Tango magazine has a story this week about "happy ending" massages for women -- just in case you thought men (and "Sex and the City" characters) were the only ones having all the icky, anonymous sex along with their Enya and incense.
Says one veteran: "Initially [the masseur] kept it very clean, but I was really turned on, and I let him know it by moaning and saying how good it felt. He started slowly touching my thigh, then going higher, and it turned into a game of how far each of us would take it. One thing led to another and he ended up finishing me off, which was great."
Did it just get really Penthouse forum in here or what? Tango even sends one eager beaver into the field to report on the trend. She shoots, and she scores: "I considered giving him a blow job, but then I was like, 'I'm paying for this!'" Yah! And massages aren't cheap! (Sheesh, last time I checked, a pocket rocket cost $13. Seems like the more affordable option, no?)
Normally I really don't care where people get their zipless fucks, as long as they're not impinging on anyone else, but something about this skeevs me out. I guess it's because I've had friends over the years return from massages semi-traumatized that their massage therapist was getting a little too intimate. So I hate to be a buzzkill, but listening to women say things like, "My nipples got erect, so that must have sent him a signal," is kind of horrifying. I mean, sheesh, it can get drafty in there!
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