Literotic asexstories – My First Asian Massage by danhenw,danhenw
It wasn’t always this way. Rewind to the late 1990s, and there was a whole lot more mystery involved. You could find adult content online, but there wasn’t much outside of images that took an age to download, and there were definitely no pointers as to what delights might be in your neighbourhood. In truth, there were just fewer massage shops too, whereas now seemingly every decent sized town has at least one, usually tucked down a side street and with a window that displays little to casual bypassers. The quality of the service you receive once you step inside can vary wildly, but you can at least be almost certain that there’s more than a back rub on offer if you’re willing to pay.
In my case I was also young and naive. I’d grown up in a small town, then moved to a large city to go to University. The next three years followed a pattern familiar to many who’ve taken the same path – more time spent partying than studying, intense late night conversations with housemates, losing my virginity in an underwhelming blur one drunken night to an equally inexperienced and inebriated partner. Following that last event I’d managed to go six months without a second bite at the (ahem) cherry, and frankly I wanted to make up for lost time. Young men in their early twenties aren’t often known for their restraint when it comes to offers of sex.
Just down the road from our shared student house there was a Chinese business called Bamboo Therapy. The lower half of the window was taken up with a large picture of a woman lying down and covered with a towel, while a pair of hands worked on her shoulders. Above the poster you could see a shelf with a row of dusty jars filled with herbs and with labels that weren’t legible, if indeed they were even written in English. I don’t ever recall seeing anyone going in and out, and the picture obscured most of the counter too. It would be easy to believe that the shop didn’t actually operate at all.
That didn’t stop my flatmate Mike from speculating when we passed it one evening on the way to the pub:
“You’d think there’d be more interest in a place like that. I’d give it a go myself for a bit of fun if I wasn’t so skint.”
“What do you mean? You looking for something to help you sleep, or some pills to sort out your skin?”
“That’s not where they make their money though is it? See that small massage sign in the corner of the window? That’s what I’d want to try.”
As he spoke, for the first time that I could ever remember, the shop door opened and out stepped a slim, pretty, long-haired Chinese woman who couldn’t have been much older than us. The evening was warm so she didn’t wear a jacket, just a short white medical coat. For a few seconds she fumbled with the lock, presumably shutting up for the night, then turned in our direction. As she walked past us she offered us a bright smile; we turned our heads to watch her disappearing form. Mike spoke again:
“See? She’s gorgeous. I’d pay to be massaged by her.”
“She is gorgeous, but you wouldn’t get to touch her, unless you fancied getting chucked out by the owner.”
“You would if you paid enough. You just need to wait til she’s finished then ask for a happy ending.”
“Bullshit! You’ve been reading too many lad mags.”
“There’s a guy my brother knows, he went to one as a dare on a stag do. They clubbed together to pay for him. He got a lot more than just a massage.”
I let it drop and we walked on to the pub, but part of me couldn’t stop thinking about the conversation over the next few days. I didn’t know if Mike was right or if it was all macho bluster, but I was hardly going to ask him for more detail in case he got suspicious. What I did know was that unlike most of my group, I did have enough cash to see me through til the end of term. And the woman we’d seen really had been very attractive, probably out of my league in normal circumstances. And if it was all nonsense, well, I did a fair amount of sport, and a straightforward massage wouldn’t be a bad thing…
*
I wasn’t brave enough to visit the shop we’d passed; it was way too close to my own doorstep, and ran the risk of being recognised in what was a student-heavy area. With no mobile phone, it took a little research with a Yellow Pages to locate a similar place called San Ling, this one in another suburb I barely knew a couple of miles away. But the advert for the shop stated ‘Massage’ and they were open until late which I took to be a promising sign.
A few days later I set off in the early evening. Before I left I showered, keen to make a good impression, almost as if this were a date. After I’d been to a cashpoint and taken out a good chunk of my remaining balance, luckily a bus arrived almost immediately. As we rode I clutched my A-Z, looking out for the road name and number that I’d memorised.
Considering what I was hoping for, the area I arrived in was really quite respectable. For a brief moment I considered backing out, worried that this was all part of an elaborate windup on Mike’s part, but he wasn’t here to see his handiwork, and the thought of the woman we’d seen was still in my mind.
The building itself was pretty similar to the one I already knew. The picture was different, but again it was difficult to see inside as it took up so much of the window. There were no herbs on display, but I could see a waving Fortune cat and some colourful small boxes. There was also no-one visible on the street. The door appeared to be locked, so I steeled myself and rang the bell.
Fairly quickly an Asian woman appeared, but she was very different to the one I’d previously admired. I’d guess she was in her fifties, was somewhat plump, and wore a loose top and leggings. She beckoned me inside, then locked the door behind me again. There were few preliminaries:
“You want massage?”
“Um, yeah. Please.”
“How long? 30 minutes or one hour? Hour is only a little more, very relaxing.”
“OK. One hour then.”
“£25. Then I’ll get someone for you.”
I handed over my money, quietly relieved there was plenty more if the extra service I hoped for was forthcoming (it would cost more wouldn’t it?) and that apparently this woman wasn’t going to be delivering the massage. Maybe my expectations had been set too high, but I definitely had someone a little closer to my own age in mind. She put the cash into a drawer behind the counter, then beckoned me to follow her. We walked down a corridor and into a surprisingly large room.
“You undress here please. I’ll send in someone for your treatment.”
With that she was gone, so I took the opportunity to look around. The room had bright walls with pictures of landscapes and a single anatomy poster, and was well lit by a naked bulb that hung from the ceiling. A massage table stood in the middle, with a head cradle covered by a thin disposable sheet. In the corner there was a modern looking shower stall, next to it was a small sink and a selection of what I assumed to be massage oils, along with a device I didn’t yet recognise. From a ghetto blaster some gentle pan pipe music was playing, and the whole place smelt of soap and perfume.
My host had asked me to undress, but I was unsure how far I should go – everything, or would they give me some of those paper underwear I’d seen in pictures? I needn’t have worried, as I’d only removed my shoes, socks and top when the door was knocked and without waiting for a reply, in stepped a different Chinese woman. She was short, probably in her mid-thirties, slender, and very smiley; her mid-length hair was tied back which showed off a pretty, unlined face, and she wore all black – a stretchy vest top, knee length skirt and tights, almost as if she was off to work in a hairdressers. Her voice was soft, barely more than a whisper:
“Hi, what’s your name?”
“Hi, I’m Daniel.”
“Nice to meet you Daniel, I’m Lucy. Please take everything off and lie on the table.”
She clearly wasn’t going anywhere so I began to take off my trousers while she smirked at my obvious embarrassment. When I got to my underwear she turned her back and poured some massage oil into the device which I now realised would heat it. Taking advantage of the distraction, I quickly slipped off my boxer shorts and hopped onto my front on the table, placing my head in the hole so that my only view was now that of the floor.
For a few seconds I waited while nothing happened, then I felt a towel being placed over the lower half of my body. Next the patch of carpet I could see seemed to grow slightly darker, as if the light in the room had been dimmed. Then I could sense Lucy standing above my head, and she rearranged my arms so that they were no longer dangling over the table edge, but lying next to my sides. A small pair of hands began to gently knead my shoulders.
“How do you want your massage? Soft, medium or hard?”
“Um. Medium, I guess?”
Lucy didn’t seem to be a big talker. Instead she simply set to work, grasping my shoulders, neck, back and hips, and starting to work at any knots she found there. I’d never had a massage of any kind, but I was surprised at how hard ‘medium’ actually turned out to be, and how much strength there obviously was in those slim arms. Based on my limited knowledge, it also felt as if she really did know what she was doing; within minutes I could feel myself feeling more flexible, even if there was a dull ache in the areas she’d touched so far.
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