The Happy Ending

Adult Massage world

CHAPTER 1 - HOW IT ALL BEGAN

Monday morning, 10 am. I slowly climb the stairs to the illegal massage parlour that I work in. The entrance is dimly lit, seedy as you would expect an establishment like this to be. With keys in hand, ready to start the day’s work, I unlock the door and shut it firmly behind me, making sure that nobody can get in from outside. The smell of cheap baby oil and day old semen fills my nostrils as I dump my heavy bag filled with sexy outfits, stilettos and makeup on the old beaten up couch.

Outside it is a warm and sunny day and I wish I was out there mingling with the heroin addicts and shoppers looking for a bargain. But I’m not. Instead I’m stuck in here, hoping to make at least $400 today. After all I have bills to pay and God knows I’m not going to get a real job like the rest of the wage slaves out there. No at least here I have some flexibility. Here I can come and go as I please, and if it’s a quiet day I can just pack up my things and go home.

‘Sorry honey I’ve finished for the day, try again tomorrow.’

Shit! I have only been here five fucking minutes and already there’s a phone inquiry. I put on my sexiest voice and answer it.

‘Hello, can I help you?'
'It’s a full body sensual relaxation massage, it starts at $70 for half an hour and it goes up to $140 for the hour.’
‘No darling, no extras included, if you want extras try a brothel.’

Fucking asshole hung up on me! A pretty common occurrence really but the phone rings off the hook at this place so if you lose one client you just do your best to seduce the next one.

‘Hello can I help you?'
'Yes it’s a full body, very sensual relaxation massage, it starts at $70 for half an hour and it goes up to $140 for the hour.
'Uh today we have Michelle, Raquel and Estelle.'
'Yeah actually I am aware that they all rhyme!'
'Yes Estelle is a very busty lady.'
'Gee I don’t know 40DD or something like that. Would you like to make an appointment to see her?'
'Alright and for what time?'
‘12pm it is sir, and your name?’
'David.'

Wow what an original name, I thought to myself, they
don't come any more original than that.

Considering most clients make up false names to hide their true identities you think they could be a tad more original than John, Mike or David. But what I find even more ridiculous is the desperate need they have to hide their almost non-existent identities in the first place. As if I give a shit about who they are or what they do when they get home to their boring little lives, or for that matter, their boring little wives.

‘Alright David, see you at 12pm for a one hour booking with Estelle.'
'Oh do you know where we are?'
'Yes that’s right, ok see you then, bye.'

Lucky bitch! She isn’t even here yet and already she has an hour booking. God I hate having to open up this shit hole.
Three days a week I arrive at 10am, keys in hand, attitude out of control, hoping to make good money so I can pay the rent and the bills. All day long I have to put up with one asshole after another trying to insert their finger into my pussy or squeeze my tits just that little bit too hard.

‘Hey asshole just because you like having your nipples squeezed to excess doesn’t mean I do alright!’

But do you think they listen or even hear me? When a man’s mind is on his cock he doesn’t give a shit about anything else, especially the woman tugging it off for him.

Oh God, how in the hell did I get into this line of work in the first place? That’s right I remember now. It was just after I came back from Europe and I was flat broke and desperate to make some money. I even contemplated selling my ass on Grey St, except that I thought it was too dangerous and couldn’t bare the thought of anyone I knew recognising me if they drove past. Besides, I’m not some fucked up junkie who is looking for her next hit. In fact I’m not a junkie at all, just a girl trying to survive in this jungle we call life.

A good friend of mine who had been a sex worker for years decided she’d had enough of turning tricks in brothels and decided to go into the massage industry instead. Easy money she said, and at least she didn’t have to spread her legs or bend over for every Tom, Dick and Pervert. I called her up when I arrived back in Melbourne and told her how desperate I was to make some fast cash.
This is how the conversation went.
‘Have you thought about getting a job in the massage industry?’
‘I’m not qualified to massage anybody. Besides don’t you need a certificate or something to do that?
‘Not this kind of massage you don’t honey.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well this kind of massage is for men only. It’s a nude sensual massage with a happy ending.’
‘A happy ending! What the fuck is a happy ending?’
‘God, where HAVE you been girlfriend? A happy ending is where you tug the guy off at the end of the massage.’
‘WHAT??? You mean to tell me I have to take my clothes off, massage some guy I’ve never even met before AND give him a hand job at the end? GROSS!’
‘Yep, that’s it in one honey. It may sound gross but the money is excellent. Besides you get used to it after a while and if you can build up a regular clientele you’re laughing.’
‘Well, um, ok I guess I could try anything once. Where do I go and what do I have to wear?’
‘Ok, now you’re talking. My boss is looking for some extra staff actually. She’s this really kooky woman called Coral who we all love to death. Can you come to the city tomorrow at 10am? I will text you the address later. Wear something sexy and think of a stage name to call yourself. See you then, bye.’

That night I hardly slept a wink. I tossed and turned for hours wondering what I had just let myself in for. I was insecure about my body as it was, and now I was not only being asked to wear something sexy to work, but on top of it stand naked before some man I had never even met before and touch him in a sexual manner. I mean touch his penis for God's sake!

No I couldn't go through with it. I would call my friend in the morning and tell her that I had changed my mind, or just tell her that I refused to do this kind of work and that she would just have to find someone else to introduce to her kooky boss. But if I did that how would I survive? I had no money, it would be weeks until I could claim unemployment benefits, and even if I did get a 'respectable' job, there was no guarantee that they would pay me straight away. I guess I had no choice. I would bite the bullet, swallow my pride and embarrassment, and become a massage girl.

One last thought crossed my mind however. What stage name was I going to call myself? I didn't want it to be a tacky or cliché strippers name like Porsche or Roxy, and yet I wanted it to sound classy and sexy at the same time. I racked my brain for ages trying to come up with something until thankfully, I eventually fell asleep.

Waking up to the sound of my alarm clock beeping, I knew that it was do or die time. I had a quick shower, did my hair and make-up and put on the outfit I had 'created' from my vast array of clothing. I had a good hard look at myself in the mirror and, albeit with some hesitation, finally convinced myself that this was the only real option that I had, at least for the time being anyway. With that I left my flat and waited for the next tram to take me into the heart of Melbourne's thriving Metropolis to start my new job.

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