For those who don’t know yet, I enjoy the occasional massage. Truth be told, I hurt everywhere, scoliosis, uneven legs, arthritis. I am a 34 year old man in a 68 year old body. Of course, I have never been one to turn down the occasional ‘executive release’ one can get at a few places. I used to frequent this parlor in Chinatown, it’s clean, there is a shower in every room, and is reasonably staffed so that I never needed to wait nor needed an appointment.

Now, as far as massages goes, the place is so-so at best, there is only so much pressure a five-foot tall, 95lbs woman can exert on someone. However, the ‘finish’ has always been phenomenal to say the least. After a few times, I found out that I was mostly paying to get my rocks off more then to get properly treated.

Eventually, I stumbled upon this other parlor close to work which was staffed mostly with Russian immigrants. Now, the Russians have a different approach to massages, it is a lot more physical, true, it may vary from one masseuse to another, but overall, I can vouch that Russians masseuse work harder on the massage part than the Chinese ones. As far as ‘happy ending’ goes, well… Let’s just say that the Chinese are in a class of their own.

Now, feeling beaten and stressed-out, I went to the Russian place on Friday. Like the Chinese place, this parlor is well-staffed as well. I walked up to the receptionist and asked if my favorite masseuse was available.

“-No… she goes Russia, back next month” was her answer

So I inquire about another one I liked, same response.

“-Vee have new masseuse… Vera, very good, was masseuse for Andropov”

Wow, I though to myself, If she was good enough for General Secretary of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union, she can surely be good enough for me. So I pay upfront for my hour, go in the room, undress and step in the shower, then it dawns on me; Andropov died in 1984. How old must this Vera be? Maybe Yuri liked them criminally young, perhaps she was just a teenager back then, that would put her slightly older than me. I was drying myself off when she walked in without knocking. 6 feet, 190 lbs, all muscle, hair helmet, mid-fifties. She was wearing a very professional, if only too-tight fitting white smock. She did not look like a bond film evil Hench-woman; She was the Hench-woman they modeled every Hench-women after.

“-I’m Vera, Get on table now” she ordered. I felt my heart sink in my chest.

For forty-five excruciating minutes, she cracked every-joint in my body, bent the unbendable, squeezed what-could-not-be-squeezed. She dragged her thumbs and the heel of her hands along my sciatic nerve and made me cry. Every wince, every yelp, was only acknowledge by her saying “Shhh, relax pussy!”

I kept an eye on the clock. We had fifteen minutes left. Usually, I look forward to the “flip”, but this time I was terrified. Still she kept on pounding me, this is a point during a massage where they start rubbing the inner thighs and ‘accidentally’ rub the back of their hands against my junk as to ‘awaken the giant within’. But not Vera, hell no, she was too busy trying to separate my shoulder.

“-You turn around now” Oh god no! But I did, and oddly enough, I was feeling surprisingly light and limber. Now, dear readers, it is important to know a thing or two about massage economics. The money I paid the receptionist goes to the parlor. Out of those fifty bucks, the masseuse gets twenty. The real money for the masseuse is in the extras or ‘options’ as they like to call them. Typically, a handjob will run you an extra twenty, a topless handjob about forty, sixty gets you the oral treatment and eighty gets you the ‘Thai’ option, where they get fully nude and rub up against your junk. Options are how they make their money. It is in bad form not to take one of the options that are offered. It pisses them off, and Vera is not a woman I want to piss off.

“-You vant option?” No charm, no subtlety. This babushka wants to get me off, how is this even going to be possible?

” Ya ni ponimayu ” I tell her, using my very basic Russian to play innocent, perhaps if I tell her that I did not understand what she meant by “Options” I would get off the hook.

“Me give very special massage, do ver siam ne” How can she even ask me to trust her? She just beat me into submission.

Now, my dick has taken the form of a very frighten turtle, I had been feeling a lot of pain in my balls and taint lately, I dreaded what torture I was about to go through, she greased up what was left of my dick, the auxiliary brain function started to kick and the thing started to grow. Obviously, she thought it was not growing fast enough, she let go of my sack, pushed my thighs apart and swiftly shoved a finger up my ass.

“You very sick!! You prostate very big!!”

I prostate? What’s to prostate? Then it clicked, My prostate was big!?! That is when the Jew gene kicked in. Cancer!!! Here I was, naked, being man-handled by a Russian who was telling me I was about to die. It was Fiddler-On-The-Roof After Dark.

“You see doctor… You see doctor very soon” Oddly enough, she never stopped stroking my rod with her fingers still probing my tumor.

How does one exactly blows his load under such circumstances? I was contemplating my own death as she was trying to get me off, I tried to brush her hand off my junk as I tried to get up, but she literally pushed me back on the table and ordered me to relax. Then, she let go of everything, let go of my junk, and undid the belt on her smock.

Folks, she may have been in her fifties, but those titties could have made a nineteen year old jealous. They were real and they were magnificent. So she put her girls to good use to get me off and get me off she did. Yes, this is the kind of power you ladies have in your blouses.

She cleaned me off and started the shower, she washed the oil off of me, I was feeling like a new man, I felt as if my neck was 3 inches longer, I felt taller, back and leg pains were gone. Oddly enough, I was not even thinking about that mutated prostate of mine. At this moment, I felt great. She even dried me off, I gave her forty bucks but she insisted on taking only twenty. She made me promise that I would go see a doctor as soon as possible and I did right after I left.

It turns out it’s just acute bacterial prostatitis, which can be treated with antibiotics.

On this Friday, December 29th 2006. I had my ass probed twice by two different women in one afternoon. If that is not a weird way to end the most ****ed-up year of my life, I don’t know what is.

Happy new year everybody

does anybody else find this unbelieveably funny? i'm laughing my ass off!

but cool

EDIT: just read it all haha
Last edited by griffRG7321 at Jun 28, 2008,
griffRG7321's avatar is funnier than that story...

~day dreams about movies he watched as a kid~
Quote by Duff_McGee
Everyone knows that the day the Metallica ends, the world ends.
So, in summary - middle-aged Ruski women will give you executive relief AND a prostate exam for $20.
Not bad.