I’ve mentioned how I have never liked “happy endings” on my massages. They’re sort of like watching porn while you’re getting a pedicure. Mixed signals, you know? Here’s a perfect example: I got a couple of massages from Jay a few years ago. In real life he is even humpier than he looks here. And while I regard that as a dandy thing, and while being rubbed by him sounds like it would be even dandier, I was so distracted by his extreme humpiness, I couldn’t pay attention to the massage itself. And since there was no happy ending, the massage was all there was to pay attention to. So now he sends me emails reminding me I haven’t seen him in a while and I just stare at the message, conflicted.
Fortunately, I have found Pan.O my goodness, sweet, adorable, skin like satin and muscles like cantaloupes. Thai massage and a happy ending to end all happy endings. Yowzah, in fact, Yow. Zah. He is so fine, so fine, and his Thai massage involves things I blush to discuss in front of the Ladies.
Now of course there is a reckoning. Lie down with dogs, get up fleas, lie down with Thai rentboys, get up with a trip to the doctor for penicillin shots. Oh dear. I thought those days were all behind me. Looks like I was wrong.