Sex needn’t be hard to find. Whether it’s the satisfying release from a quick fuck or an entire night of hot and dripping sex if you have the balls to make it happen the city's streets offer a myriad of possibilities. And this 'Night Trawling' series is all about the secretive pursuit of the ultimate in casual sex, the 'zipless fuck'. 

These stories concern the pure, animalistic need for sexual release as it reaches its ultimate climax. They are shameless stories, explicit and very real to their themes. Whether any are true… well, I leave that for the reader to decide. But I believe anyone who has had such experiences will agree they are faithfully depicted. 

As the title indicates, this story is about a massage parlor. It could have been written about any number of such shady establishments, they’re all similar. As it happens, this particular parlor was once named the 'Sunset Massage'. While that moniker has changed, the business remains there to this day, nestled on Mission Boulevard between a cluttered auto parts junk-yard on the west and the euphemistically named 'Ginza Health Center' on the east. Why two virtually identical Asian brothels inhabit the same bit of worn curb I’ve never understood. Nevertheless, they’ve survived for many decades, providing men with their special pleasures.  

There is, by the way, an interesting fact here. At a time when therapeutic massage is mainstream, one can still count on the terms 'Chinese', 'Asian' or the now fading 'Swedish' massage, to be a universal sign that the girls within are willing to offer the happiest of endings. 

Whether it be a classic rub-and-tug or hours of almost any imaginable sexual act, it boils down to cost. For more extreme acts, however, the client may need to build a rapport with the masseuse. After a few encounters, these girls will sate virtually any sexual appetite a man my harbor. Anal Rimming? Bareback? For a man who is willing to pay the price, nothing is off the table. 

It was a newspaper advertisement that brought the Sunset Massage to my attention. It was a simple notice, one of those innuendo-filled blurbs on the back page of the want ads section. I can't say why I was attracted to that particular one, but I was confident about its meaning. So, late one afternoon, I parked in the tiny lot next to this small bordello. 

The building — like the Ginza spa next to it — was once the home of a long-forgotten family. No doubt there were several such homes along that stretch of Mission Boulevard but they’ve been lost over the years, replaced in the late sixties by rows of shops built in the drab and featureless architecture of that era. By comparison, the Sunset Massage holds a certain nostalgia for those who grew up when these quaint homes dotted the landscape of Southern California. 

I don't happen to be one of those. To me, the place is a dump. Even its fresh coat of paint doesn’t hide the fact that the owner found the cheapest possible locale for his illicit sex shop. The ambiance, however, was not what brought me there. Once inside, I quickly lost interest in the history of the place. 

As it was a home, the front door faced the street. Simply entering the place left me exposed to the torrent of traffic streaming down the boulevard. Every time I visited, I felt as if the passing drivers were watching me, knowing that I was going in there to fuck some nameless whore. It was exhilarating and the exhibitionist in my soul danced with joy at the thought of so many people watching me enter through that door.

Inside, the old living room had been divided by a wall, leaving just enough room in the front for a couple of chairs and a small table with a fake potted plant. This struck me as rather odd and in all the times I was there, I never saw anyone use this waiting room. I did imagine, however, sitting there as if it were a dental office while, in reality, I was waiting for a blowjob. That thought never ceased to amuse me. 

The reception area was behind the wall, which had a door, smoked-glass sliding window, and a little bell to attract the mama-san who was always at the ready to collect my fee. I learned over time that she and the girls I came to see were neither Japanese or Chinese. They were Korean, and they didn't much care to be confused with the others. 

Oddly, over the several years I visited the place, a colorful, hand-written sign never changed: Thirty bucks for a half-hour, forty-five for the full sixty minutes. Inflation, it seemed, hit every other industry but the cost of pussy was stable as a pond on a calm day. 

Of course, that didn't include the tip, but I always paid the girl a hundred for her service, a happy hooker being a horny hooker after all. My tip made less of an impression as time went by, but by then I was a welcome regular. Besides, I always paid extra for anything special I might desire on a given visit. 

Those desires burned brightly on this particular day and mama-san's smile was all the more welcoming as I paid for the hour. I never asked her name, but I assumed she was the owner. She was older than the working girls and beyond the age that most men would be willing to pay for sex. I sensed she had been quite beautiful in her day. Regardless, a moment after giving her the cash, she unlocked the door and led me into a hall that was always empty. This was by design: they knew that no man wanted to bump into another while on his way to get laid. I appreciated that nod toward my anonymity. 

"Have you been here before?" she always asked, at least until I became enough of a regular to be recognized. I learned that the question was her subtle way of feeling me out. I'm certain she asked every man the same question.  

When I replied, "Yes, many times," she would smile and ask the name of the girl I last saw. It was all very innocuous — but, if a man gave a name she didn't know, he would instantly be suspected as being a Vice cop. I imagine his visit would then be much less enjoyable. 

I also learned there was another reason she asked. Many girls would give a different name to guys who had been rude, offensive, or cheap. I'll never know what happened when a man repeated one of those names, but at the very least the girl who then serviced him would be much more guarded and eager to end their encounter. 

As I answered these inquiries, I was led to one of the parlor’s three small rooms. Each of them had a single mattress, one chair, and a small table with a lamp providing minimal light. Mildly erotic pictures broke the otherwise sterile, utilitarian atmosphere, and my favorite room at the end of the hall had a full-length mirror set into a wall. Inside, I was handed a clean, white towel and asked to strip while I waited. This pattern was set in stone, never varying until I was very well known.

Being known so well was a huge advantage. Mama-san knew I had a favorite girl, and almost without fail, Jessica knocked on my door. By then, I’d placed my neatly-folded clothing on the chair and was barely covered by the towel when she entered. 

Jessica, like most of the girls in places like this, wasn't a teenager or twenty-something nymphet. She was in her thirties, had a rich, pale gold complexion and almond-shaped eyes as dark as brown gets. She was full-figured, not at all fat but certainly not the waif-like image usually associated with Asian women. Some say the men who frequent these brothels have a fetish for women of Asian descent, and maybe I do, but it was her hair that I found truly exquisite. Thick, dark and straight, it flowed over her shoulders as if it had a life of its own. 

She was maybe five-foot-four in her bare feet, and she smiled happily as she padded over and knelt on the faded carpet next to the thin mattress serving as our bed.

"How you doing, baby?” she asked in her not-so-subtle Korean accent. That made me smile. Knowing she was Korean, I had no doubt Jessica was no more her real name than Milik is mine. Yet, it felt natural to think of her as that. Besides, her accent was beautifully musical and I  loved the way she spoke.  

"I'm good. Just a little stressed. I need your gentle touch."

"Ah, good. I missed you. We have one hour today. You want something special?" Pulling my towel away, she traced fingers over my chest, then down my body, her palm smoothing over my rapidly inflating cock. 

Nodding, I took the liberty of sliding my hand under the mid-thigh length of her dress until I was caressing her ass. The girls never wore panties and they all welcomed this initial touch as Vice cops don't normally dip their fingers into a pussy before negotiations begin. Allowing this touch was another subtle indication that I was safe. Of course, I never gave up the habit, even after becoming a welcome regular. 

Her voice grew quiet when we discussed actual acts. "What would you like?" she asked while giving me the lightest of massages. Her warm, soft hands fluttered over my thighs, teasing me with illicit promise.

I laid back, enjoying the warmth of her hand as much as I did the softness of her ass under my mine. Kneeling over me, and taking so much care to arouse me while allowing my touch on her body, made me feel like a king. Sighing, I relaxed into the sheet while my cock rose, hard and eager.

"Let's go slow, okay? I want it all, but I don't want to hurry. I just want you to make me feel good today."

Licking her lips, her fingers slid along the length of my cock. "You gonna take good care of me, baby?" 

"Of course."

"Yes, you always do." Rising to her feet, she held my gaze as she slipped out of her dress. 

Jessica knew exactly how to get under a man's skin, and she ensured I enjoyed every moment as she undressed. I don't remember the exact cut of her dress that day but I do remember it was red. I was far more interested in how hard her nipples were when she took it off. Dark and thick, her areolae contrasted sharply with the exotic color of her skin. Wearing only red stockings, her dark bush neatly trimmed, she looked positively delicious. Another point to make is that I never met an Asian working girl who shaved her pubes. I'm not sure why but it certainly never became vogue in these cheap brothels. 

It had also occurred to me that there must be a guide book for the girls to follow and Jessica was no exception. She draped her dress over the lamp, further subduing the light and providing a crimson iridescence. Every time in places like this, it’s the same move, and I've never bothered to ask why. Being in the presence of an attractive woman poised to suck your cock will do that to your attention span.

Up to then, her care for me was the same as she’d give any client. For a guy she didn't know, there would be a satisfying but simple blowjob followed by her riding his cock. It would be fun, but in the end, the girl was just trying to get him off as quickly as possible. For a regular like me, she was willing to take her time and even enjoy it as best she could. I offered her safety and the certainty that she’d be well paid. For that, she made sure our time together felt more personal and not at all rushed. That kind of service stemmed from the familiarity of being together many times. 

As it was, Jessica and I were familiar in our own way. We’d spoken about my job; she’d offered stories about her family. I’ve no idea how true they were, nor did I care. The point being, she was happy to please me and she knew my kinks as well as any lover I’d had. 

We spoke again that day as she teased my nipples. Her touch was so soft and fearlessly bold that it never failed to make my cock throb. When I was hard, Jessica knelt over me and took my cock into her mouth. 

Strangely, I’d never felt her slipping the condom onto me nor watched her put it into her mouth. I once saw it affixed to her skin under her dress, but even that slip I only observed that single time. For all practical purposes, she might have been making it appear magically on my cock. Whatever, it certainly never lessened my pleasure. 

"Go nice and slow," I told her while she drew her lips over my shaft. "Pay attention to my balls. Yeah, that's it. Fuck, you suck a good cock." 

All of this was a whisper, of course. The walls were thin as cardboard and I'm sure mama-san wouldn’t appreciate having our illegal tryst broadcast to the entire house.  

Jessica took care to tease me. Many times she’d made me cum in seconds, but that day she knew I wanted more. I fondled her breasts, tweaking her nipples, and squeezed her ass while she made love to my cock. Hookers are no different from any woman in that they want to be treated well — and they appreciate a man who knows how to handle them. 

Following my directions, she sucked my balls and ran her lips over my shaft several times between her more sensual sucks. She kept me on the edge, and every time my orgasm neared, she changed her technique. It was pure, blissful torture. Still, and despite her care, there was only so much of her skilled mouth I could take before I filled that condom with cum. Jessica knew my limits well, and just as I was about to tell her to stop, she asked me to roll over. 

Flipping me over, Jessica massaged my back, occasionally touching my balls. She tugged me up on my knees so that my cock dangled and then she slid on her knees behind me. When she cleaned my ass with a wet wipe, I knew she’d guessed my special desire for the day. 

Her breath washed over my skin as she put her lips to my ass. She started rimming me with fluttering flicks of her tongue. Oh, my lord, if no one has ever done that for you, you have my pity. The sensations were incredible and my muscles relaxed under her tender care. 

While she licked my asshole, Jessica also slowly stroked my cock. She was driving me insane and my whole body tingled with anticipation. As I relaxed, she plunged a finger deep into my ass and her stroking of my cock became forceful. She was milking me and I felt the first twinges of orgasm stirring in my balls. I was dying to let her make me cum and she certainly would have —but, hell, I was paying for it and wanted to fuck her first. Reluctantly, I rolled away and she sat back on her haunches. 

The condom had come off by then and that I hadn't counted on. It was a major problem. These girls are usually one-shot pleasures and I feared it would limit my release to a regular handjob. That would ruin the entire experience but, thankfully, Jessica had other plans. 

Gripping my cock, she whispered, "Tell me when you need to come, baby." Rising over me, she guided my cock toward her cunt.  

I will never forget the look on her face as I slid inside her. Knowing a woman likes how you feel is great for a man's ego, but seeing that heady glaze in the eyes of a professional will make your fucking millennium. Jessica took all of me, riding my cock with an even, ever-increasing pace. Her pussy had been well lubed when she came in and now her juices were making her cunt as slick as wet glass. 

Holding her ass, I guided her up and down, faster and faster, until my balls felt like they were going to burst. Her pussy squeezed me, clasping my cock with a heated suction that was drawing the cum up from my balls. I let her ride me, loving the way her hair danced over her breasts. Only in the last moment did I grunt, "I'm cuming," as quietly as I could. 

Jessica popped off my cock, leaving it wet and hard and poking straight up. Without losing a beat, she sat next to me and took it in her hand. Her grip was intuitively strong. Most women don't realize how hard a man likes to be stroked when he's close, but she did and was soon stroking me hard and fast. 

My orgasm had been interrupted but she had me roaring back in seconds. As I was about to cum, she pushed a finger into my ass again, sending me into orbit. Hot cum shot from me, arcing before splashing down on my chest. Jessica kept stroking until I was sweaty, drained, and gasping for breath. It was amazing. 

I must have dozed because I barely noticed her dressing before she left the room. Moments later, she returned with a hot towel and wiped me free of my cum. We didn't talk much after that but she helped me dress, which was always a pleasure. Putting on a man's shoes and socks for him seems to be another universal service at these establishments. Certainly, I’ve never had to put on my own after enjoying one of these lovely ladies. 

I gave Jessica a generous tip, saying as I always did, that it was a gift. Then, she gave me a quick peck on my lips before ushering me out of a side door. 

Driving away, I had a familiar feeling that I’d gotten away with some rare and exotic taboo. In retrospect, it’s an odd thought considering these places are actually very common.