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Masseur gets a happy ending

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Usually his clients are completely anonymous, screened only by a phone call, but we had already met in person and talked for an hour.

Plus, I internet stalked him. I felt like I knew and trusted him. We sat down on his leather sofa and talked. He brought me chamomile tea. He wanted to discuss why I was there, what my expectations were, and if I had boundaries.

This was the first time I had ever talked so openly about my sexual expectations and boundaries with a man. I felt like I could be honest and open without him judging me.

He was there to listen and provide a service. The lights were low, spa music was on, and the room was warm. I laid down on the massage table, completely covered by a sheet.

It started like any normal massage—upper back, stretching, oil. I tried to focus on me, but all I could think about was work, my family, and the mental load of life.

The massage took a gradual turn from a typical massage to a slow and sensual one without me noticing. I was relaxed and the nervousness gave way to physical pleasure.

For an hour and a half, his hands were completely focused on my body. They responded to my breathing. I had multiple orgasms. My body felt things I had never felt before.

That was the hardest part. I had to focus only on myself and the new things I was feeling. For me, not doing this completely shifted something inside of me.

I had a startling moment of empowerment, somewhere in between orgasms, where I realized I was deserving of good things. I was deserving of love and respect.

It was delivered under the guise of sensual pleasure. But still it was the same. I deserved to be seen, to be respected, to be loved. I deserved orgasms.

But ultimately, I was simply deserving. I felt empowered and incredibly sad at the same time. He whispered that we had five minutes left, caressed my head, and led me in deep breathing.

I showered and met him back on the same leather sofa to talk about my experience. But I knew that my life had just changed.

I deserved it. And, it came from paying a man I met on the internet for a sensual massage. Why had I never felt this way before?

That was the next reality I had to face. I did some intense personal work immediately after. I read books. I saw a therapist. I asked myself the hard questions, and I realized I was deeply unhappy.

We tried to make it work, but a few months later we began the transition to end our relationship. I learned from this experience that one of the most important aspects to building an intimate relationship with someone is creating a safe space; physically and emotionally.

But it takes communication and trust to get there. Apparently, a large majority of women fantasize about a slow, sensual touch that ends in an orgasmic experience.

E-mail Address. Read More. Mother Essentials , Motherhood. Mom Talk , Motherhood. About Contact. Newsletter Sign Up. It was a little higher up the back of my leg and a little further between them By the third time, I was wide awake.

I could definitely feel her fingers touch my balls. So I tried to relax and we continued. A few moments later I was relieved when she patted my bum to signal me to turn over, it was obviously a false alarm.

I laid on my back with the towel on my front this time. She started massaging the front of my legs. It was a little more ticklish now.

Again she went up my thigh and again her fingertips went under the towel a bit. Again she made contact with me and I let out a little giggle.

This is perfectly innocent Picture: iStock Source:istock. So after a bit of deep breathing, I was able to regain control. This was purely a professional interaction between a year-old local woman and a newly married year-old Australian man.

Absolutely nothing to worry about. Without any notice whatsoever, she pulled the towel away and grabbed my penis. So there I was.

Only two days into my new marriage and somehow locked in a one way haggle for a free handjob. I quickly moved away from the woman, got up to put my clothes back on, paid for my massage and got the hell out of there.

I went back down to meet up with Sarah and come clean about my first accidental affair. Now when you go break it down like that it kinda looks worse than it is but on the surface, I had been violated.

And no one told me I should keep my clothes on. Brad Kearns is a husband and father of two. The year-old began his social media debut with a frustrated parenting post which seen his story circumnavigate the globe.

This story originally appeared on kidspot. Log in Sign up. Log out.

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I remember thinking that there was something missing—the feeling of passionate love, taking the time to slow down and be present, the focus on satisfying the other person rather than a quick get off.

It was all fast and routine. It felt like a checklist of actions, and then we were done. It was our young and inexperienced fault, we never actually talked about our sexual needs and desires when we started our relationship.

I had past trauma that I had never worked through. And we never spent the time to build an intimate connection, exploration, and compassionate understanding.

So, here I was fantasizing about a random man in New York and the services he could provide for a few hundred dollars. I felt guilty. Is this cheating?

Just a fantasy? But still I was intrigued and genuinely curious. The journalist in me kicked in. I went on a hunt. I lived in San Francisco, one of the most sex-positive cities in the world.

This had to exist here. Who are these men who provide this? What kind of women do they see? What actually happens? Are there neon lights? He was attractive.

He seemed charming but in a trustworthy kind of way. I found his LinkedIn profile, old blogs, and more. He was a real person, with a secret job on the side pleasuring women.

I wanted to understand more about the women who made appointments; who they were and what they hoped to get. Were they married or single, older or younger, sex-positive or timid?

I also wanted to know more about him. How did he get started? Subconsciously I wanted to discover answers for myself, too; like would I actually do it?

We met for coffee a few days later. We talked for an hour and he answered my dozen questions. At this point, I was in full-on research mode and my fantasy had receded.

I learned that most of his customers were either in sexless marriages, divorced, or widowed. Some were single and career-focused. Some had suffered sexual trauma.

It was real clinical looking. Almost like a little doctor surgery. A local woman in her 40s opened up and finally, this one was open for business.

She was very welcoming. Brad and his wife Sarah. She ushered me into the little room, pointed to the towels and told me to strip before she came back in two minutes.

She was doing my back, my lower back and moved down over my bum to my legs. About 25 minutes in, my body was so relaxed, I was almost falling asleep.

It must have only been her little pinky, but it brushed underneath the towel. Must have been an accident. But, a few kneads later it happened again.

Only this time with the tips of two fingers. It was a little higher up the back of my leg and a little further between them By the third time, I was wide awake.

I could definitely feel her fingers touch my balls. So I tried to relax and we continued. A few moments later I was relieved when she patted my bum to signal me to turn over, it was obviously a false alarm.

I laid on my back with the towel on my front this time. We were off the moving schedule, so the immediate options for vacant apartments were scarce.

We loved the neighborhood, we loved the culture, and we were happy with our temporary spot. In this new neighborhood there was an abundance of massage parlors.

In a one-mile radius of our home, there were at least 10 of these little massage parlors, possibly more. My partner explained that happy endings at these types of massage parlors were actually real things.

It really happened. The concept of the happy ending became a running joke with us. Each time we passed one of these little massage parlors, we would make note of the patrons entering and exiting and imagine their home lives, what they were feeling, what their partners must think, all those things.

We would also imagine how awkward it must be to get a hand job at a massage parlor. Was there some secret signal?

Was it part of every massage package offered? How did the masseuse know a happy ending was requested? Was it on the checklist? Areas you would like us to work: shoulders, neck, and my dick.

Our google searches led us to rubmaps. No secret signals were listed either. With all our talking, imagining, pretending, and google searching, my partner started to get intrigued.

Would you be mad? I would think it was awesome. He felt the same, plus he would be the one getting the happy ending, so it was an added bonus for him.

The idea bounced around between us a lot. The conversations were never contentious in anyway, it was more us joking about when he would do it.

There is a lot of humor in our lives, and this was part of it. As we talked about it more, he asked if I would consider it cheating.

No, I did not consider it cheating to get a happy ending. It was just a hand job from a stranger, in a controlled setting.

There would be no affair, there would be no emotional connection, there would be no back alley hooker, there would be no penetration.

A happy ending seemed like nothing to me as long as he was completely upfront about it and was not sneaking around.

2 comments

  1. Shaktihn

    Wacker, Ihr Gedanke ist glänzend

  2. Voodoorr

    Wacker, es ist der einfach prächtige Gedanke

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