I was never the stud growing up. Yes, I had girlfriends, lost my virginity in HS, but if half the rumors were true, I was missing out on the carnal activities my peers seemed to enjoy on a weekly basis.
Fast forward to college. I came a bit more into my own, but even looking back, I can see so many missed opportunities for uncommitted sex that I just didn’t pick up on when served on a silver platter.
As I graduated and moved into the real world, I was in a long-distance relationship. We’d see each other every couple of months, but good sex became just handjobs in the shower as I was getting ready to go home. She was either a born again virgin or giving me a clear signal it was over.
High speed internet was just starting to become affordable, giving me an outlet for my sexual imagination. I loved reading stories of others’ sexual adventures and longed to have my own. I discovered the “Personal Services” section of Craigslist, and eventually Backpage, where I first learned of Asian massage parlors, or AMPs. Having spent way too much money at that time on lap dances just to leave with blue balls and empty pockets, I become more and more enamored with the idea of visiting a parlor.
I learned what to look for: Late hours, tinted windows, side doors and doorbells to gain admission. One night, driving home after visiting the soon to be ex, I pulled off the highway and into a dark parking lot lit only by a neon “Open” sign.
My heart was pounding as I turned off the car and walked to the door. My hand shook as I rang the bell. After what felt like forever, a slender face peered around the door. “You want massagie?”
She stepped aside as I mumbled, “Yes.”
As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I saw a sexy Asian woman, probably older than I’d fantasized about but still sexy as hell to me (Asian woman are my kryptonite). She held her hand out for the house fee, $60 dollars for the hour, and I awkwardly handed over the bills. She led me to the room and told me to get ready.