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.

I stripped to my underwear and awaited her return. She reentered the room, and my eyes were finally able to get a good look at her. She was dressed in a garter belt and corset-type lingerie, white against her pale skin. I’m certain my excitement at seeing her was evident by the tent in my boxers. She giggled and quickly dispensed with my boxers; leaving them on was a mistake I learned not to repeat.

I lay face down and let her take the lead. She was generous with the oil, and ensured she used as much of her lithe body as possible during the massage. She asked why I wasn’t out with a wife or GF at the time. I could feel her nipples through the lingerie as she slid up and down my back, heightening my excitement.

She soon moved to my legs, teasing ever so slightly as she neared my ass and the obvious erection she had managed to give me. She ran her finger along my ass crack, the whispered for me to turn over.

After the flip, she whispered sexily in my ear asking what I wanted. I of course asked for everything, and she held up a finger in the air signaling one and a four on the other hand for the forty. I reached for my pants only to realize that I had nowhere near that much cash on me. I asked how much for just a blow-job, and she held up just the one finger this time. I was pissed at myself for not having the forethought to pull some cash before the trip, but this was spur of the moment.

I pled with the masseuse that it was my birthday (it actually was), but she pointed to her palm and said, “Money.” I gave her the $20 or so I had remaining, and she lowered the tip of her corset to let me suck on her small but sexy tits but offered me no relief.

She happily announced when my time was up, and went to get a warm towel to clean up the oil. As she helped me dress, she reminded me to come back with more money next time, as she caressed my blue balls and patted my cock one final time. I left as frustrated as I arrived, but maybe a little wiser for next time.