Tales From The Massage Parlour
Water Sports
When I started working at the massage parlour, I had not contemplated anything other than providing straight sex to paying customers. By that I mean sexual intercourse, oral or hand jobs. Elaine who I flat-shared with told me that I should at least try back-entrance. Back entrance? Anal sex, she explained. You get incredible tips, she added. Naive as I was then, I didn’t even know that there existed such an option, but I was determined that it was not for me. There are so many other perversions, she said merrily. Such as? Face-sitting, nipple-clamping, she said. Then there’s uniforms, dressing up as nurses or schoolgirls, waterworks, whipping, shoe fetish etc…
I know that besides working at the Blue Eden, Elaine was on the books of an escort agency in Morrison Street, and she boasted that she was halfway towards a deposit on a house she was aiming to buy. Often after a whole day at the Blue, she’d inform me that she was seeing a client at some hotel. I do not know where she got the energy from. Not just physical, but mental as well. The stress of going downstairs into the cubicle with a strange man you don’t know from Adam and within minutes you are opening your legs to him is incalculable. Only other working girls can understand it.
I was shocked when one night after she had gone on a call, my self-assured and proud colleague tottered in crying her eyes out, her whole body shaking like aspen leaves in the breeze, wailing incoherently about the most dreadful thing that ever happened to her. All my deductive powers failed to make sense of what had happened. Little by little the tale unfolded. Some bloke had been really awful to her. She wanted out of this shitty game. She was still scared, could she sleep in my bed? She and I sometimes indulged. I was shivering with anticipation. There was no way I was going to survive sleeping in the same bed as her, putting my arms around her and not go mad with desire. Come darling, Jodie will comfort you, let us have a drink and you can tell me all about it. She swallowed the single malt in one gulp and asked for more. I almost filled her glass, and poured myself a much smaller portion. I helped her undress, and we slid under the cover.
Naturally I wanted to know what had upset her so much, and she began laughing. It seems so stupid now, but trust her, she had been so shocked. The Agency off Morrison Street for which she worked had phoned to tell her of a booking. Chap from the Midlands, buyer of whisky for a big chain of wine merchants. He was staying at a hotel in Brunstfield, could I do it? The dark clothes, a blue silk tie and a hat was a code settled by the client and the Agency. He would be expecting her for a meal in the Potting Shed restaurant at the Brunstfield Hotel at eight thirty. Ask the head waiter for Leo Blackwood.
She arrived on time. In this business punctuality was crucial. The waiter directs her to the bar and this absolutely gorgeous man nods at her and buys her a cocktail.
‘We then have a three course meal with champagne and the works,’ she says. ‘After fags and liqueur, we go up to his room, and he orders more champagne. I am quite attracted to the man, and I pretend that I am feeling horny. He has got rid of his jacket, and I help him out of his shirt and trousers, but he hangs on to his jockey shorts, and seems in no hurry. I notice there is no bulge, and suppose that it’s the drink. I know a secret or two on how to deal with that.He presses me with more drink. I am quite pissed, but he keeps insisting. I play the amorous whore and begin to kiss him, but he pushes me away. Gently. And he fills my glass. I demur and explain that I am about to burst. No, it’s only champers, he says. I don’t like champagne that much, but I do not let on. This stuff makes me want to piss all the time, I say, which makes him smile happily. I thought we’d never get there, he says enigmatically.’ I did not know that some men will pay you to piss all over them.
‘What do you mean?’ Elaine asks. He does not reply immediately, but looking away, he says, ‘I want you to piss all over me. I thought the agency would have made that clear.’
‘ Between you and me,’ Elaine explains, ‘they had not.’
‘ By now.’ she continues, ‘he had shed his briefs, and he drags me into the bathroom, pulls down my knickers, the last thing I still had on, lifts me up in the empty tub, lies down in it and in an authoritative voice, he orders, Piss! I am taken aback. Fucking a man, is one thing. I have nothing against that, I am a whore, it’s what I do. I do full-mouthed kiss, I do blow jobs, I do anal, I do the lot, but Water Sports? No, one has to have some privacy. Bodily functions
like urinating, defecating or even throwing up are personal things. No way I am going to piss in front of the man. He no longer strikes me as being all that gorgeous. I stand there, cowering in front of him, my linked fists in front of my pussy. I must have been quite a pitiful sight. No, I say, shaking my head, I can’t do that. What do you mean, he asks angrily, you’re wasting my time. I am dumbstruck. All I can do is shake my head and say no. He begins shouting and threatening me. I have spent a lot of money on you, you are a professional right? You get paid to do as I tell you. You’re not leaving here alive unless you do as I say. Why hadn’t I realised that he was a psycho? I suddenly notice one of those old-fashioned barber’s razor on the glass shelf above the wash basin, and I am scared to death. I am now trembling like that Union Jack on Edinburgh Castle on a windy day. I try to scream but no voice would come out, it was like in a nightmare. He grabs the razor and, defenceless, I shut my eyes. I can hear him snorting like a bull, I make a prayer, then I hear him say, That’s my girl, and he begins caressing my legs and my derrière. I open my eyes, and see a fountain gushing out of me. I am shit scared and pissing uncontrollably, and the man from the Midlands is at my feet, rolling there, making sure he does not lose a single drop, he lets it run over his back, his head, his hair, attempts to catch some in his hands and recycles it by spreading it over his body, his face which is like one of those saints in the throes of an ecstasy. His dick is now up like an arrow, hard and smooth. Keep going, he urges, and my flow is unstoppable. He then scarcely touches his penis than a jet of spunk flies away from it, hitting me in the eyes, and he cries with joy and rolls over in ecstasy.’
‘I don’t know how I got home,’ Elaine, now laughing says, ‘I can just about remember him giving me a huge wad of twenties, and taking a taxi.’
‘I may be laughing now,’ she said, ‘but I have never been so scared in my life.’
