I will start by saying this has nothing to do with dating, this is simply a social observation.
Every morning I arrive in the parking garage of my office and back my car into my space. Parked next to me each morning is a white Mercedes SL600 V-12, MSRP:$139,000. It is always there before I arrive (I get in very early) and is impeccably clean, like it had just come off the showroom floor. After I park and stare at the car for a few second I go into my building. On my way to the elevator I get a bagel at the deli in the lobby run by a nice Asian couple, tip the lady at the register a buck, then head to my office.
I could afford to drive pretty much any car on the market, but I would never spend $140K on a vehicle at this point in my life. I think the car is beautiful, but it's also pretentious and I would be embarrassed if someone in my office saw me driving it, especially in this economy. I also think that unless you are so wealthy that $140K is a rounding error to you, that vehicle screams "I have a small dick".
Though I had never seen the owner of the car, I had already written his bio in my head. The owner was a man (a woman would never spring the extra $30K for the twelve-cylinder engine), in his early 60's, in shape but grey and balding. He would be a partner in one of the law firms upstairs, and would likely be a trial attorney. He would be dressed to the nines but would play Frank Sinatra just a little too loud as he drove out of the lot.
Monday morning I left work early and as I was walking out of the stairwell in the parking garage I saw the white Mercedes rounding the bend and coming towards me. I was excited to see if the driver was as I pictured him in my mind. I couldn't see in the windshield until the car got very close to me because the florescent lights left a glare on the uber-clean windshield. When the car got about ten feet from me I was able to see the driver was the bagel cook at my deli, and his passenger was the cute little Asian woman I tipped a buck each morning. They waved to me but I just stood there with my mouth open. A second later I pictured her in her mansion wiping her ass with my $1 bill, the tip from that morning.
The dilemma I face is do I continue to tip the woman at the deli now that I know she drives a car that cost more than my first house? The service hasn't changed, but I probably need the dollar more than she does.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Monday, April 13, 2009
Wendy Part II
I am having a hard time writing this post, this is now my third attempt. This should be much easier than it is.
Here is a long-winded saga condensed into one paragraph:
This weekend I had friends in from NYC on Friday night, and Wendy had a party Saturday night. I really didn't want to take Wendy to dinner Friday because I was sure I would meet other girls out. At the same time Wendy never invited me to her party, and she was dancing around the topic in much the same was I was about dinner. I eventually broke down and invited her to dinner Friday because I felt guilty about excluding her.
There...fuck, I finally got it out.
So, eight of us met up at the restaurant on Friday, four couples, all married except Wendy and I. We had dinner then headed to a couple of bars in Dupont. I had a good time and Wendy eventually drove me home around midnight (she doesn't drink so she offered to drive). We made out a little bit in the car in front of my house, nothing major though. We also talked for a little while and made tentative plans to go for a motorcycle ride on Easter.
I worked most of the the day on Saturday and never called Wendy. I didn't think it was necessary for us to talk everyday. On Sunday I cleaned the bike, tuned it up a bit, then sent Wendy a text message asking her if she still wanted to go for a ride. An hour later I received a message that she had church, a dinner, and that it was too cold to ride. Whoa, this seemed like a lot to just come up on one day. I clearly did something wrong, I'm just not sure what. I responded "OK" and went riding without her (yes, it was cold for riding).
Now, let me tell you how this is going to play out. I'm a stubborn ass, so I'm not going to call her or text her again. She, on the other hand, probably had a legitimate reason for what I perceived as a sudden cold response, but she's going to be pissed that I never called her again.
One night, five years from now, in a dive bar in...I don't know...Altoona, I'll see Wendy and she'll say "You're an asshole, you never called me again." Then she may throw a drink on me. I will feign being surprised, and will say "You were a bitch and blew me off." We will end up making out in the bar, or a car in the parking lot, and nothing more will ever happen.
This is a pattern in my life and I am generally comfortable with it. The only thing that bothers me about this time is that I am more interested in a friendship with Wendy than having sex with her, but old habits die hard.
The only alternate outcome I can potentially see is if Wendy decides to call me, but I would say there is a very low probability of that.
Here is a long-winded saga condensed into one paragraph:
This weekend I had friends in from NYC on Friday night, and Wendy had a party Saturday night. I really didn't want to take Wendy to dinner Friday because I was sure I would meet other girls out. At the same time Wendy never invited me to her party, and she was dancing around the topic in much the same was I was about dinner. I eventually broke down and invited her to dinner Friday because I felt guilty about excluding her.
There...fuck, I finally got it out.
So, eight of us met up at the restaurant on Friday, four couples, all married except Wendy and I. We had dinner then headed to a couple of bars in Dupont. I had a good time and Wendy eventually drove me home around midnight (she doesn't drink so she offered to drive). We made out a little bit in the car in front of my house, nothing major though. We also talked for a little while and made tentative plans to go for a motorcycle ride on Easter.
I worked most of the the day on Saturday and never called Wendy. I didn't think it was necessary for us to talk everyday. On Sunday I cleaned the bike, tuned it up a bit, then sent Wendy a text message asking her if she still wanted to go for a ride. An hour later I received a message that she had church, a dinner, and that it was too cold to ride. Whoa, this seemed like a lot to just come up on one day. I clearly did something wrong, I'm just not sure what. I responded "OK" and went riding without her (yes, it was cold for riding).
Now, let me tell you how this is going to play out. I'm a stubborn ass, so I'm not going to call her or text her again. She, on the other hand, probably had a legitimate reason for what I perceived as a sudden cold response, but she's going to be pissed that I never called her again.
One night, five years from now, in a dive bar in...I don't know...Altoona, I'll see Wendy and she'll say "You're an asshole, you never called me again." Then she may throw a drink on me. I will feign being surprised, and will say "You were a bitch and blew me off." We will end up making out in the bar, or a car in the parking lot, and nothing more will ever happen.
This is a pattern in my life and I am generally comfortable with it. The only thing that bothers me about this time is that I am more interested in a friendship with Wendy than having sex with her, but old habits die hard.
The only alternate outcome I can potentially see is if Wendy decides to call me, but I would say there is a very low probability of that.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Long Distance Relationships and Cohabitation
Last weekend I stopped by my friend Brad's house to drop off some tools I borrowed from him. When I pulled up his brother-in-law, Martin, was stading out front talking on the phone, so I waved to him as I walked around to the back door. I talked to Brad for a few minutes, gave him the tools then headed back to my car.
Martin was just hanging up his phone as I was leaving so I waited for him for a second. As he got closer I could see he was having a rough morning, so I began the ball-breaking "Jesus man, rough night? You look like shit." He mostly just shrugged. Then I noticed there was a bump or cut on his forehead. "And what happened to your head, did you fall? You better lay off the sauce.". I've never seen Martin really drunk before, and certainly not fall-down drunk. By now Martin's sister (Brad's wife) was outside and put her hand on Martin's shoulder and said "He broke up with Kay last night." With that Martin walked down the sidewalk, crying, clutching his phone in one hand and his purse-size package of tissues in the other.
Let me give you the background on Martin and Kay. Martin is from the VA area, but Kay was living somewhere in the midwest when the two met. They did the long distance thing for a while and after six months Kay moved to DC and in with Martin. Things seemed to be going well, everyone liked Kay, and Martin seemed very happy. Apparently things were not going that well. Martin felt suffocated because Kay really did not make any friends here and completely depended on him for her social life. They discussed the issue and after four or five months nothing changed so Martin finally broke up with her.
This brings up three important topics. The first is, should two people live together before they get married? The second is, how long should they date before they move in together? The third is, should a man ever cry in public. I believe the answers are: probably, a while, and never.
I have never been married and never lived with a woman, but I do think it would be important to live together before marriage. There are so many things you don't know about a person until you share a bathroom. However, I think a lot of people jump into living together too fast, what is the rush?
As for the public crying, that's just never acceptable. Never.
Martin was just hanging up his phone as I was leaving so I waited for him for a second. As he got closer I could see he was having a rough morning, so I began the ball-breaking "Jesus man, rough night? You look like shit." He mostly just shrugged. Then I noticed there was a bump or cut on his forehead. "And what happened to your head, did you fall? You better lay off the sauce.". I've never seen Martin really drunk before, and certainly not fall-down drunk. By now Martin's sister (Brad's wife) was outside and put her hand on Martin's shoulder and said "He broke up with Kay last night." With that Martin walked down the sidewalk, crying, clutching his phone in one hand and his purse-size package of tissues in the other.
Let me give you the background on Martin and Kay. Martin is from the VA area, but Kay was living somewhere in the midwest when the two met. They did the long distance thing for a while and after six months Kay moved to DC and in with Martin. Things seemed to be going well, everyone liked Kay, and Martin seemed very happy. Apparently things were not going that well. Martin felt suffocated because Kay really did not make any friends here and completely depended on him for her social life. They discussed the issue and after four or five months nothing changed so Martin finally broke up with her.
This brings up three important topics. The first is, should two people live together before they get married? The second is, how long should they date before they move in together? The third is, should a man ever cry in public. I believe the answers are: probably, a while, and never.
I have never been married and never lived with a woman, but I do think it would be important to live together before marriage. There are so many things you don't know about a person until you share a bathroom. However, I think a lot of people jump into living together too fast, what is the rush?
As for the public crying, that's just never acceptable. Never.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Date 11: On the Wagon
My long dry spell ended with my date Saturday night with Wendy. Overall, I had a great time but I just don't see this going anywhere beyond friendship.
Wendy and I met in January and have been friendly since then. We would see each other almost weekly through mutual job-related training, and would talk during breaks and sometimes briefly after work.
D11-Wendy: Wendy is a lot of fun to talk to. She is well-traveled, smart, and has lots of energy. Wendy works in the fitness industry, so she is in great shape and is very healthy. Wendy is about 5'6", thin, with medium-length dirty blond hair and blue eyes.
When we talked on the phone on Friday Wendy said that she would like to watch some of the NCAA basketball games, and asked if I wanted to meet at Buffalo Billiards. I agreed, but was a little confused because I knew she didn't drink. When Saturday rolled around I decided it was just too nice out to be holed up in that dank basement bar, so I suggested we meet up a little earlier and take a motorcycle ride. I picked up Wendy at her apartment and we headed out.
We rode on the bike for about an hour then stopped at a bar to watch the UCONN game and have a bite to eat. After the game it was getting cold out so we dropped my bike off at my house and grabbed my car. It was at this point that the night became a little awkward. I was having fun with Wendy, but I really wasn't sure what else to do that night. Normally I would suggest we go out and grab a drink and talk, but I wasn't comfortable asking her to go to a bar. I didn't know if she was on the wagon and being at a bar was tempting or distracting to her. But I also didn't want to just hang out at my house, there's really nothing to do there.
Eventually we decided to go to The Rock and Roll Hotel to see a few bands play. Neither of us had been there before but we had both heard good things about the joint. It was definitely strange inside, but it was crowded and the bands were entertaining (though equally as strange as the venue), so we had a lot of fun.
By 12:30 I was starting to get a little tired but I wasn't sure how to end the night. We had been with each other since five in the afternoon and I was ready to head home. This is normally the point where I would ask the girl if she wanted to come to my place for a drink, but that wouldn't have made any sense since Wendy didn't drink.
This brings up another point; I wasn't all that interested in hooking up with Wendy. I am not sure why, but I am not physically attracted to her. I feel somewhat bad saying that because she's a great person and I liked spending time with her. Actually, I would like to continue to spend time with her, but I don't want to date her.
Here's the really ironic part, if I didn't like Wendy so much I probably would have tried to bring her home the other night. If it was some random girl that was annoying and I knew I would never call her again I would have slept with her simply because it's been a few weeks. Even more ironic is that some chick on my last blog, DC Lawyer, criticized me for treating women like "objects that you...conquer and throw away." You could certainly make a case that I have done that in the past on occasion, but I wouldn't say that's my modus operandi.
We finally left the bar and I drove Wendy home. When we got to her house we kissed each other good night and that was it.
As a side note, it will probably be years before "DC Lawyer" has sex again. In the back of her mind, every time she meets a guy, she will wonder if it's me getting ready to conquer and thrown her away.
Wendy and I met in January and have been friendly since then. We would see each other almost weekly through mutual job-related training, and would talk during breaks and sometimes briefly after work.
D11-Wendy: Wendy is a lot of fun to talk to. She is well-traveled, smart, and has lots of energy. Wendy works in the fitness industry, so she is in great shape and is very healthy. Wendy is about 5'6", thin, with medium-length dirty blond hair and blue eyes.
When we talked on the phone on Friday Wendy said that she would like to watch some of the NCAA basketball games, and asked if I wanted to meet at Buffalo Billiards. I agreed, but was a little confused because I knew she didn't drink. When Saturday rolled around I decided it was just too nice out to be holed up in that dank basement bar, so I suggested we meet up a little earlier and take a motorcycle ride. I picked up Wendy at her apartment and we headed out.
We rode on the bike for about an hour then stopped at a bar to watch the UCONN game and have a bite to eat. After the game it was getting cold out so we dropped my bike off at my house and grabbed my car. It was at this point that the night became a little awkward. I was having fun with Wendy, but I really wasn't sure what else to do that night. Normally I would suggest we go out and grab a drink and talk, but I wasn't comfortable asking her to go to a bar. I didn't know if she was on the wagon and being at a bar was tempting or distracting to her. But I also didn't want to just hang out at my house, there's really nothing to do there.
Eventually we decided to go to The Rock and Roll Hotel to see a few bands play. Neither of us had been there before but we had both heard good things about the joint. It was definitely strange inside, but it was crowded and the bands were entertaining (though equally as strange as the venue), so we had a lot of fun.
By 12:30 I was starting to get a little tired but I wasn't sure how to end the night. We had been with each other since five in the afternoon and I was ready to head home. This is normally the point where I would ask the girl if she wanted to come to my place for a drink, but that wouldn't have made any sense since Wendy didn't drink.
This brings up another point; I wasn't all that interested in hooking up with Wendy. I am not sure why, but I am not physically attracted to her. I feel somewhat bad saying that because she's a great person and I liked spending time with her. Actually, I would like to continue to spend time with her, but I don't want to date her.
Here's the really ironic part, if I didn't like Wendy so much I probably would have tried to bring her home the other night. If it was some random girl that was annoying and I knew I would never call her again I would have slept with her simply because it's been a few weeks. Even more ironic is that some chick on my last blog, DC Lawyer, criticized me for treating women like "objects that you...conquer and throw away." You could certainly make a case that I have done that in the past on occasion, but I wouldn't say that's my modus operandi.
We finally left the bar and I drove Wendy home. When we got to her house we kissed each other good night and that was it.
As a side note, it will probably be years before "DC Lawyer" has sex again. In the back of her mind, every time she meets a guy, she will wonder if it's me getting ready to conquer and thrown her away.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Drought Continues
This is definitely the worst drought I have been in since moving to DC, though it is somewhat self-inflicted. I haven't been out in months, I basically just work and sleep.
Both Friday and Saturday nights last weekend my friends went out in Arlington, but I just couldn't motivate to go out there. I know, "whaaaaaaaaa", as the great comedian Artie Lange would say. It's not that far, but it's a pain in the ass to get out there from my neighborhood. I have taken the metro a few times, but it can take anywhere from 15 minutes to 45 minutes, depending on how you catch the trains. Of course you can cab it, but I always end up driving instead of cabbing, and then hate myself in the morning because I drink too much and leave my car at the bar and cab home. Long story short, I stayed in for the most part this weekend.
The one time I left my house this weekend someone backed into my new motorcycle. Awesome. The guy was a real dick and was one smart-ass comment away from a broken nose. When did it become acceptable to run into someone's car or bike then crack jokes? Fuckface.
I met a girl, Wendy, a few months ago who was fairly cool. Wendy is a fitness instructor. I really enjoy talking to her, we have a lot in common, but she's not really my type in the looks department. I am just not that attracted to her. Don't get me wrong, her body is probably absurd, but I wouldn't say she's "hot".
We emailed a few times and she made a side comment that she would like to hang out sometime. I may get together with her this weekend. She doesn't drink , so I've been kicking around some ideas for an "adventurous" date. Some options are: take a motorcycle ride, maybe out to Mount Vernon. Another option is to go shooting, there are lots of gun ranges in Maryland and Virginia. I would like to avoid anything like hiking as I know I would end up having a heart attack long before she would even break a sweat.
I'll let you know if this pans out.
Both Friday and Saturday nights last weekend my friends went out in Arlington, but I just couldn't motivate to go out there. I know, "whaaaaaaaaa", as the great comedian Artie Lange would say. It's not that far, but it's a pain in the ass to get out there from my neighborhood. I have taken the metro a few times, but it can take anywhere from 15 minutes to 45 minutes, depending on how you catch the trains. Of course you can cab it, but I always end up driving instead of cabbing, and then hate myself in the morning because I drink too much and leave my car at the bar and cab home. Long story short, I stayed in for the most part this weekend.
The one time I left my house this weekend someone backed into my new motorcycle. Awesome. The guy was a real dick and was one smart-ass comment away from a broken nose. When did it become acceptable to run into someone's car or bike then crack jokes? Fuckface.
I met a girl, Wendy, a few months ago who was fairly cool. Wendy is a fitness instructor. I really enjoy talking to her, we have a lot in common, but she's not really my type in the looks department. I am just not that attracted to her. Don't get me wrong, her body is probably absurd, but I wouldn't say she's "hot".
We emailed a few times and she made a side comment that she would like to hang out sometime. I may get together with her this weekend. She doesn't drink , so I've been kicking around some ideas for an "adventurous" date. Some options are: take a motorcycle ride, maybe out to Mount Vernon. Another option is to go shooting, there are lots of gun ranges in Maryland and Virginia. I would like to avoid anything like hiking as I know I would end up having a heart attack long before she would even break a sweat.
I'll let you know if this pans out.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
The Magic Number
"How many girls have you slept with?"
There are few questions that make me break into cold sweats like this one. There truly is no good answer. The truth is wrong because ANY number can be twisted and used against you and a lie is wrong because it's a lie. Avoidance is a good policy, and my preferred method, but you're merely postponing the conversation.
I found that I was asked this question most while in college, but it still comes up on a regular basis and it always makes me uncomfortable.
Going into college I had only slept with a handful of girls, maybe four or five, but that number increased by a factor of at least three or four within a few months of my freshman year. During that period I found that almost every girl I had sex with asked how many sexual partners I had, and I was truthful. Each time I would answer: seven, eight, nine..." but when I got to "ten" I noticed that I suddenly was perceived as sleazy, or a player, and I would have to do a lot of talking to convince the girl otherwise. It went on "...eleven, twelve, thirteen...", but at thirteen I was stopped, and the girl wouldn't sleep with me. This happened a couple of times, and like Pavlov's dog, I learned quickly to change my behavior.
It was at this point that I found the magic number in college is "nine". When you're in your late teens or early twenties, nine shows that you are experienced but not sleeping with every chick that crosses your path. Nine is a fair number of partners, but just short of double-digits. All through college my policy was avoidance, but if I was really pressed for an answer I always said nine.
After college I continued to use "nine" as my answer if truly pressed, but this was obviously a flagrant lie, and I had an increasingly hard time saying it with any degree of sincerity. I eventually increased the number of my answer to "twelve". I used twelve for a short time, but it wasn't long before I couldn't even say that in good conscience. Shortly thereafter I simply stopped answering the question and have been double-talking ever since.
My friend John, a notorious player, got married a few years ago and after his wedding I asked him how his wife felt about the fact that there was hardly a girl in town that he did not "know" in the biblical sense? His answer was "we have a strict don't-ask-don't-tell policy". I am all for avoidance, but I am not sure this is the best policy once you decide to marry someone. While technically not a lie, there is a certain degree of deception involved here that you may not want to drag into a marriage.
The first girl I met in college was from Cuba. She was a great girl, smoking hot, and I really liked her. After a few weeks of dating we went to a dance together and that night we ended up in my dorm room. We were naked on my futon (the ubiquitous college couch) when Cuba told me that she was a virgin. We slept together that night, and dated or a few months after that. After that we both moved on, but we would get together for sex every once in a while that year (and, actually, all through college). One night towards the end of my freshman year Cuba and I ended up back at her room, and after a few rounds of sex while laying in bed she asked me how many girls I had slept with, to which I answered "nine". I didn't ask her what her count was, but she said "me too, also nine". I'm not sure why, but her answer shocked me. A few months before she was a virgin, and now she's giving me the old "nine" answer. I was infuriated, but understood this was a double standard, and kept my anger in check.
I always think of this story when girls ask me how many sexual partners I have had because there is clearly a double standard for this in society. If a guy sleeps with a lot of women he's virile, and a stud. If a girl sleeps with many guys she's a slut.
Honestly, I have never asked a girl how many guys she has slept with. A part of me really doesn't care, but I also don't want to know because I am usually not willing to answer the question myself, so I avoid the topic.
But I am curious about what an average female number is? I would guess that a girl in her late twenties or early thirties would have had around 25 partners, maybe even thirty. That's about two per year since high school. If you factor in a couple of slow years for long-term relationships, and a couple of Vegas weekends with the girls I think two per year is a fair assumption. My guess is that most guys are about double that number, or maybe a little less than double.
Anyone care to shed some light on the subject?
There are few questions that make me break into cold sweats like this one. There truly is no good answer. The truth is wrong because ANY number can be twisted and used against you and a lie is wrong because it's a lie. Avoidance is a good policy, and my preferred method, but you're merely postponing the conversation.
I found that I was asked this question most while in college, but it still comes up on a regular basis and it always makes me uncomfortable.
Going into college I had only slept with a handful of girls, maybe four or five, but that number increased by a factor of at least three or four within a few months of my freshman year. During that period I found that almost every girl I had sex with asked how many sexual partners I had, and I was truthful. Each time I would answer: seven, eight, nine..." but when I got to "ten" I noticed that I suddenly was perceived as sleazy, or a player, and I would have to do a lot of talking to convince the girl otherwise. It went on "...eleven, twelve, thirteen...", but at thirteen I was stopped, and the girl wouldn't sleep with me. This happened a couple of times, and like Pavlov's dog, I learned quickly to change my behavior.
It was at this point that I found the magic number in college is "nine". When you're in your late teens or early twenties, nine shows that you are experienced but not sleeping with every chick that crosses your path. Nine is a fair number of partners, but just short of double-digits. All through college my policy was avoidance, but if I was really pressed for an answer I always said nine.
After college I continued to use "nine" as my answer if truly pressed, but this was obviously a flagrant lie, and I had an increasingly hard time saying it with any degree of sincerity. I eventually increased the number of my answer to "twelve". I used twelve for a short time, but it wasn't long before I couldn't even say that in good conscience. Shortly thereafter I simply stopped answering the question and have been double-talking ever since.
My friend John, a notorious player, got married a few years ago and after his wedding I asked him how his wife felt about the fact that there was hardly a girl in town that he did not "know" in the biblical sense? His answer was "we have a strict don't-ask-don't-tell policy". I am all for avoidance, but I am not sure this is the best policy once you decide to marry someone. While technically not a lie, there is a certain degree of deception involved here that you may not want to drag into a marriage.
The first girl I met in college was from Cuba. She was a great girl, smoking hot, and I really liked her. After a few weeks of dating we went to a dance together and that night we ended up in my dorm room. We were naked on my futon (the ubiquitous college couch) when Cuba told me that she was a virgin. We slept together that night, and dated or a few months after that. After that we both moved on, but we would get together for sex every once in a while that year (and, actually, all through college). One night towards the end of my freshman year Cuba and I ended up back at her room, and after a few rounds of sex while laying in bed she asked me how many girls I had slept with, to which I answered "nine". I didn't ask her what her count was, but she said "me too, also nine". I'm not sure why, but her answer shocked me. A few months before she was a virgin, and now she's giving me the old "nine" answer. I was infuriated, but understood this was a double standard, and kept my anger in check.
I always think of this story when girls ask me how many sexual partners I have had because there is clearly a double standard for this in society. If a guy sleeps with a lot of women he's virile, and a stud. If a girl sleeps with many guys she's a slut.
Honestly, I have never asked a girl how many guys she has slept with. A part of me really doesn't care, but I also don't want to know because I am usually not willing to answer the question myself, so I avoid the topic.
But I am curious about what an average female number is? I would guess that a girl in her late twenties or early thirties would have had around 25 partners, maybe even thirty. That's about two per year since high school. If you factor in a couple of slow years for long-term relationships, and a couple of Vegas weekends with the girls I think two per year is a fair assumption. My guess is that most guys are about double that number, or maybe a little less than double.
Anyone care to shed some light on the subject?
Monday, March 16, 2009
Chinese Special Massagy
It is about 5pm and I am having mild hallucinations. I returned last night from eight days in China. I haven't been able to sleep and my internal clock is a mess. Keep your expectations low for this post.
My trip was a blur of temples, pagodas, and tourist traps. China is a land of many contradictions. The economy is raging from foreign investment, but it is still technically a 3rd World communist country. Capitalism is seemingly everywhere, but is never fully acknowledged. Actually, it is denied in almost every official way.
Several things flourish in China, though: tea, the production of knock-off goods, and massage parlors. You can get these items or services everywhere, sometimes all three are offered to you at the same time. "Mister, mister, looky. Hello! Hello! You like Rolex?" is shouted at you while you're sipping tea and getting your feet rubbed in a government sponsored massage hall. It's all very confusing.
Perhaps I am getting ahead of myself. Let me back up a bit.
I ended up booking a seat on an organized tour of four cities in China with my sister as my vacation for this year. The price was unbelievably low, almost the same as a flight to China alone, but the trip included all meals, hotels, and transportation. The rub is that the tour is subsidized by the Chinese government. They cover approximately 50% of the price of the trip, but you have to visit one or two Chinese tourist traps a day where you are relentlessly bombarded by government workers hawking everything from silk pajamas to dried lizards used to make "medicinal" tea. It's mind blowing. After a few days of sleep deprivation and small Asian women yelling at you in broken, mono-syllabic, English you feel like you're stuck in a Jefferson Airplane song.
Since I was not in the market for any of the garbage the Chinese government was not-so-subtly trying to sell me, I generally opted for the ubiquitous 30 minute, $5 massage that was available at nearly every stop. The massages were generally given in large, unbearably bright, rooms with 25 total strangers. Generally this is not the ideal setting for a massage, but after a 90 pound woman with hands of steel rubs all the tension out of your body you just can't say no. Trust me, these are serious massages.
On the third day a guy in my group told me that he and his wife tried to get a massage in our 5-star hotel (not a Hilton, but another major US chain), but was shocked to learn that the spa would not book one for his wife because the massages were all "sensual" treatments. He explained that for $200US four young (19 or 20 years old) Chinese girls would do anything to you for 90 minutes. That night, while having drinks with another single guy on the trip I told him what I had learned about our hotel spa, and he looked at me like I was crazy. For a moment I thought he didn't believe me, but was then floored when he told me he had been to the spa every night!
I have had many massages, but I have never had a "rub and tug", and was naturally intrigued. I have also never been with a hooker in any capacity. On my last night in Shanghai I decided to book a spa session in my hotel. I took the elevator to the floor where the spa was and picked the most expensive "treatment" they had. I was nervous as hell, and don't remember the description of the treatment, but it was vaguely sexual without ever actually mentioning sex.
I was led into a series of locker rooms where I was given towels, a robe, slippers, and a foot cleansing by several different women. This was all very non-sexual, almost clinical. I was finally brought into a private room where the girl took my robe and I was told to lay on the massage table face down and placed a towel over me. Actually, I don't know what she was saying, that's just what I did.
The lights were turned down, music was put on, and the girl left the room. Ten long, nervous minutes later I heard the door open and a girl said hello in Chinese. I tried to look up but it was too dark and she was slightly behind me, so I couldn't see her. The massage started, and it was like any other legitimate massage in the USA I have had. That was until she walked around the front of me and I spotted black stiletto heals. I snuck another peak, and this time saw that my masseuse was a tall Chinese girl wearing a school-girl outfit a-la Brittany Spears. For the next thirty minutes I had the most unenjoyable massage of my life. My heart was pounding and I was nervous as hell. Then the girl said "Okay, please over" and lifted the towel off my butt and held it in front of her face.
This was the moment I was dreading. From the second the "treatment" started I had a full-blown hard on. It was a nightmare. All I could think was that this was sexual harassment and I would spend the rest of my life in a Chinese prison. When the girl put the towel back down and saw the tent I had pitched, she said "Oh, Mr. Number One Massage (apparently my new name), you want special massagy?" My heart literally stopped and I didn't breath for a long time. Minutes later I mustered a "what's that" in a squeaky voice I had never heard come out of me before. Like nothing this chick said "If you have $200US I do everything. I suckie you, you fuck me all over, then you coming on my here [sic](and pointed to her face and chest)." Then she started to unbutton her shirt. Many things raced through my mind, but luckily the one that flashed the most were the letters H-I-V, and I squealed "no thanks, just regular massagy." She didn't give up easily, and proceeded to call me "cheap" and a few other things in Chinese. For ten or fifteen minutes she kept trying to reach under the towel in the hopes of enticing me into "special massagy" but I was too scared to take her up on it.
The last half of the massage was awful. Realizing that she would not make much money on me, my massage deteriorated into her slapping my back and repeatedly lifting and dropping my limbs and head. After a particularly brutal calf-pinch I rolled over and told her "massagy over, time for dinner, I go now". When I got to the front to pay they still tried to charge me for "special massagy" but I explained that there was only "regular massagy, no coming all over", paid my 450RMB ($60US) and went back to my room where I sulked in the shower for 25 minutes like I had been raped.
That night neither my sister nor any of the guys I had met on the trip wanted to get drinks. I tried to sleep for a while, but I was not tired to I went to the Karaoke Bar in the lobby for a beer. As luck would have it about 15 people from the tour were down there drinking and singing. I talked to them but one at a time they retired to their rooms until only a girl (American) and I remained. We were both drunk already, but we decided to drink until all our RMB (Yuan, or Chinese money) were gone. At 2:30am we got on the elevator to go to our rooms. The wake-up call for our flight was at 4:30am, all I could think was that it was going to be an awful day.
However, when the elevator door closed the girl, Tracy, kind of smirked. She wasn't great looking, but after the massage from hell I couldn't resist trying to hook up. We made out in the elevator until we got to my floor. I told her that I was sharing a room with my sister, and she said she was sharing with her mom, so our rooms were out of the question. We made out in the hallway for a minute, then basically fell into the emergency stairwell.
We kissed for a few more minutes in the stairs, then Tracy turned around and lifted up her skirt. We had sex on the stairs for a little while, and she ended by giving me head. As soon as we were done we walked out and went to our own rooms.
On the flight home we talked for a few minutes, but that was it. I still don't know her last name.
My trip was a blur of temples, pagodas, and tourist traps. China is a land of many contradictions. The economy is raging from foreign investment, but it is still technically a 3rd World communist country. Capitalism is seemingly everywhere, but is never fully acknowledged. Actually, it is denied in almost every official way.
Several things flourish in China, though: tea, the production of knock-off goods, and massage parlors. You can get these items or services everywhere, sometimes all three are offered to you at the same time. "Mister, mister, looky. Hello! Hello! You like Rolex?" is shouted at you while you're sipping tea and getting your feet rubbed in a government sponsored massage hall. It's all very confusing.
Perhaps I am getting ahead of myself. Let me back up a bit.
I ended up booking a seat on an organized tour of four cities in China with my sister as my vacation for this year. The price was unbelievably low, almost the same as a flight to China alone, but the trip included all meals, hotels, and transportation. The rub is that the tour is subsidized by the Chinese government. They cover approximately 50% of the price of the trip, but you have to visit one or two Chinese tourist traps a day where you are relentlessly bombarded by government workers hawking everything from silk pajamas to dried lizards used to make "medicinal" tea. It's mind blowing. After a few days of sleep deprivation and small Asian women yelling at you in broken, mono-syllabic, English you feel like you're stuck in a Jefferson Airplane song.
Since I was not in the market for any of the garbage the Chinese government was not-so-subtly trying to sell me, I generally opted for the ubiquitous 30 minute, $5 massage that was available at nearly every stop. The massages were generally given in large, unbearably bright, rooms with 25 total strangers. Generally this is not the ideal setting for a massage, but after a 90 pound woman with hands of steel rubs all the tension out of your body you just can't say no. Trust me, these are serious massages.
On the third day a guy in my group told me that he and his wife tried to get a massage in our 5-star hotel (not a Hilton, but another major US chain), but was shocked to learn that the spa would not book one for his wife because the massages were all "sensual" treatments. He explained that for $200US four young (19 or 20 years old) Chinese girls would do anything to you for 90 minutes. That night, while having drinks with another single guy on the trip I told him what I had learned about our hotel spa, and he looked at me like I was crazy. For a moment I thought he didn't believe me, but was then floored when he told me he had been to the spa every night!
I have had many massages, but I have never had a "rub and tug", and was naturally intrigued. I have also never been with a hooker in any capacity. On my last night in Shanghai I decided to book a spa session in my hotel. I took the elevator to the floor where the spa was and picked the most expensive "treatment" they had. I was nervous as hell, and don't remember the description of the treatment, but it was vaguely sexual without ever actually mentioning sex.
I was led into a series of locker rooms where I was given towels, a robe, slippers, and a foot cleansing by several different women. This was all very non-sexual, almost clinical. I was finally brought into a private room where the girl took my robe and I was told to lay on the massage table face down and placed a towel over me. Actually, I don't know what she was saying, that's just what I did.
The lights were turned down, music was put on, and the girl left the room. Ten long, nervous minutes later I heard the door open and a girl said hello in Chinese. I tried to look up but it was too dark and she was slightly behind me, so I couldn't see her. The massage started, and it was like any other legitimate massage in the USA I have had. That was until she walked around the front of me and I spotted black stiletto heals. I snuck another peak, and this time saw that my masseuse was a tall Chinese girl wearing a school-girl outfit a-la Brittany Spears. For the next thirty minutes I had the most unenjoyable massage of my life. My heart was pounding and I was nervous as hell. Then the girl said "Okay, please over" and lifted the towel off my butt and held it in front of her face.
This was the moment I was dreading. From the second the "treatment" started I had a full-blown hard on. It was a nightmare. All I could think was that this was sexual harassment and I would spend the rest of my life in a Chinese prison. When the girl put the towel back down and saw the tent I had pitched, she said "Oh, Mr. Number One Massage (apparently my new name), you want special massagy?" My heart literally stopped and I didn't breath for a long time. Minutes later I mustered a "what's that" in a squeaky voice I had never heard come out of me before. Like nothing this chick said "If you have $200US I do everything. I suckie you, you fuck me all over, then you coming on my here [sic](and pointed to her face and chest)." Then she started to unbutton her shirt. Many things raced through my mind, but luckily the one that flashed the most were the letters H-I-V, and I squealed "no thanks, just regular massagy." She didn't give up easily, and proceeded to call me "cheap" and a few other things in Chinese. For ten or fifteen minutes she kept trying to reach under the towel in the hopes of enticing me into "special massagy" but I was too scared to take her up on it.
The last half of the massage was awful. Realizing that she would not make much money on me, my massage deteriorated into her slapping my back and repeatedly lifting and dropping my limbs and head. After a particularly brutal calf-pinch I rolled over and told her "massagy over, time for dinner, I go now". When I got to the front to pay they still tried to charge me for "special massagy" but I explained that there was only "regular massagy, no coming all over", paid my 450RMB ($60US) and went back to my room where I sulked in the shower for 25 minutes like I had been raped.
That night neither my sister nor any of the guys I had met on the trip wanted to get drinks. I tried to sleep for a while, but I was not tired to I went to the Karaoke Bar in the lobby for a beer. As luck would have it about 15 people from the tour were down there drinking and singing. I talked to them but one at a time they retired to their rooms until only a girl (American) and I remained. We were both drunk already, but we decided to drink until all our RMB (Yuan, or Chinese money) were gone. At 2:30am we got on the elevator to go to our rooms. The wake-up call for our flight was at 4:30am, all I could think was that it was going to be an awful day.
However, when the elevator door closed the girl, Tracy, kind of smirked. She wasn't great looking, but after the massage from hell I couldn't resist trying to hook up. We made out in the elevator until we got to my floor. I told her that I was sharing a room with my sister, and she said she was sharing with her mom, so our rooms were out of the question. We made out in the hallway for a minute, then basically fell into the emergency stairwell.
We kissed for a few more minutes in the stairs, then Tracy turned around and lifted up her skirt. We had sex on the stairs for a little while, and she ended by giving me head. As soon as we were done we walked out and went to our own rooms.
On the flight home we talked for a few minutes, but that was it. I still don't know her last name.
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