'When in Rome' as they say, so in Thailand I've been having constant Thai curries and booked myself a Thai massage. After several weeks of work stress and a shitty journey here it was badly needed. After all, the last time I had a Thai massage was when I last visited Thailand a decade ago.
I enjoyed it so much back then that I'd booked myself onto a course, then promptly forgot most of what I'd been taught. It started to come back to me as I was escorted to a booth to change into loose-fitting shorts and shirt, and lie on my back to wait for the squat, middle-aged masseuse to appear.
It was rather socially awkward to have this complete stranger start rubbing the soles of my feet in the darkened booth then, with perhaps more than a frisson of pleasure on her part, ramming her fingers into my thighs until I screamed, but it was sorta marvelous in a pain-inducing sorta way. She even jabbed her digits into parts of me I didn't realise were sore, such as the muscles in my groin.
'Nngh!' I stifled a roar as she leant into my crotch and giggled, then worked her way back down my thigh then back up again, where I braced myself for another round of awkwardness.
'Ungh!!' I moaned, trying to make my utterances as non-coital as possible.
If there's one good thing about ageing, it's dick control, and I was able to avoid what in my teenage years would've been the raging horn. What didn't help, however, was the brush of my masseuse's hand against nad as she got too close to the danger zone. That made things, in a manner of speaking, harder, but age won over giddying cheap thrills and what remained of my general dignity was intact.
And then she brushed the other nad. Oh well. I just had to concentrate.
Trying to avoid an erection was becoming mathematically impossible as the masseuse manipulated my inner thighs to get at the knot of redundant muscles, particularly as she was now moving from thigh to thigh, now having to physically grab and move a teste out of the way.
'Bugger it', I thought. If my genitalia was going to be touched by another's hand for the first time in 5 years, it could hardly be my fault if it gets a little blood rush. And then she grabbed the whole package, physically got hold of the full set, and rehoused it against the other leg.
I remained poker faced.
The masseuse was now sat on my legs and forcing them towards the ground and I yelled out. She giggled again, shook my penis and made a tinkling noise, and told me to flip onto my front as she massaged my shoulders. For my part, I lay there looking confused and wondering if I'd just imagined that.
'You want oral?' I thought she said.
'You want oil? Oil massage?'
'Uh', I wondered out loud. My session was nearly over and frankly I was as curious as hell. Anything sexual aside, an oil massage sounded fun - mainly because it sounded sexual.
'Take croves off,' said the masseuse as she watched me remove my accoutrements and my dignity, and clamber like an enormous toddler onto the table.
She turned the lights off and, as more or less expected as I lay on my front, she covered me in oil and rubbed the backs of my legs, then my arse, paying occasional attention to my aforementioned testes.
I flipped over with a towel covering my shame as she rubbed me everywhere but there. And then, as she straddled me, the giggling started as she rubbed lotion onto my chest.
'You strong', she said. 'Muscles!' and extended her arms in weightlifting mime.
'If you say so,' I crowed awkwardly. Mostly my muscles are hidden behind layers of subcutaneous fat. Still, random compliments were nice, if suspicious.
I felt less muscular as the masseuse made her way to my stomach and began her sweeping movements as I sucked my gut in and hoped it worked.
Then she removed my towel and paused. The anticipation had taken its toll, not to mention the near hour spent being rubbed to a high buff with warm oil.
'You big!' she lied as she stared at my curious penis. 'Very nice, very strong,' she beamed.
'Thanks,' I squawked. I was about ready to explode. Then she made a fellating mime and giggled as I cried a bit inside.
The masseuse shook her fist. 'You want?' she whispered, smiling.
'Erm, sure, if it's not any trouble,' I replied casually as if she'd offered to make me a cup of tea, and absolutely not bring me off.
'Tip' she smiled. 'Good tip!'
I nodded violently. 'Massive tip'. And then it happened. The rumours were true. I was having a Happy Finish in a darkened room, being given a hand-job by a fifty-year-old. I can't say it was the most romantic thing that's ever happened to me, but it was pretty gratefully received.
'Nnng!' I squirmed, trying not to sound to prying ears in the neighbouring booth like a man receiving a quick one off the wrist. 'Guhhh!'
The masseuse's cheeky smile I noticed had now gone, replaced by a distinctly bored look as she milked me like a cow. My dignity was now in tatters as I tried to hold back from the inevitable, but she quickened the pace.
'Mustn't - come,' I thought to myself, 'Really - rude -' - and then I did, absolutely everywhere, in angry waves. I hadn't even abused myself in several days and what with the elongated massage several gallons of the stuff had built up over time and had gone christknows where - pummelling a hole in the ceiling, through the wall - an unfortunate wad even caught me on the neck, bringing me back down to earth with shame.
I was rather disorientated as the masseuse began to pump and squeeze a little longer, presumably to make sure I was empty.
Then she left, came back with a cup of tea, and told me to shower, which I did, feeling a little cheap and used and very happy about that.
Even as I type this, I still have trouble believing that had happened, but that's not the worst of it. Far more, I'm afraid, has happened, and on my very first night in Bangkok...
I've finally had sex, after 5 years drought, and with a prostitute.
It's hard to explain just how this happened, that it was an extremely poor lack of judgment that I feel absolutely terrible about, but I'll explain later.