Rub Diary

#61
I wrote that one a little less than a year ago.

It stings my eyes to read it today. It all crashed and burned and honestly it feels shittier now than it ever did before.
Well it brought a smile to my face and made me consider the many contradictions and ironies of the mongering lifestyle. Keep writing King
 
#65
Nobody twists your metaphorical balls like a Chinese woman. They are experts in stonewalling and emotional blackmail.

Fuck, I can't get enough of them.
To be honest, IMHO only Chinese men can control these beasts or at least get the best of them. Or perhaps we are more cynical but I have a few friends who married ex WGs/AMP chicks.
 
#66
To be honest, IMHO only Chinese men can control these beasts or at least get the best of them. Or perhaps we are more cynical but I have a few friends who married ex WGs/AMP chicks.
You might be right, though money seems to help exert control.

On the other hand there are moments like the one when a Chinese lass with whom I was involved laid her head upon my pillow and immediately insisted she could smell another woman's scent. She even went so far as to say it was a "Spanish" woman.

Had I been banging a latina in that bed at any point in the memorable past I would have crapped myself, but in truth she was the only woman who had been in my bed for quite a while.

Nevertheless, there was nothing I could possibly say that would dissuade her from this delusion. The only thing that works is to stop giving a shit and always be prepared to walk, even if you really would prefer not to...otherwise you may as well just put your balls into a ziploc bag and hand them over.

Anyway, I finally tossed a bunch of twenties onto the bed and said "look, if I want to fuck a spanish girl I'll go to Sunset Park and fuck one. I wouldn't be so stupid as to fuck one in this bed. But what I really want to do is to fuck you, right here, right now."

The money was supposed to be symbolic, of course, but she scooped it right up and I never saw it again. Then I banged the daylights out of her. Worth every penny.
 
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#67
The party with the least investment always has the most power in any relationship. At the end of the day you are a paying customer and she uses that money to feed her kids or pay her rent of feed a habit. In either case you can always walk
 
#68
The party with the least investment always has the most power in any relationship. At the end of the day you are a paying customer and she uses that money to feed her kids or pay her rent of feed a habit. In either case you can always walk
It wasn't quite that sort of situation. She was more like non-pro who liked to be treated like a whore.
 
#69
Coming Home

How long can a man last without a drink of water?

Relationships evolve in the massage world that are unique. Despite being founded on the exchange of cash for services, a relationship evolves between a customer and a provider that is different from any other in life. Investing too much in it emotionally is a fast way to make yourself feel like shit, but giving none of yourself is a sure road to another kind of dissatisfaction. A precarious balance between the personal and the professional is required. Too much of either will leave you cold.

I met Mimi more than a year ago and was immediately infatuated in a way that I should have known was unhealthy. Why? I see so many girls, I am intimate with more than I can count. What made this one different? What made every minute with her feel like a delicious confection, a chrome-plated, down-filled, mid-air-hanging moment of indescribable bliss?

What was so great about her? Her body? Yeah, she has a nice body. Her face? Sure, she's pretty? The massage? She gives a very good massage. But what made her exceptional? Her sweet, kind, effusively fun personality. She was funny, she was generous, she made every hour with her feel special.

After seeing her once or twice a week for so many months, my disappearing for six weeks was strange, I admit, but I had to do it. It was getting too close for me, emotionally. I can't say what her feelings were - my guess is that she sees me as a good customer. I saw her as a great massage provider but as things progressed I found that I actually liked her a little too much for my own good. I actually stopped by her place just to talk to her one day. I began to enjoy the conversation as much as the handjob. I caught myself thinking about her at odd moments, wondering what she was doing, thinking, wearing.

It had to stop. I needed to break away and get my head straight. I dropped off the map, off the radar. After a couple weeks she texted me asking if I wanted to come in. I declined. The truth is that I missed her, I missed her personality and her skills and I missed the professional relationship we had developed.

I saw the truth in foot high letters across my brain. Why court regret? Why not live for the moment and enjoy what you can? This was a woman who knew what I like, knew how to make me feel great. It was up to me to keep my own feelings compartmentalized. I called her up and two hours later there I was.

I told her the truth about my disappearance and she understood. She said she was afraid I was angry about something. "Baby, please." I said. "If I am ever angry I will be direct."

I asked for a soft massage and we talked - we talked about her life and my life. We made each other laugh. It was as nice an hour as it could possibly have been.

And then I flipped over and she stripped all her clothes off. She is a woman with very strict limits in her professional life. She came as close as she could to the edges of those limits and god damn, it was good.

She kissed and licked me everywhere and teased my cock and balls. I took her nipples into my mouth and I touched her pussy and found it soaking wet. Something snapped and she started to jack me off and then she jumped right up on the table with me and started grinding her pussy into my face. It was clean and it was delicious and I ate and ate and ate as she came and came and came. She brought me to the edge and back over and over and over and then finally I came.

We made friendly chit chat as I dressed. I promised not to wait so long again. I handed her a bunch of cash and she took a little but handed most of it back. I looked at her sideways. I had been in this position once before. She knew the story. A professional relationship that turned personal and then crashed and burned mightily, leaving everyone hurt. She knew all of it.

She blushed and smiled and said "no, not like that...I can't take so much because...I had fun too..."

Those words meant more to me than any others she could possibly have chosen. She's a wonderful woman and I made her feel good. That is a satisfaction I will put before my own any time I have the chance to do so.

I put my hat on and gave her a kiss. I would be back soon. I would.

How long can a man last without a drink of water? Even one day is far too long.
 
#71
Down, Down, Down

She waves her crooked wand over me and I am there. Shipwrecked, drowning in her, unable to breathe and never wanting to take another breath. I am filled with memories and snapshots, half-developed Polaroids that capture perfect moments imperfectly. I fall through the ice while tracing her name and she pulls me down, down, down.

In my pocket is a roll of 20's and I could go anywhere, I could get an hour with a girl half my age who'd make me feel like a big man, who'd pretend to like me and tell me how wet I made her and how big my cock is, and I'd walk away emptier than before. We'd both lose a little bit of our souls and nobody would feel.

This is how I drown my sorrows, how I mute my self pity, but not today, not again. I am freezing at the bottom of the pond, and I need more than a bitter little orgasm, I need to breathe, I need to live. I need her.

I send her a text. "I need to see you," I say. "How much?" She was mine and mine alone just a few short months ago. Yeah, she rubbed other guys off for money but at the end of the day her warm naked ass was in my bed. You may never get it, you may never understand, but it was real, it was like nothing else. You get used to it after a while. You turn a blind eye to what she has to do to make her living because what you want is more than her hands or her tits or her pussy or ass. You have her heart and her soul, and that's everything you need.

It was never about money, it never was. I never paid her to sleep with me, we both wanted it, both needed it, but now it's gone and I still need her. She answers my text. "You know how much."

"OK." I reply. "I'll be there at 4."

I put my phone down and my mind gets cloudy. I remember a night in August, we took a harbor cruise for some festival. The boat was filled with Chinese college age girls, but none of them held a candle to her. She was radiant and beautiful, her laughter filled me with light. I had booked a hotel room that night and we fucked on the big king sized bed and then she called her mother in China.

The clouds part and I can't control myself anymore. I need her. I need her mouth on my cock, her pussy on my face, her tongue in my ass. I need to fuck her long and hard and I need there to be no ambiguity, no question about what will happen when I walk in that door.

"I want you." I text her. "I want to fuck your mouth. I want your tongue in my ass." I lay out every step in clear and unambiguous words I tell her the dirty things I want to do to her. She texts me back. "OK." I am burning. I get up from my desk, walk out the door, and in minutes I am there.

I walk in and wordlessly hand her a wad of cash and I get undressed. She goes to put the money away and then when she returns I sit on the massage table and watch her take of her shirt, her pants, and the bra and panties I bought her at Victoria's Secret last fall. She is not some skinny 25 year old girl, she is a woman with full breasts and hips and an ass that should be on the wall of a gallery. I look down and my cock is already hard and we fall upon each other in an orgy of hands and mouths and asses and pussy and cock.

For 40 minutes we pleasure each other in every possible way but one, and then I finally get her on all fours on that massage table and I enter her from behind and start fucking, long slow strokes at first then faster and harder and faster and harder until the walls and ceiling fall away and there is no massage table, no spa, nothing but two bodies intertwined and connected and I explode inside her and we both collapse onto the table in a cacophony of whispers and sighs and heavy breathing.

She attends to me tenderly, lovingly, with kindness and compassion as I lay back and bask in her warmth. She smiles, and that smile is all I want, and she is all I need.

Money has changed hands but this is not just a transaction, it is far more than business for both of us. The money is nothing to me. I would burn every dollar in the world if that's what it took to make her mine, even for an hour.

I walk back out into the cool air of early Spring. I have fallen through the ice, I am freezing at the bottom of the pond and this is exactly where I belong. I am drowning in her and I hope I spend the rest of my life gasping for air.
 
#72
Watermelon

The middle room has the radiator and it gets very hot, hotter than it should be, too hot to put a customer in for a massage. I noticed that she always seemed to take naps in there and eventually I bought her a little blanket and now it sits at the end of the massage table in that hot little room. With the lights dim and silence around us we have shared some amazing moments there, some hours I will never forget.

Today we lay there in each others' arms, just breathing, just wordlessly holding each other, and then she begins to hum some wordless Chinese melody. In the heat, with our bodies intertwined, the simple tune carries me back to the end of the summer. Things were still easy and pure then, we were still a little timid with each other but we were in love, there was no mistaking it.

I see it in my mind like it's happening today. She has rented a new room, and I take the 7 train out in a dull warm thunderstorm to see her. She meets me at that same corner and we walk the side streets. My brow is damp with sweat and I finally ask her to show me her new place.

She shows me the building and carefully checks the windows for light and shadow. The last time we marched around Flushing there were whispers in the grapevine and before long she was answering questions about the American man with whom she was cavorting. She inspects the windows and, seeing nothing, brings me quietly up the front stoop where she wordlessly slides her key into the front door and slowly opens it. She eases up the stairs quietly and keeps me at arm's length. Seeing that the coast is clear she giggles a little and hustles me into the cool, air conditioned room.

There is a bright white light but I ask her to turn it off. I admire the new room in the low ambient light and then I sit on her bed while she goes to wash up. I have been lonely for too long, wandering the arctic tundra, looking for scraps and signs and now here she is. She is lovely and kind and sweet and far smarter than I could ever hope to be, and for the moment she is mine. I watch her disappear through the door and I can't stop myself from saying a silent prayer of thanks for this beautiful woman who has fallen into my life.

She returns to the room and she undresses me silently and we fall backwards on the bed. I am inside her when we hear the banging of pots and pans 10 feet away in the kitchen, separated from us only by a cheap hollow door.

We stop for a moment then proceed...silently. The other rooms are filled with old ladies who like to talk as old ladies do. We can't be heard, we can't be seen. When we are alone, life is good. When the walls are gone there is danger. I am on top of her, my hard cock inside her, she makes silent gasps of pleasure and finally I come and I feel the small, liquid explosion inside her.

We lay back in silence and I look at the drop-in ceiling in the gray flourescent light that creeps in the window after making its way from the LIRR platform that sits just on the other side of the backyard.

She gives me a warm bottle of water and scoops a few spoonfuls out of an enormous half of a watermelon that she was attacking with obvious enthusiasm earlier. I despise watermelon but I accept it graciously.

The noises in the kitchen are gone. We dress quickly and quietly and she opens the door a half an inch and peers out. The coast is clear. She waves me through. I tiptoe into the impenetrable darkness of the windowless kitchen and she guides me to the left. We entered through the front door, but now that won't do, now there are eyes and ears and mouths nearby. Down a flight of stairs I stumble quietly and she hustles me through the back door.

"Wait," she whispers.

I stand under a small awning and it begins to rain. A train rumbles through and a few lost souls disembark and wander down the platform. I can see them but the darkness of the backyard cloaks me.

The door opens quietly again and there she is. I pull her close to me and I kiss her but her eyes dart here and there. When we are in midtown, there are no worries - no neighbors, no chattering old ladies, no friends, no family. She is relaxed and passionate. In Flushing there are eyes everywhere.

She leads me through an alley to the front of the house. There is a chain link fence with a gate and we quickly discover that it is padlocked. I look at her carefully.

"I can climb it," I say. "And you go back that way and come through," meaning she should go in the back door and walk through the house. "No," she says, she has no key to the back door.

I start to laugh but I stop myself. Shhh. Quiet. Eyes, ears, mouths, everywhere. I pull myself up the fence and manage to get over without hurting myself.

She does the same and with the upper body strength she has from all those massages, it is effortless...but she fumbles the dismount and the gate rattles noisily. She looks at me with a mixture of panic and laughter in her eyes and we pad away, double time, into the damp hot streets of Flushing, until we have made it far enough to laugh out loud.

The doorbell rings and again I am in the here and now, in that hot little room. She lifts her body from mine and goes to answer the door and as I watch her disappear again I say a silent prayer of thanks for this beautiful woman who has stayed in my life.
 
#75
Turning The Corner, Never Looking Back

She starts work at 11 AM and I am there at 11:05. She smiles from sea to shining sea when she sees me. Every greeting should feel this way. She is expecting me. I told her I'd be there when she started.

It's been two and a half months. The instant I walked in that door the first time she was the one I wanted, the one I knew would be right for me. There were others that were prettier, that spoke more English, that were thinner or taller or whatever, but that stuff didn't matter. I react to qualities that I can't define and can't even name. Sometimes it's a look in the eye, other times it's a whisper, a sigh, a choice of words, it could be anything that shoots me directly between the eyes and watches me drop.

I have learned very little about her because her English is so basic. I have heard her speak in Chinese to the other girls with great authority, she is sort of like the manager of the place. There is no trace of that commanding voice when she speaks to me in English. She is quiet and halting although she does laugh nice and loud at times.

She starts work at 11 AM and I am there at 11:05. Each time I came things got a little closer, a little more intimate. It all happened almost wordlessly. She would answer me with simple little sentences. I would ask my questions with words I knew she'd understand. I told her a little bit about myself. She asked questions non-verbally when she could - pointing at my tattoos, my shoes, the long, thin scar that runs up my right forearm in parallel to the radial artery.

I have more stories to tell than I have time to live, but we spend most of our time together in silence. She hasn't been a massage girl for very long - less than a year - and she is not yet burned out and jaded. She has no idea of the depth and breadth of the massage world, of review boards and websites and full service AMPs. I am determined not to be the one who invades that little corner of innocence.

That innocence attracts me and yet I have continued to take everything she has offered. We dispensed with massages entirely weeks ago. Now when I come I sit on the massage table and we start kissing and touching each other and I never lay face down at all. She is nude within minutes and we spend the hour giving each other pleasure.

There are places where you can walk in, plunk down 200 bucks and get laid. This is not one of those places and this is not that sort of girl. I gained her trust and her comfort level over a period of many weeks. I was never pushy, I was never rough. I spoke to her nicely with respect, I made her laugh, I tipped her a little more each time.

She starts work at 11 AM and I am there at 11:05. She is not effusive with me in front of the other girls. She takes my hand and leads me to the room and then her guard is down and I put my arms around her and pull her to me. The kisses feel real, they are filled with genuine lust if not something a little deeper. For the hour, I take it for what it seems to be. I take the feeling and I believe it because for that hour it feels good.

I gave her my phone number and she gave me hers. She started to text me. "I miss you, when are you coming? I wait for you everyday," she says. She seems sweet and guileless. I want to believe the words are genuine. There's no way to tell whether they come from her head or her heart or some other place. Maybe a little bit of all three...

I am careful and cautious for both of us. I like her, she's sweet and she's fun. She has given me her trust and to breach that would be desperately wrong. For her, I am careful not to say words that will mislead her, to make her think there is something more to this than what it is on face. For myself, I am careful to hear her words for what they are and to always assume it is only the business of pleasure and nothing more.

She starts work at 11 AM and I am there at 11:05. I smile from sea to shining sea when I see her, and when I leave I think only of the next time.
 
#77
Saturday Night

It may be lonely at the top but it's a hell of a lot colder at the bottom.

With a roll of twenties in my pocket I walk out at 8:15 and sit in a nearly empty subway car and ponder my own empty head, the blank space that is my mind, the absence of thought, inspiration...the lack of desire.

I am motivated my compulsion alone. There is no romance anymore, no mystical attachment, no hope that anything will be achieved other than picking at the abscess in my soul that never stops itching. It swallows more cash than I can afford to spend. It brings me to places I should never go. It compels me to do things I will always regret. It has consumed me and what's left of me is merely what it needs in order to feed itself.

This is my Saturday night. This is all I've got.

I approach the building where the name of the place is painted in six foot tall letters across the side. This would mortify anyone with any shame. Lucky for me I've been shameless for a long time now, and I wait for the buzzer fearlessly, because the fact that I am ruled by fear can't trump my overwhelming apathy.

30 minutes later I've been bathed and rubbed down by another Korean girl with fake tits and eyelashes. Somewhere under the makeup and the silicone and the expired student visa there is a woman, a soul, a girl who maybe once dreamed of what her life would be and where she would go. Those dreams got lost somewhere and every guy who fucks her on that massage table for money takes a little something, kills her inside just a tiny bit more.

For this hour on this day, I am the next guy to take a piece of her away and no fancy words, no ex post facto fits of empathy can change that. Baby tell me. How did it feel to be young and innocent? How did it feel, baby? How did you end up here? How badly do you wish you were somewhere else? How little does it matter now, how much could it have mattered then?

She lays on top of me and asks me what I want. There is no hesitation. I take everything that is offered, every single time. She speaks the language of love and asks "how much tip you pay?" This is my life, this is what I do. How much like yours is it really?

She gets a condom and licks and sucks me hard before hopping on top and impaling herself slowly on my cock. She bounces up and down for a while and the hole in my soul is filled with milk and honey. I kneel behind her and I fuck her harder and harder and harder until the massage table knocks against the wall until finally I get what I need. I come, and I am awash with relief. For the moment the itch has been scratched. For the moment there is silence.

I achieve my only moments of lucidity and congeniality in those strange minutes after I have fucked a complete stranger for cash. Suddenly my capacity and tolerance for small talk is limitless, at the precise moment when it is lease helpful. I make stupid chit chat as I get dressed. I peel off a bunch of twenties and for just a few more seconds she pretends she likes me.

Somewhere a flower is growing. As I walk out that door I look uptown and I can see the lights of my city shining and I can hear everything and everyone. Those lights shine for all of us, for rich and for poor, for up and for down, for black and for white and for everything in between.

Somewhere a river is flowing, and it flows right out to the sea. It flows for me and it flows for that long gone little girl who just sold another piece of her soul. It flows for the people at the top and it flows for the poor souls at the bottom.

I pull my jacket around me against the evening chill and I walk down the avenue where smiles and laughter spill out onto the sidewalk from every restaurant and every bar. It may be lonely at the top but here at the bottom it really is cold.
 
#79
LOL, awesome that you're concerned for my mental health, and I don't mean that sarcastically.

I wrote that piece more than a year ago, it's not even in the same neighborhood as my current state of mind.

I struggle with depression and addiction, but I believe I've found the right path for me...
 
#80
Good. you were in a dark place when you wrote that one. There are a lot of addicts on this board many in denial. At least you are honest with yourself. Too bad it didn't work out with Lily. Do you still see her?
 
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