Seismic John

I have steered clear of the massage parlor circuit for quite some time now. My experiences with online procurement have been so splendid, that the thought of going through the usual torture that comes with the MP experience once more seemed preposterous. The torment begins with a dose of anxiety from the chance that someone might recognize you as you enter the unholy doors. Then you are made to sit through an uncomfortable ceremony where the models parade in front of you and you find yourself pressured to choose one in haste. Finally, after making a half-baked decision, and when you are still convincing yourself that you have made the right choice, you are forced to contend with the time constraints set by the establishment. As if passion could be timed with the ticking of the clock. Tick tock! 45 minutes into the session. Please climax now! And after all the bullshit one has to put up with, the worst is yet to come. Yes! I am referring to the event in the world of MPs that is so devastating, it would be a constant fear gnawing at your back even as you are trying to enjoy what supposedly should have been a pleasurable evening: The Raid. 

So there, I have laid out my arguments on the demerits of patronizing massage parlors. Now, hear me out as I sing a different tune.

For me to even begin to fathom the thought of subjecting myself through that arduous process again, I was going to need an earth-shattering reason. Something that could convince me that all the hassles and bustles would be worthwhile. Then, just as how unpredictable earthquakes occur, a picture flashed on the screen, and the Richter scale started going off the charts. Meet the earth-shaker: John

Photos lifted from Caloy73's blog

To say that these photographs shook my very core would be an understatement. They have haunted my night dreams, day dreams and wet dreams for months on end. Those lips, nipples and abs had me spanking the monkey so many times that the supply of tissues in my humble abode was running dangerously low. Yet, my loins still burned and my hunger still unsatisfied. Our meeting was becoming an inevitability. So I stuffed my rucksack and prepared myself, as I embarked on a pilgrimage back to the world I have once forgotten.

I stood in front of the place and stared at the sign board that used to say “Hunk’s Touch”. Now it reads “Lucky Charm Spa”. “Ironic”, I thought…

Breathe in, breathe out… Here we go again!

One thing that has not changed is the number of men, and Lucky Charm boasted an impressive 10-12 head count on a Monday evening. But that night, I was not out to shop for a masseur. That night, there was only one masseur in the WORLD for me. Only one could satiate my hunger for the flesh. So I wasted no time, turned to the mamasan and with a stern voice, commanded “Bring John out!”

John was every bit as good looking as the promise of his pictures have shown. (I thank Caloy for his restraint on the use of Photoshop.) He stood 5’8 to 5’9 tall and was half-dressed to show off his deliciously medium to slim sized body. I was going out of my mind! 

One thing I have learned from my experiences with masseurs from massage parlors is that outcall services, though more expensive, ensures a better overall experience. Aside from the obvious advantage of providing peace of mind, taking a masseur out of his home court has untold benefits. So we got in the car, and I became the very definition of a reckless driver as we overtook every car on our way to my frequented garden of Babylon.

John and can you guess who? Photos from Caloy73 and LalakingPalaban

John has the physique that bears a striking resemblance to a favorite masseur of mine. The outline of his chest was well-shaped and culminated into two circular brown nipples. Abdominal muscles sported the right hills and valleys and the skin was almost unblemished if not for the dragon tattoo over the right shoulder. But what the pictures have failed to show was that John has a hidden asset, his buttocks. They were two perfectly rounded prominences from an otherwise undisturbed steamrolled back.

The massage was not his strongest suit. It was evident that in this arena, he was a novice. There was enough force behind his strokes but sometimes over the wrong pressure points. But enthusiasm and an eager-to-please attitude were qualities he has of abundance. He was not hurried and ensured that the session lasted for more than 45 minutes. That, coupled with his dick constantly poking my back, were memories etched in my mind forever.

And the one after? Haha! It was epic. Our lips and tongue locked as if we were hungry for each other.  From my mouth, he slid to my nipples then further down to my inguinal area. He kissed my knees, my thighs and almost everything in between.  Then with the ravages of a caged beast, I pinned him on his back and pounced on the meat dangling between his legs. He was arching his back in ecstasy, spreading his legs wider and moaning with oohs and aahs that were reminiscent of Japanese pornos I use to watch.  It grew to 6 inches long and 4.5 fingers thick with a slight skew to the left and a hint of fragrance. I could have stayed there all night. We turned and turned on our mattress of love, and by the end, all pillows, blankets and bed sheets were scattered on the cold blue floor. 

Lying exhausted on the bed from the heat of passion and with libido finally out the way, I was finally in the right mind to get to know the person behind the picture a little better. Apparently, he only started to be intimate with men three months from the time I met him. He has had no experiences with the same gender prior to this venture and that his first time with a man has left him with tears on his eyes. (To the person who ‘devirginized’ John, I salute you! How I wish that I had the honor instead.)

So how was my journey back to the MPs? Revolutionary! Though I may not routinely prowl the streets of Kamias-Kamuning again, I would definitely be going back on occasional visits especially if like John, a masseur could once again conjure the same seismic activity.

Chameleon scale:

Happy

Will I come back for seconds? Yes! Yes! Y-E-S! With RX being “The One”. I believe I have found “Number Two”. Hihihi!

P.S. Addressing the issue about his constant snorting, I believe that it is not cause for alarm. It is most likely a habit or an allergic rhinitis, but certainly not infectious in nature.