I should understand that nothing good can come from craisglist. Well nothing good from the massage adds, but on one cold night, well the curiosity got the best of me. I’ve recently come to enjoy Spa’s, lava stone treatments, Shiatsu, pedicures and manicures, most relaxing. Yet all these services seem to be administered by petite Asian women.
So in a very Samantha (Sex in the City) moment, I wander to craigslist; thinking of the possibilities of finding. Buff blond men rubbing down my back with their strong firm fingers.
I’m careful to avoid the dozen or more blatant escort ads. Then the massage ads; masseurs mentioning “they have their own table that can hold two”; all the obvious posts with masseurs exposing and glorifying their member – all these are out. I’m looking for an honest to goodness, Spa. Finally I find an post advertising a Chelsea location with personal massage therapists; they emphasize Acupressure, Shiatsu, and a full service nude massage. Being naive, thinking that well all this was blatant, all massages are naked. I send them an email, stating, "I want a massage, not a hook up".
They respond with a phone number, which I call, the cute gay voice on the other end emphasizes their Chelsea location and that each guest is assigned a personal massage therapist. I ask for their list of services, they assure me that it’ll be discussed upon arrival with my individual massage therapist. At this point my interest is peeked. I’m curious.
On the train over, I make a pact with myself, if the place is seedy, I’m not going in. Well it looks like a lotion and bath product shop. The place is right next to a police precinct actually.
I enter.
All is good; my personal massage therapist is a strapping young black man. He’s quite personable. He asks me to disrobe. This is done with him away from the room. I’m naked face down on the massage table. He immediately goes for erogenous zones. I startle but don’t complain. Within fifteen minutes, I’m thinking, this is quite a bad massage. Then he says it - he casually mentions, “He works for tips”, that he could massage me in the buff. I’m a bit taken a back, quickly everything clicks into place, I try not to scream at the top of my lungs. “Oh my god, I’m in a brothel. Where are the frilly lounge lamps?” Then I’m immediately entertained, I keep my cool. I start being very interested in my massage therapist, I ask, why he does what he does. “Raising money for my own Spa.” He also assures me that he’s “straight” but on the DL. He’s apparently never been intimate with a guy, all though I’m trying to keep out of my mind how many gentleman he goes down on, on a daily basis.
It’s quite endearing actually, he’s happy that someone is taking an interest in him for a change. I’m actually quite fascinated, he tells me stories about very awkward guests, I’m quite intrigued; considering the next play I want to write is, about a high end brothel. All in all I have fun. I’m going to spare you the juicy details, let’s just say, I’ve never had fun with a rent boy before, or plan on doing it again, well maybe; maybe if a friend wants to come with me, as some have expressed interest. Each in our own rooms, me more interested in interrogating the “therapist” then actually getting “work” done.
At the end of it all, when he mentioned the “tip” I was forthright, having only forty dollars in my pocket, I told him far in advance, that I had not prepared for such “tipping” needs, I thought a standard twenty percent would be fine. Well I’m happy for this outright odd experience. Yet I must admit, this underbelly of gay culture has always fascinated me.
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