So, it wasn’t on my bucket list, but

I figure that i am so tense that my ass would be a diamond making machine if I had the heart to ram some coal up there.  But i don’t even have coal, so whatever.  But giving the tenseness I decided that a massage and a Hong Kong handshake would be in order.  The trouble is that I really don’t dig Asian women and the the whole massage parlor thing is just lame.  I usually end up getting nearly assaulted for not tipping enough to some ancient mamisan that resembles Burgess Meredith in a housedress.

Anyway, I ask around to the true pervs I know and I get sent to someone named Amber.  I’m told she’s older, but good for a decent rub and tug.  Now, I did figure that I might be getting set-up as most of my friends are complete assholes.  Anyway, I get there and even with the lights being a bit low, things seem ok.  No bad smells, clean place, no Adam’s apple, the initial checklist is ok.

I end up getting a relatively lousy massage, but I’m allowed to grab a bit o’ tit.  At this point, warning signs start popping up.  She has fake tits, but with real tit that obviously grew after the implants.  Essentially, it was like she had little tits over the fake ones.  I figure it has to be a hormonal thing.  The mental math is coming up with numbers I don’t like.  Now, in a near panic, I did the “Is there a bulge test?”  There have been other times I have had to do that test, I’m not proud.  Luckily, its come back negative.  This time, I was very, very afraid.


Massive sigh of relief.  Now things were progressing far beyond the rub and tug I’d expected.  There had even been a speech in the beginning about good behavior that I had basically ignored.  Apparently, all that was forgotten.

So, I come around the back, only 97% certain I’m not gonna end up with a handful of Lois Einhorn.  But, once again, negative.  Then I start probing around and well, there was no proper orafice.  Then like the end of “The Sixth Sense” it all made sense.  Post-Op. 

I still blew a load.



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