offers something better, but almost certainly not.

In my moments of greatest pain, what I want isn’t sex — it’s sex I’m paying for. What the fuck is that about?

I’m a skeptic of almost every bodywork modality, but Georgia’s hands were persuasive.

A granular deconstruction of the ritual of visiting massage parlors — from the craving, to the wave of inevitability, to the Blackberry full of taxonomies.

This is the story of my second first paid blowjob. It began with a massage, and she wanted my cock in her mouth…

The elaborate fictions I constructed to make sense of behavior that made no sense — brave explorer and pathetic loser, coexisting without reconciliation.

Too much is never enough?