I've written--not here, though--about my East Hampton drinking buddy, Wally. Wally is in his mid-50's, tall, well-built in a heavy sort of way, including what he charmingly calls his "junk," and he's handsome. I don't have sex with him, although I know that's what he wants. He meets me a few evenings a week for happy hour at Rowdy Hall, our local bar, and buys me expensive chardonnay while we talk. I wear makeup and a black dress and sometimes talk dirty; he never seems to get tired of this, though he looks wistfully at me.
Just once, I gave him a surprise Christmas present in his living room; I'm sure I was drunk. I did a one-woman, all nude performance of "The Trojan Women," pretending at the conclusion he was Menelaus, taking me back to Greece to concubinage, and soldiers shove me down at his feet, my wrists bound behind my back, and force me to suck him off. Waking the next day, I was sure that this would ruin our relationship and nothing would do but I fuck him from then on. But he was perfect. He gave me an incredibly expensive diamond bracelet and never said a word about what happened. What a great relationship!
He tells me about his sex life because I enjoy it. And maybe he thinks that I'll feel guilty that he goes to massage parlors and stuff. I mean, he's rich; he could have girls who would make me look like Gretel--or maybe Hansel. Or the witch. But no, as I described in my story, "The New Aloha Spa," Wally goes to a "spa" on West 14th Street in Manhattan. Second floor, long, dark, grimy stairs and hallway, but nice enough inside, he says. All Korean girls about 20, angelic faces, gorgeous little bodies, some a bit chubby with baby-fat boobs and puffy pink nipples-others svelte, long, all definition and firm uplifted nips. One-hundred percent flying the jet-black flag.
He's admitted by one or two middle-aged women dressed in plain black dresses, hair up, looking older than the girls and much wearier. They greet him with false cheer, smiling, laughing, tactfully taking his arm to lead him to one of the small, candle-lit, incense-scented rooms with a few hooks on the wall for clothes, the bed, a sink.
They collect $100 for one hour and depart. A girl appears right away wearing, say, a red dress that looks wet it is so tight, hem less than half-way down to her knees. Lots of breast showing. No underwear. She helps Wally strip, puts on his bathrobe, leads him the length of the spa, past the two ladies, to a big shower with a slatted wood table. There, the girl heaves buckets of warm water on him, laughing, soaps him up, including a vigorous work-up in his crotch, gently roughing up his balls, and sliding a soapy hand up and down his prick.
Dries him. Kneels to put on sandals for him. Back in the room, the massage is respectable. After some typical moves, the girl climbs aboard the bed, kneels astride Wally, with her bare thighs over his ass, so he can feel her pussy fur tickling his butt. She does more massaging. Same thing with Wally on his back, but not missing his dick.
When time is up, she puts her hand around his stiff dick, which she has been rubbing intermittently, squeezing, shaking, and smiles in his face, asks: "This?" as she gives his hard-on a sampler pumps. If, miraculous to say, Wally, or some other guy, says, "Why, yes, I think I might enjoy that," the girl raises ten fingers and says, in a very heavy accent, "One hundred dollar more."
Of course, that isn't even lunch money for Wally. He's just pissed off that he has to pay in advance. He gets up, clumps over to where his sports coat hangs, and gets the $100 and gives it to her. He flops onto the bed, ready.
But she's at the door, turning to him. "Right back," she smiles. Got to get that $100 out of there and to the ladies in case Wally changes his mind. She reappears and works maybe ten or fifteen more minutes on the massage, ending up with the prick in both hands, oiling it, slicking it longer and longer, circling around the big warm head. As the last minute, she leans over, puts her cheek next to his, breasts squashed to his chest, and starts moaning and crying out as she jerks him off.
In short, a classic "rub and tug," available at dozens of places throughout the metropolis, almost always by young ladies from Southeast Asia who barely speak the language but are uniformly dark-haired, clear-skinned, short but very round, large-brown-eyed cuties.
(I describe this first session of Wally's in much more detail in "The New Aloha Spa.")
Well, Wally goes back, asks for the same girl. He learns fast. When the guardian lady takes him to a room, he gives her the $80 for the massage and another $100 for the rub and tug. Works beautifully, no interruption, he thinks. But when they get to the rub-and-tug part, Wally says, "I want YOU to be naked, too, so I can play with these-he indicates her breasts. "Kiss them."
She smiles, nods. She says, holding up ten fingers, "One hundred dollars more." Wally could care less. It crosses his mind that he could buy this babe and take her home as his pet. Possibly buy a matching pair. For now, he hesitates, not for money, but wondering what else is for sale. The girl speaks up. She says, more or less: "No dress!" She grabs her boobs. "You kiss, squeeze." She is laughing. Possibly with the ridiculousness. Possibly hysterical. She suddenly kneels, face at his crotch. She bobs her head up and down over her clutched fist… "Suck for you, if you like suck."
As a matter of fact, Wally does like the occasional suck from a nubile, 20-year-old cutie. Wally can't believe that after trying to pick up younger women for years, going nights, weeks, and months celibate, all he must to do is shell out three hundred bucks! Christ! His first wife would have sex only in the missionary position, and, when they divorced, it cost him $2.5 million.
Three hundred bucks! He can't believe this. All his life he fell for the crap that paying for sex ruins it all! He gave me a $7,500 bracelet for condescending at Christmas to suck his dick. He quickly assures me, however, as he tells me this story, that that was different. Wonderful, special. Takes my hand in his, checks out the bracelet. Cost him as much as 350 blow jobs from a Korean girl, although of course there was the energetic enactment of "The Trojan Women."
But $300! He pays up. She smiles, "Right back, soon," and disappears. In a minute, she slips in the door. Closes it. Locks it. Huge smile. She peels off the red dress. He first sees sweetly girlish, chubby breasts with rather big soft red nipples. Sees her belly with jet black fur between pure white thighs. She laughs, turns, whips off the dress. Her ass is adorable! Oh, Christ! Where has this been all his life?
He seizes her, drags her to him. She beams up at him. She frames her hands around her face, like a circular fence, her perfect smile inside it. "No face," she says. "Not face."
Ah, he's got it. No kissing her face. Oh well, what can a man do? He bends and takes one softly pointed, slightly springy, sweet scented tit in his mouth and sucks. She encourages him, pushing it farther in, giggling. No face, what a shame, but he does give a quick frown at the thought that his dick goes into her mouth, but "face is no touch." Oriental culture or something. His lips are on her softly rounded belly, the navel deep, he is rubbing his face back and force over her silky pussy.
Back on the bed, now she is over him, naked, astride his belly, so he feels her whole wet apparatus sliding over him. His lips make a sucking motion; she bends forward to give him the tit, but the clock's running, so her small white hand closes around his now very thick, long, deep-red cock. She begins rubbing.
He closes his eyes. On cue, she slides to the floor. Wow! Her lips and mouth are cool! Oh, wait, it is that his dick is like a radiator. Her movements are slow, gentle, tongue under the head of his cock, tickling him there. One hand is over his balls, the other rubbing his nipple. He doesn't even keep track if he comes in her mouth or not; he thinks so. She is grinning up at him. Four second grin.
She is back with a warm cloth, cleaning him up. He pulls her close for one more suck, but the clock is about to strike. After a quick one, she pulls out the tit, with a soft plopping noise. Stands straight, so he can see her whole body. She gives him a big smile. Her small hand pats her pussy, gives it an affectionate slap. "Next time, this!" she says dramatically.
She helps him dress. He gives a tip of $100. She still is naked. He glances down at the dark shag. She smiles, hits it, "Next time!"
For a mere $400, he has gotten ALL of it. Exotic! Young and perfect! Doesn't even have to take her to dinner or figure out what to say in the morning. She won't call him at work while he's in a meeting with clients. She won't call on the phone weeping because he waited a day to ask her for another date. Nothing! She won't call him 'narcissistic,' because she doesn't know that word. She only knows "one hundred," a very reasonable number.
Where has this sex-for-money thing BEEN all his life? Is he the last man on the fucking planet to discover it?
Okay, that's how far we got LAST TIME, readers. Except in more glorious detail. Is there a NEW story or is this summer reruns? Ellen, have you gotten hopelessly confused and told all over again a story you already told, but not as well as the first time?
No, I have not. If you have time, there is another part to this story. Wally may seem a nice, easygoing guy, but, you know, he did get rich, all on his own. He pushes because he wants things and when he gets them, he wants more, better, and different.
He explained to me later, over chardonnay, of course, "It was fantastic, Ellen. Beautiful. Exotic, too. But...sort of... too pat, too routine, like processing."
I nod, gazing at him with my BSBE (big smoldering brown eyes), smiling. No shit? You pay a lot extra for a virgin, you know, Wally.
But I say, "That's how she makes it so nice. She's experienced. I'll bet she enjoyed being with you, though. You're handsome and well set up." I blink. What is this shit coming out of my mouth?
"I just wanted more," he said. "I wanted, sort of...a conquest. Taking a woman. I wanted a little shyness-you know, violation." He frowned at me. Not my problem, Wally. I do understand. I like a woman who gets put in her place. Didn't say that, though.
"So...?" I ask.
"I had started thinking of the guardian women, the black crows, the mother superiors... Sending in those young girls to get fucked, then sitting there having their...I don't know...their tea... Never putting out. I think maybe 40, a little younger. Taller than the girls. Long black hair piled up in a tight bun. Sort of austere looking, I would say. Remote. I liked her face; it had a beautiful shape. Huge eyes. And her boobs didn't stick straight up, but I knew she had a big bosom stuffed in there somewhere..."
Isn't it wonderful to hear a man honestly assess how he sees a woman?
"Well, I went in. Two woman met me at the door, smiling, ushering me in. And the woman I've been talking about asks: 'Your special girl?'
"I shake my head, gazing right into her face. 'No, not her.'
"'What girl?' More smiles.
"'You. I want you,' I say. And I look down her body. This was getting me up, Ellen.
"'No!" she says, 'No, no! I am old. I am not girl, not beautiful for client. I will call girls to come for you to see all.'
"'No," I say, 'don't call them. Just you.'
"Much louder, this time: 'No! You don't want!'
"The other woman is shaking her head, just as hard, protesting, but I don't remember what she is saying. Then, suddenly, a guy has come out from behind some curtain. He is hurrying over, rubbing his hands together, officious...
"'Is there trouble?' he asks, in English, looking from me to the women.
"Now, my lady looks REALLY upset. She starts jabbering in Korean, shaking her head at him. Even under her light-brown complexion, I can see her blush. Her eyes are whipping from the guy to me to the other woman.
"The guy turns to me, smiling, shaking his head, bows. 'Not a girl,' he explains. 'Not a young, beautiful Korean girl, for you. We have six girls here today; they can pose for you...'
"Ellen, I'm in a whorehouse arguing with the pimp. What was I thinking? How does this happen? No dignity!"
I am filling his glass with chardonnay for the third time. He waves it away, glances at the bartender. I say, "Just continue, Wally, I'll get you a Jack."
"Well,' I say to this guy, 'No, not today, then.' I bow, say: 'Perhaps another time.'"
"That brings him right to the crux of the matter: 'More money?'
"I shrug. Couldn't care less. I say, 'One thousand, one hour'?'
"He bows. 'She will be delighted.' The woman is backing away, shaking her head. She starts to jabber in Korean. The other woman looks at her in horror. What is going down, here?
"'Whack!' he slaps this woman across the face. Christ! I never saw a woman hit so hard. Immediately, I am protesting, but in English, of course. No one is listening. No one gives a shit what I have to say. I've already identified myself as a complete asshole!"
I hand Wally the Jack. "Wow, this is getting SO hot!" I smile and smolder, again.
"Well, I thought this woman would go flying across the room, scream, cry! Jesus, it was like being slapped with a wet board. This guy must know karate of something. But no, she doesn't make a sound. Doesn't step back. Doesn't lift her hand to rub her check. Those dark eyes just staring, first at me, then at the guy.
"And he says, to me: 'Please wait.' He disappears behind the curtains. Now, I'm with the two women. What a gentleman I am! Fucking round eyes! I can't meet her gaze, I look down. Then, he's back, with a big folder like a loose-left notebook, and he stands beside me and opens it.
"What the fuck is this? Then, I get it. This is the menu! These are the specials. He smiles up at me, turns to a page This is one of the young girls, of course. Naked, hands cuffed behind her back, shackles on her legs, standing bowed, obedient. And some guy with a crop is slapping her tits. You can see the red marks. My pal looks up and smiles, questioning.
"I point to the crop, shake my head very hard, no! He nods. But apparently, I have ordered, with modifications. He closes the book. 'One thousand, please?' he announces.
"Can I back out, now? After this? Will he call two more guys out to work me over? Can I give him the thousand and get the hell out? But what does he do to the woman, then? She scared away the customer!
"I hand over 10 bills. It's nothing to me. I have much more on me, some of it in a special pocket of my coat, some in a money belt. Now, the other woman is leading me down the hall. The guy is already hauling away my poor woman, holding her by the biceps.
''Once in the room, the woman very politely removing my clothes, hanging them on the wall hooks, smiling. She kneels at my feet, head down, taking off my shoes and socks. Gives my feet a quick rub. Then she gets up, smiles, points to my underwear with an interrogating look. I shake my head. She hustles around the room. lighting candles, incense, turning on soft, slinky, oriental music. She comes back, bows very low. I figure that right now, she would like to drive a very long dagger up between my legs and twist it. She leaves.
'I don't even have time to bang my fucking head against the wall before there is a knock. It opens and the other women comes in first, face down, not looking at me, the man behind her, pushing. She is completely naked; her hair is down so that mass piled on her head now falls to her big ass; it's stunning. It frames her face, SO austere, so grave! Beautiful bones, eyes, lips. Very dark in the dim room.
"She lifts her head, holds it up, straightens her back, her shoulders. I can't say she exactly lifts her breasts. They are very full, hanging down almost to her navel, swelling out down there into roundness. The stretched breasts elongate her nipples, stretching them out flat to maybe two inches long. More. Long ovals of flesh that now are crinkling, beginning to push out thick points that drag the ovals into ragged patches. Then, a very smooth, dark belly and the patch between her thighs. She couldn't have shaved this or trimmed it in 20 years. It starts an inch below her navel and runs in a wide, thick band down her belly and over her inner thighs. I can't even glimpse skin through it.
"I am gazing at all this and when I look up, she is watching me. So is the guy, smiling. 'All fine?' he asks.
"Quite honestly, Ellen, I breathe out 'Beautiful'
"I have noticed her arms are pulled behind her back. I try to look. She turns so I can see. Her wrists are in cuffs. She looks down, as I do. There are black shackles around her ankles with a black chain dragging between them. She is watching me-for approval, I guess.
"The guy holds up a key, a big key. 'For both,' he says. He points to the bed. I had not noticed. A metal ring is set into the headboard at the top. He points again, another ring in the wood of the foot of the bed."
I nod slowly. He says, 'Do not be concerned by noise. You will not be disturbed.' He nods, bows, withdraws, closing the door. I do not hear it lock."
Wally lets out a long sigh, drinks off the Jack. "All set," he says. "What could be more romantic and relaxing? I have zero erection, right at that point. Might never have one again.
"I really, really wanted to comfort this woman, Ellen." He holds up his hand, lowers his face. "I know, I know, I know. I just wanted to make myself the good guy. I'm a monstrous American with money. I'm worse than a rapist!."
Poor Wally, most guys go to a spa, get a rub and tug, and forget it Wally has a metaphysical crisis and is reborn. I encourage him: "But...?"
He sighs. "But...I put my arms around her, pull her to me. My chest is pressed to her tits; they feel huge. Her scratchy bush, down there, is tickling my thighs. I am holding her, looking down at her face. I have an awful urge to kiss. At last, I ask, 'No face?'
"She shakes her head. 'Anything for you.'
"Not sure what that means except that a thousand bucks goes a long way. I bend forward, her face turns up to me, her lips opening, eyes softening. I kiss her. She is responsive-sort of. When I stop, gets on tiptoe, crushes her lips to mine, shoves in her tongue. Is this part of the service? It's GOT to be! I can't tell, but, then, I'm a certified moron.
"I am smoothing aside her hair, kissing her, again, gazing into her eyes. Like a hot 1940's movie. Nice fantasy, Wally! When I stop, stop and gaze at her as though I have no idea what to do, she sorts of lifts her chest, hiking those pendulous knockers, and I take them, overflowing my hands, huge soft fruits in each palm. I suck, I rub them in my face, my hands are crushing them, twisting stiff nipples. It is possible I WILL have another erection in my life, after all.
"Definitely something going on down there. She knows. She gets down on her knees, bows, her dark hair is so long it drags on the floor, and her face presses against my underwear, her lips pressed on the shape of my dick. I slip them down, so my dick pops up, stiff. More than stiff! So, hard that it has arched backward. First, she pushes her face against it, the whole length, moves her lips on it. She gets it between those engulfing boobs, buried in the flesh, and she is rocking her body to rub it in there.
"When her lips close over it, I have to slow her. I take her shoulders, lift her up, and when she is standing, there, I ask the next thing. All down her long, dusky left thigh, maybe a good 14 inches long, are big Japanese characters. I can identify them as Japanese, no more than that.
"I nod toward her. 'What does it say?'
“She lowers her eyes, seems to take a very breath, and says: 'Tattoo says, Sewer: Fuck her here...’ A directional arrow disappears under her huge black bush.
“Then, she turns her ass to me. On the back of the right thigh is another huge tattoo. I have already learned something. "It also says: 'Sewer: Fuck her here.' With a direction arrow disappearing in her ass crack."
“Huge black tattoos, back and front, signposts forever to whore. Baffled, I ask: ‘You wanted these?’
“I am a mental incompetent," she tells me morosely.
“She shakes her head, eye gazing down. "No want them. At party. Businessmen, I am the pleasure girl. They gave me much to drink, then did this to me.' She adds, 'No marriage for me, then, to any Korean man. No clients.' She whispers, 'No sex for me...'
"Ellen, by this time I am in a rage. Wally the hero, champion of the right. I say, 'Who did this to you? Where did they do it?' I am telling myself they aren't going to get away with it. I have political connections! Senators, the Governor!"
He adds, ‘I am pathetic. There is no possible description of how pathetic.’"
"She says, 'In Seoul. Twenty years, more. Japanese business delegation to President of South Korea. Important men! I am just one girl. My sister! My friends! In the morning, I am like this.’"
Silently, I hand him another Jack. He drinks, not looking at me. Finally, he says, not very loudly, very dull voice, "I know absolutely shit about what really happens in the world, Ellen. Wally has discovered that there are bad guys in the world and that they do evil things. Wally has discovered he can’t do a damn thing about it.
“Ellen, I cannot have sex with this woman. I cannot be another man who buys her, forces her. I cannot be the dickhead I already am. I should be chemically castrated...
"So, I say to her, shaking my head, 'Not sex, today. I am wrong. Leave, please. I will pay."
"Suddenly, she is shaking her head. Wildly. Terrified! 'No! I must not go!' She is gesturing 'out there,' where the boss is. She says, 'I show you!' She turns and manages to get the key off the table, the one the guy left.
"She opens the cuffs, shackles, throws them on the bed. Then, she stoops down at what I thought was just the sink and opens doors. I am just watching as she grabs something, then manages to roll onto the bed. She bends far forward, now, toward the foot of the bed, fastens the shackle to her ankles and through the metal eye. She lies back, snaking up the bed till that shackle is tight. She clips the cuffs onto one wrist, hooks the short chain into the eye at the head of the bed, and looks at me, still panicked.
“I step forward, but she says, 'Like this, and with the crop she took from below the sink, she gives a tremendous slash down between her spread legs, then another one--sharp, wet whacks into her pussy. Then, just as quickly, glancing again at me, she whacks the crop down on her nipple! Whack! The other one: Whack! Then the pussy, again: Whack!
"I can't believe what my heart was doing, Ellen. Why couldn't I have a nice myocardial infarction, right there? Why is God so withholding? Or a stoke? Did that guy out there have a gun? Maybe if I...."
“I'm leaping toward the bed to stop her. She drops the crop on her belly and reaches up to lock her other wrist into the cuff, so her legs are pulled down and chained and her arms are pulled up and chained. One chained hand wiggles with the key for me to take it… It's all I can think to do. I turn and put it on the sink. Think! Got to think! How long has it been since I thought? At least 10 years?"
"I can't help it. I'm sniffling. Tears on my face. Barely see her. What a fucking pussy boy!"
“She has started to twist and writhe in her bonds. What the hell? Her loins are twisting, held by the chains. She thrusts up that huge ebony swatch, jerks it obscenely. At the same time, her upper body is turning, her arms tangling the chains, so her breasts slide to one side, then the other, in changing shapes. The huge nipples are straight up, now. And her face is in agony, mouth open to scream, eyes wide with fear. Her whole body is in motion as though she were being jolted with electric shocks."
"It takes a while, Ellen, but I DO finally get it! Sexy as hell performance. That whole beautiful body in every contortion, every expression of emotion. She sees that I get it and snarls, 'Punish me! Hard! Cunt! Very hard!'"
"I can't. Ellen, I CAN NOT! Can't do it. I pick up the crop. I am running it over her breasts, her nipples, her thighs, and her belly. Just slowly, tickling."
"'Hit!' she pleads. I give a few quick pats to the springy nipples, bouncing them. I tap the bush right where the clitoris should be. Then, I put the crop on the sink. At least I am getting a hard on. In fact, the thing is brushing back against my belly button, the foreskin dragged down, the raspberry very slick with pre-cum. My balls are pulled so tight that they ache.
“I get to the foot of the bed. Take her ankles and spread them, then climb on the bed and kneel over her legs, shoving them farther apart till I can see the whole gleaming pink pussy and every curling of the cunt lips. Well, this is one thing she isn't faking! I can't believe this clit. It's like a long, thick blue tube, glistening, and from one end comes a pick protrusion with a tiny slit. But this thing is a miniature dick, Ellen!"
“I am getting my face down in there, when she shouts, "No! No for me! No! Stop!"
I don't stop and now she writhing ferociously, trying desperately to close her thighs, protect her pussy, close it. 'No,' she yelling. 'I do not get this! Never! A client does not!'
"But my lips already are over her clit, taking it right in, my tongue running along that unbelievably stamen and feeling the slick protrusion swelling outward. My tongue is tweaking it, back and forth, again and again, I've never experience anything half this wild! I am all over that pussy, swishing around its juices, giving it hell with my tongue. No mercy."
"With this shouting, I'm sure the guy is going to come crashing through the door. My girl is gasping and making incredible high-pitched whines, throwing around her hips, thrusting them up at me like a mad woman. And the whole thing is melting in cum."
“I can't take it any longer. I fling my whole weight onto her, crushing a cry from her, and drive my cock into her. It whizzes into that lubricated cunt like a shot bolt, right up, till my pubic bone slams against hers and she gives a weird high cry. My mouth is on hers, now, kissing her, and my hand, I don't every realize, is squeezing and dragging at her poor breast. She can't be still under me. She is so strong that she keeps flinging me up with her loins, flinging me and following me, so we bang back down and my stiff dick gives her another deep stab."
“She is weeping. Weeping! Lashing her head back and forth so the incredible hair flails everything--my face, the bed, her face. Only one thing from her, "So loooong!" she moans and it is a drawn-out, agonizing cry from her soul."
'"Holy shit, Wally!" I whisper. I've been belting down a lot of chardonnay. I can't believe this story! I mean, this is a second-floor spa in a grubby building on West 14th. This isn't a re-enactment of "Miss Saigon." (I know, I know, wrong country, but you get the idea.)
"Right," says Wally under his breath. "I guess she hadn't had a fuck since that night the Japanese guys did for her permanently."
"But it sounds as though she could have," I said meditatively. "I mean, sexy looking and guys aren't going to say, "Oh, my God, no. I can't! You have those tattoos!'"
Wally is nodding. "Of course, not," he says. "She just would not give herself to a man, again. They didn't make her take clients. She wouldn't touch herself because her body had been desecrated, forever.'"
"Till you had your idea for a little more excitement," I said.
He nodded, looking at me. "Nice of you to listen, Ellen."
"What did you do?"
"Tried to give her a huge tip, but she refused. She said, "He will take it." So, I gave the boss a $500 tip, figuring it would be good for her. He sure wanted me to make a return visit. I haven't yet."
"You know, I've even thought of marrying her, Ellen."
Have another Jack, Wally.
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