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Art of Erotic Massage

The lucrative career of giving erotic massages may not always have a happy ending.

By Filthy StaffPublished 8 years ago 16 min read
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The manager of a massage parlor called a number left with his answering service in response to an ad for masseuses he had placed in several college and underground newspapers. His call was greeted by a mature and enthusiastic voice: "Hello!"—it was a recording—"This is Tracy McNeal, the girl you've been looking for! And I have a new toy, it's a telephone recorder. Won't you help me play with my new toy? It's easy, all you have to do is leave your message, name, and number after you hear the beep, and we'll be speaking soon! Bye!"

He did her bidding: "Hello! I have a new toy, too, and it doubles as my livelihood; It's a massage parlor. If you'd like to make it your livelihood, well then come by between noon and six tomorrow."

The owner couldn't believe his eyes when Tracy sauntered in the next day. She was not, as promised, the girl he'd been looking for. She was a woman, apparently in her mid thirties, with carefully coiffured carrot-red hair and dressed in a tasteful expensive business suit—at least 10 years out of style. The owner led her through a vestibule illuminated by a blue Tiffany lamp into a private room. Tracy stopped beneath the fixture and commented, "I like your lighting arrangement, it's ah...very effective." Once inside the room, she set about explaining her presence in a fortissimo monologue punctuated with anxious sighs. She explained that she was an instructor at a local college where she taught English literature, but she'd been moonlighting as a hooker for nine years. She had a "tight little book" of clients, "men of taste and means," some of whom had been her regular clients for a number of years. The manager, though he felt that Tracy was too old for the massage scene—a scene dominated by pretty girls in their early twenties—was nevertheless fascinated by this unlikely looking potential employee.

He asked her why she had taken up the calling. "Come on honey—I grew tired of giving it away," she said. Still unbelieving and somewhat curious, he asked to see her body. "Sure," she said in a good-natured, cheerful manner, springing up and starting to undress. "As long as you don't want a freebie." He noticed that her underwear matched her outer dress—full slip, garter belt, nylons, a bra, and panties that reached up to her navel. She undressed rapidly and did a model's pirouette, displaying a body that supported his estimate of her age, then immediately started dressing while elaborating on her story. "Up until recently I've done quite well, actually, but lately some of my regular once-a-weekers have been showing up once a month instead, and when I ask them why, they finally admit 'I've been going to a mass-age par-lor' " she mimicked. "I've spoken with some other girls—friends of mine who also do this on the side—and they're having the same problem. We're losing out to these places, so-o-o, I've decided that if you can't beat 'em, join 'em." The manager told her what she might expect to earn as a masseuse. She wasn't impressed, "Oh… that's somewhat disappointing; but I'll tell you what, I'll think it over and call you in several days to let you know what I've decided." He did not hear from her again.

"Massage" has come out of the closet in a big way and massage parlors now span the continent. In years past (and indeed today) a commercial massage was available in gyms, hotel "health spas," and through licensed practitioners in private practice—all heavy on therapy and light on sensuality. It was occasionally possible to locate a masseuse who offered a more "relaxing" massage, but it would have to be accomplished through word of mouth, or on a hit-or-miss basis through the discreetly worded ads in the local Yellow Pages. Today, ads in phone directories, entertainment guides in hotels, or just a general cruise through the downtown district of most cities, will supply an assortment of massage parlors—whose sole reason for existence is sexual.

A bikini-clad hostess-masseuse greets the prospective customers in a suburban Washington, D.C., parlor with the challenge, "Would you like an hour topless for $60?"—asked as if it were the question of the Western World. If the customer finds that price too steep, he may have a half-hour with a fully bikinied masseuse for $30, or any one of a half-dozen other alternatives, all of which include his being masturbated by the masseuse as the finale. In a certain notoriously tight-assed Canadian city, it's possible, after obtaining an appointment by phone, to be welcomed in a well-appointed, modern downtown "studio," where you will be given a room with a private bath, handed several towels and, if desired, directed to the sauna. In any case, you signal your readiness for the massage by pressing a buzzer in your room, and several minutes later, one of several cordial, young, and attractive masseuses will appear to massage and masturbate you—all for only $10.

via Inside Weddings

A Lesson in Massage Formats

One masseuse for half an hour is the basic unit of sale at most studios. Additional time and "operators" cost proportionately more. There are three formats under which most studios operate:

  • First, and far and away the most prevalent, are the massage and masturbation only parlors, with the masseuse either topless or bikini-clad. Tipping is optional, as all services are included in the price of the session.
  • Second, there are the places where anything goes—from just good old-fashioned fornication to disciplinary enemas. Tipping is necessary in these parlors, for the price of a session includes only a massage; All extras must be negotiated with the ''masseuse." Operations of this type are confined to the larger, more "liberal" cities; they are in effect bordellos. In fact, in some of these places, a request for a massage will be met with annoyance or even disbelief on the part of the "masseuse."
  • Lastly, there are the straight salons. Ostensibly, no sex is available here, as many a frustrated man will verify. Men are lured in by provocative ads and encouraged by the sight of attractive masseuses in bikinis or leotards, only to discover that the menu includes only titillation without relief. These studios are luxurious affairs, generally occupying space in town houses or large hotels. They survive by catering to the type of affluent man who derives a form of ego gratification from being pampered—if not actually petted—in surroundings that echo his own sense of self-importance.

Men, Massage, and Masturbation

Why should a man interested in sexual relief subject himself to an unnecessary massage and then be limited to asexual repertoire usually offering masturbation only? First of all, the gentle touch of female hands moving from erogenous zone to erogenous zone is both relaxing in itself and a stimulating form of foreplay—albeit one-sided. For many men, masturbatory sex satisfies both exhibitionistic and sexual-identity needs. To expose your genitals to the inspection and fondling ministrations of a sex object is an exciting proposition. Your genitals are the center of attention, from flaccidity through tumescence to ejaculation. Many men prefer being masturbated. Masters and Johnson have discovered that the most physically intense orgasm for the male is achieved by masturbation, followed by fellatio and the "total fulfillment" of intercourse. Finally, parlor patrons have found that the women working at massage parlors are usually more attractive, physically and spiritually, than those available through other forms of commercial sex. Intelligent, sensitive, and often extremely beautiful women are willing to work at the diluted prostitution offered in massage parlors—women without a hardened professionalism in their attitudes. This tendency toward the "girl next door" syndrome makes it possible for many men to imagine themselves acting within a natural liaison (if only for the duration of the session), a feeling that helps play down the cold reality of the transaction.

via Phwaker

Meet Margo

The massage-parlor manager was champing at the bit. In a few minutes, the studio's first prospective masseuse would arrive for her interview. Her name was Margo, and she had explained over the phone that she was a ballet student, estranged from her parents and in desperate need of money. The manager gave a silent groan at the sight of Margo, who looked like a dream—not a day over nineteen. She was petite, with long brown hair that reached halfway down her back. She wore glasses across her young and pretty face, and when she spoke her voice suited her, as he had imagined over the phone. Margo was the sort of girl who worked in the library in the ninth grade.

He led her into a private room, and after ascertaining her age, reread the speech he had given over the phone, explaining that the work at this studio involved masturbating and performing fellatio on men, as well as giving them a rub dub. She listened quietly, occasionally giving a reassuring nod or looking a bit impatient. He told her to undress. She sprang up, and in a flash of flying fingers was nude. She stood in front of him with arms outstretched, as if to say "Here it is!"

Her beautiful body complemented her face—small budding breasts, a well-rounded muscular ass, and a perfectly symmetrical pubic triangle. The manager observed that he was more anxious than Margo—partially because this was the first time he had tried this casting-couch ritual, partially in anticipation. He undressed and stretched out prone on the massage table; While trying to sound as authoritative and knowledgeable as possible, he coached Margo in massage:

"Now Margo, it's important that you give the customer a feeling you're enthusiastic about what you're doing. It doesn't matter if you have to fake it, just rub energetically as if you know what you're doing and like it. Alternate between a vigorous touch and one that just grazes your fingertips over the skin… Now run your fingertips along the inside of my thighs, and as you do that you can run your fingers across the balls, as if it were accidental, Oh!... That's it!" Margo responded to all of his instructions with terse affirmatives. She was a matter-of-fact person, detached throughout the interview.

The manager rolled over, displaying a rigid erection, which Margo scrutinized with an objective eye—as one might eye a porterhouse at the local supermarket. He continued, "Okay, Margo, if the guy doesn't proposition you after about 15 minutes, just roll him over and begin the same treatment on his front. It doesn't matter if he might have a hard-on as I do, just start massaging his shoulders and work your way down—avoiding his dick." Several minutes later, at the limit of his endurance, he told her that it was time for some "head."

"Head?" She asked.

"Well, yeah," he said, "I told you that the job involved hand-jobs and blow-jobs."

"Oo-o-h A blow-job!" And quick as a wink she engulfed his phallus in her mouth and began to suck him with inexperienced, short movements.

Equal Opportunity Employer

Masseuses were recruited multifariously, often through ads in the college and underground press or, in large cities, theatrical trade papers. Sometimes an employment agency would refer girls who are attractive and amenable to the idea and who lack conventional employment skills. Girls also found their way in amazing numbers into massage parlors through curiosity and word of mouth. Massage parlors offered their employees the opportunity to earn considerable money for simple acts of detached sex in an atmosphere of relative dignity and security. The masseuse was insulated by the "communal spirit" that prevailed at most studios, and usually there was a male manager present to handle unruly types. Moreover, there was the knowledge that a masseuse's function was at least quasi-legal.

All this aside, the primary reason that most girls took up the calling is rather obvious—money. Depending on various factors, a masseuse could expect to earn anywhere from $1,100 and upwards a week, and the only real qualification is attractiveness. It's a tempting proposition, and most women became masseuses because it was the easiest and quickest way to make good money. However, there were other, more subtle, considerations. Many a masseuse has told me that she'd always harbored prostitution fantasies but would never have dreamed of becoming an out-and-out hooker. For such a girl, the modest sex and security of a massage parlor offer an acceptable compromise. Then, too, many women found that masturbating and blowing men for money served as a form of revenge for the cat calls, propositions, and other indignities they suffered daily at the hands of street corner virility cripples. There was a sense of detached power and control that comes from taking a man in a state of frothing, aggressive lust and masturbating him through a climax into jelly-like submission. Other girls found ego satisfaction in the simple knowledge that men will pay them for sex.

Women working at massage parlors ranged from the unlikely to the conventional. Jessica, for instance, was a college student, nineteen years old and out on a lark. She was refined, extremely intelligent, and from an upper-middle-class family, capable and willing to satisfy her every material whim. However, she wanted to "earn my own money"—and satisfy her prostitution fantasies at the same time. Sienna was at once young, beautiful, intelligent, and soulful. If a man were to pass Sienna in the street or meet her at a party, he would never suspect that he could pay for her favors. Indeed, her tenure as a masseuse was short-lived; In less than a month she earned enough money to pursue her acting career for a year.

via AMTA

Mental Massage Desires

People are conditioned to satisfy their sexual drives as neatly and privately as possible, as if sex were less natural than eating or sleeping. Consequently, the average male's demeanor while buying a massage session is a combination of shame and trepidation. If the massage parlor is presided over by a male manager, the customer may feel defensive and show hostility toward this threatening male; or perhaps he may identify with the manager in reaction to the "power" of these women who have what he needs. He will sidle up to the manager and whisper the usual questions like a conspirator. Or perhaps he will attempt a crack aimed at the masseuses—one of whom he'll soon pay for the privilege of her touch. Spent after a "session," he will beat a hasty, abashed retreat. To a casual observer, it might seem that such a man will never return, but in a week's time he's back again—in a state of exigent lust.

For some men there is an ego stigma involved in "paying for it." Paying for sex reflects upon their masculinity and, by extension, connotes failure. Because this ego-stop is so great, some of them will not use prostitution at all. They cannot accept the notion that sex with a paid partner is healthier than masturbation. They intellectualize that there is more dignity and humanity in masturbation.

Then there is the man who visits a massage parlor for sheer relief from monogamy. He doesn't need or want an affair—or any sort of emotional entanglement outside his marriage—yet he cannot be monogamous. What results is a disproportionate amount of guilt caused by this "cheating" on his wife—as if his interludes at the parlor had any real meaning. His type of preoccupation with discretion borders on the irrational. He constantly seeks reassurance and has nightmares in which he is caught up in a police raid and carted off to the local jail in his tighty whiteys. The foregoing is not to say that all men in the massage situation suffer from any or all of the above. Many are well adjusted and fully understand their sexual "rights." They become regulars at a massage parlor and assume a natural stance while there. They may establish relationships with the personnel that go beyond the payer-payee syndrome, perhaps investing 10 or 15 minutes in amiable chatter both before and after the session. It's a pleasure to observe these men. However, for the majority, some degree of guilt probably exists, and in my opinion this is senseless.

A Different Kind of Massage Therapy

A masseuse often finds herself playing the role of a mother surrogate or an analyst. She is the man's confidante. For half the price of a session with a trained psychiatrist, a masseuse will service a man's id and his libido—and then toss a massage into the bargain. Men consult their masseuses on business decisions, problems with their children, identity crises, deep-rooted doubts and fears. Relationships of trust are formed and the results are often the same as though the "therapy" were taking place on a leather couch instead of a massage table.

The loyalty is often astonishing. Within the period of a few weeks, a man might make five visits to a studio in search of his girl, only to miss her each time; yet he will accept no substitute. The rate of transience is high for some girls—they move from parlor to parlor, bringing with them a few "regulars." Some men will plant themselves in a studio for hours, patiently awaiting the arrival of the chosen one; others will breakdown and weep at the news that their special masseuse has disappeared.

This loyalty and trust is inspired by the exceptional women who work at massage—and there are plenty of them. Dana, for example, is an exceptional masseuse for several reasons. She is thirty years old—ancient by massage-parlor standards—and she's not physically fit, a fact that she tries to conceal beneath flaring dresses and ballooning maternity fashions. Her face, though both intelligent and pretty, looks older than her age, for she has experienced a lot in life. By conventional standards, Dana is the least physically attractive masseuse among the offerings at the studio; nevertheless, she does well in the competition.

The reason for Dana's popularity lies in her aura; She has an ethereal, calming presence. To her sister masseuses, she is a den mother, an arbitrator and a catalyst. Toward many of them she assumes a protective, maternal role. At the same time, she is an expert conversationalist—witty, urbane, and sophisticated (she has a B.S. degree in sociology). For her customers she exudes a warmth and charm that is just what many of them both want and need. Her smile seems to say, "You can rest your weary head right here on me, so come take one of my breasts into your mouth; It's going to be all right." Many of her regulars come to her distraught, enervated, and neurotic; They leave looking dreamy and calm.

Ultimately, massage parlors that had happy endings filled a need for some clients. However, they didn’t always have happy endings when it came to the law. To many, a massage parlor has become synonymous with a brothel. These massage parlors are advertised on Craigslist, using innuendos and a discreet language that will help the business obtain clients, as well as employees.

Explore the art of erotic massage in your own home with the radiant glow of LELO’s Flickering Touch Massage Candle. Made from all natural soy wax, shea butter, and apricot kernel oil, the wax melts into a warm and luxurious massage oil. Not only is this formula perfect for arousing you and your partner, it is also specially designed to nourish and moisturize your skin with natural vitamin E.

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About the Creator

Filthy Staff

A group of inappropriate, unconventional & disruptive professionals. Some are women, some are men, some are straight, some are gay. All are Filthy.

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