Tables Turned
Tables Turned

"I had pulled my neck while playing racquetball while on vacation in Italy. I went to a recommended local massage establishment and was given a male masseur which I had never had before (I'm a male). About half way through the massage I asked the masseur if an erection was typical. He said yes it often happens. I replied, 'Well can you get it away from my face?'"

Fart Guy
Fart Guy

"I was getting a massage and suddenly needed to pass gas really badly. Like an idiot, rather than asking to get up and visit the restroom, I convinced myself I could hold it. I miscalculated. The masseuse touched and squeezed the wrong part of my upper leg, just below my butt, and BOOM! It was long and extremely loud, like an exaggerated fart sound you might hear in a raunchy fraternity movie. And it was positively FOUL. The masseuse said she was going to step out for a few minutes. When she finally came back, I spent the remainder of my massage apologizing and telling her how embarrassed I was. Thankfully, she had a good sense of humor about it, explaining that she had a husband and two teenage boys. Still, I was beyond humiliated. I left a huge tip. I never went back there, because I kept imagining that they'd added a note to my profile in their system that I was 'fart guy'"

The Sweet Spot
The Sweet Spot

"My girlfriend Amanda got some all day spa things over the radio... 'Congrats you are caller NINE!!!'

So we went for the whole package, why not? We finished with fully body massages. Now I should mention, I have this one spot on my left shoulder that always gets me. I'm laying on my back, on the table next to my girlfriend while this petite woman, who is maybe five years older than me, tops, finds that spot and starts working it. 'Wow you got a real bunched nerve right here.'

Next thing I know Amanda is laughing hysterically as the towel over my bits tents. I got my revenge though. Sarah, the massage therapist, asks me if Amanda has any 'sweet spots' and I tell her to work the arches on her feet. It was a war, I was embarrassing for sure, but we still had fun"

When You Get Too Close With Coworkers
When You Get Too Close With Coworkers

"I worked for a Danish company several years ago. My boss arranged for all of us executives to get together for a three-day health retreat at a Danish spa. As an American, I didn't know anything about Danish spas and so I came with three changes of gym clothes, some swim trunks and sneakers.

The first afternoon before dinner we were scheduled for a massage to be followed by a soak in a hot tub on the roof. When I entered the massage room, the masseuse handed me a small plastic package and left the room. I opened the package and found the tiniest little jock strap I've ever seen. I courageously took off all my clothes and put the jock strap on which was nothing but a ridiculous notion to cover anything. I then laid on the table and pulled the sheet over me.

The masseuse came in and gave me a great massage that covered every square inch of my body except for where the jock strap was. She spent nearly an hour on me.

That was wonderful but embarrassing enough... but it got much worse.

After my massage, the masseuse handed me a bathrobe and pointed to a receptacle into which I was to drop the little jock strap. She stood there while I put on the robe and reached underneath to pull off the strap. Once I deposited it into the receptacle, she directed me to the stairs leading up to the roof. I started feeling uncomfortable as there appeared to be no path back to the locker room to retrieve my swim trunks.

When I got to the top of the stairs and opened the only door there was, I found myself on the roof. It was snowing. There was a small hot tub built for about four people. My boss, his secretary, and three of my colleagues were in the hot tub---completely nude"

Not The Kardashian Experience
Not The Kardashian Experience

"I booked myself a facial and eyebrow wax for the first time ever. I had no idea what to expect but I was like, f--k it, I've seen those Kardashian clones do all sorts of s--t to their faces, I'm joining the club! What I didn't realize was that I had booked a 'Full Package,' which meant I would basically have my face ripped off and replaced with the new fresh skin of ten-year-old Haley Joel Osment while also being indulged with a massage. Hurrah! Huzzah!

When I get there, I meet a super lovely young girl who is really excited to introduce me to the world of expensive, luxurious vanity. We go down into this dimmed room with soft music playing and the first thing she says is,

'Okay, just take your top off and hop on the bed.'

I look at her, confused.

'Say what, now? Take off my top?'

I still haven't realized that the package includes a massage.

She nods her head and says, 'Yep. You can just slide your t-shirt down if you like, just below the breasts.'

Well s--t, she's the expert. So I do as I'm told but I pull the sheet up just under my shoulders. She tends to my face, slapping endless jizzy looking creams on me (is that why it's called a facial?) until it feels raw. She slaps a face mask on me and then starts massaging my shoulders. I was trying hard to chill and thinking, Hey this is alright, this is cool. I'm cool. Man, I'm so cool with this!

This lovely, pretty girl then starts massaging around my chest. Next minute, her hands go under the sheet and she starts grappling with my breasts.

I make a sound like 'Eeeeewhaaaaa?'

She says, 'Try to relax.'

I think I should be clear here and say that in my 27 years of existence I had never had my boobs touched by anyone. So I wasn't being prudish, I was just unaccustomed to people feeling around that area. It had nothing to do with her, she's just doing her job but I was squirming so hard thinking, Careful, you're gonna hit some nip, bro.

I spent the entire massage squirming away from her touch but too embarrassed to say anything because I didn't want to come off as a d--wad. Hey man, it's not like she was enjoying it, right? I'm probably the 40th set of t-ts she's seen that day, after all. That must be a s--t job on minimum wage. I couldn't really hide my discomfort so she just sighed and went to my back and dug her thumbs in so hard I yelped. The back massage was so painful I wished she'd just get back to kneading my t-ts. She was frustrated because I was cowering from her touch. She eventually gave up and said, 'Okay I think we're done. Put your shirt back on.'

So she pisses off upstairs and I get dressed. I sat in the chair and put my head in my hands feeling like a true shrew. I went upstairs and paid my bill which was surprisingly cheap. I told her she did a great job. My eyebrows were wicked awesome, but f--k, that s--t hurt! She's like, 'No pain, no gain' which is a lot different to my usual mantra, 'No pain, no pain.' I walked out feeling her eye-rolling glare.

I never went back but in hindsight, I reckon it was a pretty positive experience. Hell, next time I'm feeling really lonely, I know a great place where a pretty, young albeit pimply 19-year-old girl will play with my t-ts for the low, low price of $80 while also leaving me with a new skin that makes me feel as wonderful and vibrant as Leatherface from Texas Chainsaw Massacre whenever he wears the peeled off fresh face of some poor college kid"

Cute Thong
Cute Thong

"A few years back, I went to get a massage and realized once I was there that I was wearing a rather skimpy tiger-print thong. I did not realize it before because I used to wear thongs all the time (I'm a guy by the way). I got on the massage table and covered up with the sheet. The girl that was giving the massage was rubbing down my back and moved the sheet down. I could tell when she saw my thong because I heard her say, 'Oh, sorry, I just noticed, you are wearing a cute thong.' I blushed and said, 'Thanks.' I tried to block it out of my mind. But I kept thinking that she was feeling awkward because of it. That was embarrassing"

A Happy Ending?
A Happy Ending?

"I stepped into the lobby of Paradise Massage. A bell on the door jingled as it closed, alerting a woman to my presence. She emerged from the nearby hallway and stepped demurely towards the desk.

'Hello,' she greeted me, a slight smile upon her lips.

'Hi. I have an appointment for 1 o'clock.'

'Your name?'


'Ah, yes, here you are. Roger. My name is Lin, and I'll be your masseuse today. Please, follow me.' She led me to a dimly lit room. 'Please undress and lay down on the table.' she told me as she closed the door. I did so, only to realize I couldn't find a towel or anything with which to cover myself. I looked around for something, but I couldn't see any draping. Had she forgotten? Or was its absence intentional? Was that just how they did massages here? Or was more than a massage on the menu?

This place had had a coupon online, and its reviews were good, so I made an appointment. None of the reviews had mentioned anything illicit, but then again, they probably wouldn't, would they? It was hard to imagine someone writing, 'Awesome bj! 5 stars!' or, 'Great handjobs. Even better than my wife's. Definitely coming back!' on the Yelp page.

Still, I felt like an idiot laying down naked on the table, my a-- in the air. Was she going to think I was trying to wrangle a happy ending out of her? Would she tell me to get out? Call the cops? But without anything to cover myself with, it was hard to see what else I could do but wait here bare a-- naked.

It wasn't long before the door opened and footsteps entered the room. I didn't hear a gasp or a scream of disgust, so I figured I had made, if not the right choice, an at-least-tolerable one. The door closed and classical music began to play softly. The lights dimmed. 'Do you prefer hard or soft?'

'Hard, please.' Her hands pressed against my skin as she commenced the massage, putting heavy pressure into my knotted muscles. She slid her palms along the length of my back in slow, smooth strokes, her hands stopping at my tailbone. I moved my legs closer together and wished I could see just how immodest I was being.

Her manual skill soon dispelled any worries from my mind, however. She was good. I felt I was going to melt into the table. She removed her hands for a moment, and when she returned, she came bearing oil. Soon my skin was slick with the scented oil, and the aroma of lavender enveloped us. The table creaked as she climbed on top of it and continued to massage me.

'How is this?' she inquired.

'Perfect. You're amazing,' I mumbled, surrendering myself to her powers.

'Thank you.' She continued to work her magic. Once she finished with my back, it was time for my arms. From there, she went to my buttocks. She was forceful, her arms strong. I felt like a piece of dough under her hands. Her hands delved between my cheeks, exploring every inch of me. For a moment, I worried I was going to end up with a finger someplace uncomfortable. I had to remind myself that my a-- had muscles, too, that this wasn't necessarily sexual. But I could already feel my c--k stirring, ignorant of this fact. I tried to banish my fantasies from my head, but how could I, with this Chinese goddess caressing me? I bit my lip, hoping I could keep things under control. Yet, I had to admit, the thought of her noticing awakened a desire inside me I didn't know I had. She might see it and be impressed, maybe even flattered. Maybe she'd even want to reach out and continue the massage where I was most stiff, where I mostly badly needed her warm touch...

But then, her hands cruelly departed and the door opened and closed. I looked up. The room was empty. Where had she gone? The doorknob clicked and I put my head back down as the door swung open. A hot, moist towel was placed on my back as she rubbed away the oil from my skin. Oh, now she had towels.

'Turn over,' she told me.

S--t. I wouldn't be able to hide anything on my back. I'd be totally exposed. But it wasn't like I could stall for the rest of the hour, or however long it would take for my erection to die down, which at this rate would be longer than that. Ah well. I'm sure she's seen her fair share of awkward boners. I took a deep breath and turned onto my back. Fortunately, she had a towel at hand and swiftly covered my c--k with it. Unfortunately, she didn't cover much else. A refreshing breeze on my balls told me they were enjoying the fresh air. Honestly, it was more of a cotton belt than an actual towel. And its light weight did absolutely nothing to hide my erection, proudly jutting skyward under the towel.

I glanced at her. But instead of annoyance or revulsion, her visage was one of amusement. Was she enjoying my predicament? She walked over to my head and took it in both hands, rubbing my scalp.

'So, Roger, what do you do?' she asked.

'I'm a consultant downtown,' I replied, without getting into specifics. I still wasn't sure how legal this massage was going to end up being.

'Do you enjoy it?' she asked.

'Yeah. It can be rough, but it's interesting, and I like solving problems. It's very engaging.'

'That's good. It's important to enjoy what you do.'

'Do you enjoy this? Being a masseuse, I mean,' I fumbled.

'I do. I always have.'

'Have you been doing it long?'

'Ever since I was a girl. My mother taught me, and I started practicing on my friends and family, and I was good at it. I enjoy giving people pleasure,' she replied, her hands kept traveling lower and lower.


'Oh, yes. It's like cooking someone their favorite dish. They enjoy it so much, and it makes me feel happy to make them happy. Sometimes people forget that our bodies and minds are one. They focus on watching TV and browsing the internet. But you can't only satisfy the mind. The body needs satisfaction, too. Don't you agree?'

My heart was pounding. 'Yes, I do.' How far would she go? But before she could reach the towel's edge, she retreated and walked to the other end of the table. I could only imagine the view she now had. My legs parted, my balls exposed, my hard c--k turning my towel into a tent. She put her hands on my upper thigh; her movements were torture, her fingertips grazing against my sensitive thighs. She was driving me crazy. I could feel the tension growing in my shaft. If she kept at it, I was going to end up having an orgasm. I focused on taking long, deep breaths. The massage couldn't last forever. I could make it. I knew I could.

I was wrong.

She released my leg and positioned herself at the far end of the table. I had little time to recover, though. She took my legs in both hands, one on each, and began to massage them with long, deliberate strokes, starting from my ankles and working her way upwards. My c--k throbbed against the towel, even its light pressure an agony to resist as I tried to preserve my dignity. It felt like the slightest pressure on my c--k would be my last before I jizzed myself in front of a woman I had met only an hour previously.

'All done,' she whispered, pulling her hands away. I breathed a sigh of premature relief. She grabbed one end of the towelette and pulled it away, rubbing the swollen head of my c--k with its fabric.


My eyes shot open as I tried desperately to stop myself, but I knew it was too late. Lin was already staring at it when the first spurt gushed out. Her eyes widened and her lips shifted into an amused, knowing smirk. She looked proud of herself.

I panted, catching my breath. Both my energy and my balls felt drained. 'Are you finished?' she asked warmly. I nodded. She left the room and returned with another warm, moist cloth. Tenderly, she wiped up my mess, cleaning me up as I averted my eyes, desperate to avoid eye contact with her. 'All better. Nice and clean,' she cooed.

'I'm, uh, sorry about...that...' God, that sounded lame. But what else could I say?

'I wish you had told me you were that close. I would have helped,' she said with a wink.

I blinked. But before I could say anything more articulate than, 'Uh...' she had slipped out the door. I got dressed and walked back out to the lobby, where she was waiting for me. I paid for the massage and gave her a tip that I hoped was large enough.

'Thank you for coming, Roger. I enjoyed today's massage. I hope you'll come back soon.'

'I will,' I replied. 'I promise'"

The Foot Massage From Hell
The Foot Massage From Hell

"My girlfriend and I were in Shenzhen and walked past a foot massage shop. If you've never been in Mainland China, they usually have several large chairs sitting in a row with foot stools and a bunch of middle-aged ladies running around in hospital scrubs that attend to the feet that come in. ¥50 per head (or ¥25 per foot if you like) for 30 minutes of foot wrangling seemed a good deal at the time...

Assuming, of course, they didn't torture you...which they totally do.

Those ladies have deceptively strong hands. Immediately they begin by sticking your feet in a hot tub of nearly boiling water with some ginger in it. Are you preparing to massage my feet or make them for dinner?

Five minutes later my feet are scarlet red and they pull them out. I swear I heard an oven timer go off somewhere. The girl working my feet begins the Spanish Inquisition on my pinky toes and works her way inland, grinding, poking, and perhaps gnawing on them in an attempt to make me cry like a school girl...which I totally did.

The pain was unreal. I've had broken bones that hurt less. Impacted teeth and subsequent root canal surgery that hurt less. Assuming it was possible, I would have opted for childbirth instead of the agony this lady put my feet through! She had my foot in a choke hold that would have pleased Hulk Hogan, wrapping it up with one arm to prevent its escape so she could dig her boney knuckles in the tender part of my feet with the other. I begged. Screamed. Pleaded. Whimpered. Cried for mercy.

None arrived. I would have confessed to almost anything at this point.

Certainly, she was violating the Geneva Conventions in humanitarian treatment of prisoners. This was torture!! After punishing the bottoms of my feet next came the tops, and a new world of pain exploration confronted me. No sooner did this stop did she begin what I'd like to describe as a pedicure that only Freddy Krueger could give. Needles, small shoots of bamboo, and what appeared to be a Kitchen-Aid blender attachments were used to clean around, to the sides, and underneath my toenails. My cheeks were full-on red with sticky tears flowing down as I writhed in the chair, pleading for release that didn't come.

Next came callus scraping. I think I peed just a little when I saw her take out a blade and smile at me in what I was convinced was a Ginsu II knife commercial before working my abused feet over with it. Snip-snip. Grind. File. Cut. Amazingly I still have all ten toes, but I wasn't sure at the time. By this point, she had an assistant (henchman) to help hold down my legs so as to prevent my escape. All that was missing was a maniacal laugh and someone to stroke a bald cat while demanding a large ransom. Which I totally would have paid at this point.

My thirty minutes up, they lathered my feet up in some lotion that smelled suspiciously like barbecue sauce and presented me a bill. Amazingly I could still walk after the ordeal, although I suspect this was a superhuman feat of adrenaline at the time merely to escape my captors. I paid and looked in the mirror. Sure enough, I could see a dark ring around the crotch of my khaki cargo shorts...I had peed myself! I pulled my shirt out and covered up my shorts, and my girlfriend and I left. She apparently had a lovely experience and recommends we go back again soon...I'm still making excuses to avoid it"

They Stick Their Fingers Where?!
They Stick Their Fingers Where?!

"When I was 19 years old (fresh out of massage school) I found myself living in a B&B that hosted healers from all over the world. I was just doing trade in exchange for lodgings but I met some wise and wild characters in my time there. One of these wild/wise people was a female Massage Therapist who had a renowned practice in SoCal specializing in Intravaginal Massage as a method of tightening up and regaining sensation to the vagina after childbirth, chemo or surgeries that complicated vaginal sensation.

I was shown the techniques when she worked on a friend who was also at the B&B and it was very clinical in nature and on the up and up. She also showed me how she was massaging the liver (I was dubious), realigning the pelvic gurdle, preventing cysts from forming and helping prevent a prolapse after pregnancy. Long story short she blew my mind but when I gave it a try, my 19-year-old junk began to swell.

Weeks later a male MT arrived and his specialty was intra-anal massage, to realign the coccyx (tailbone) but he only worked on women which was a red flag for me. Not that I wanted any of his healing but it seemed a bit sketchy that his practice was gender biased. He offered to show me his work on the same friend and he did use gloves and lubricant and had a professional demeanor while working. He showed me how to realign a coccyx which does account for a great deal of lower back/hip pain.

Being asked to rejuvenate a vagina clinically is quite a strange request that I have been asked many times. Being asked to stick a finger up many a woman's anus in a sweet way to realign their lumbar spine is also really strange and having never sat well with me, I've always politely declined despite knowing the technique. On the one hand, you know you can seriously help the client, but on the other, you sticking your finger up someone's butt...

Perhaps these are practices best left to more open minded therapists or women with soft and small hands as opposed to my massive mitts, but when my friend's wife asked me to realign her coccyx, I felt like it may test our friendship beyond my core desire to heal his wife. When the intra-anal dude at the B&B said he refused to work on his sister after she requested work, the bumhole ship sailed for me that day..."

Don't Get The
Don't Get The "Optional" Scrubbing

"The first time I went to one of those big spa complexes in Shenzhen (China) it was with my wife and her female friend. We had been recommended this place by a Russian (female) friend who said it was good and cheap.

While trying to negotiate what we wanted with a host with terribly poor English, my wife agreed to some massages for the girls and a 'man massage' for me, whatever that is...

The usual process here is girls and guys go off to separate locker rooms where low tier (male) staff simper over you and help fold your sweaty undies into a locker in hope of getting a couple of $ tip. So you gotta get your junk out right in front of these guys - embarrassment #1.

Then you walk into a communal shower and vanity hall. This is still all in the male locker area. Now at this point, I'm approached by a wiry middle-aged man clad only in a towel around the waist. He motions that I need to follow him and, not knowing any better, I do. So I NOW know this is an optional 'scrubbing' service - meant to scrub the toxins out, or some other quack notion. So I lie down, completely naked while this guy scrubs me vigorously all over with a ratty white face cloth dipped in a red plastic bucket of murky water. And when I mean all over, I mean ALL over - he's scrubbing my butthole, and even lifting my balls WITH HIS HAND to scrub underneath. At this point, I'm like WTF and trying to think of how to articulate this to him. And also, the tighta-- in me is figuring, 'Well, we've already paid, so you don't wanna throw good money away.' To add final insult to injury, he finishes off by using the same dirty, a-- and ball (no doubt not just mine!) washcloth to scrub my face! Arghhhhh!!!

Well, that was fantastic - now I'm all nice and detoxes, basted in my own (and others') a-- juice. And to top it off, like everyone in this place, he had the cheek to ask for a tip at the end! (Which I gave - I don't want an old guy in a towel chasing me around the locker room screaming in Chinese.)

After that it's into the huge communal unisex entertainment area with hundreds of lay-z-boy chairs for manicures and pedicures along with beers and cigarettes.

But then it onto the massages. You choose your girls in a touchscreen console, all dressed up in spandex cheerleader uniforms, making duck faces and touting grossly inflated chest dimensions. The 3 of us choose an oil massage and the two girls are led off to a room together, me to another. The massage was great - actually very skilled, even though she paid a LOT of attention to my butt crack - a little weird, but hey, better a cute girl than an old man, and at least she was clothed! And no, not in a cheerleader costume, unfortunately.

Needless to say, eventually the topic of 'extras' came up, and although I was (quite visibly) tempted after all that groin area attention, it was my first time and with my wife, so wasn't going to risk that drama, son.

So we finished off with a head rub or something. Then the topic of tips can up and she wanted like 300--400 yuan. I'm like woah hold on, That's a bit steep. A 'discussion' ensued whereby I tried to figure out what this was for until I eventually walked out and busted into my wife's room, loudly announcing, 'She's trying to charge me for a handy I didn't get!' The girls burst out laughing. After about half an hour of arguing in the public reception, a Chinese customer offered to interpret and eventually the elderly madam adjudicated that in fact, the girl needs to check herself and stop cheating people.

Going home my wife said I should have just gone for it, declaring that next time I have a 'free pass' (which I have yet to cash in)"

Googling "Cheap Massage" Gone Wrong

"I'd been sleeping on an air mattress in my girlfriend's shared beach house, and as is liable to happen in such circumstances, I woke up with a huge, debilitating back/neck pain. Now, being a student with not much money, I made what was in hindsight a very poor decision. I googled 'cheap massages Santa Cruz,' and saw a place offering 30-minute massages for $40.

I caught an Uber there and walked into the parlor, which seemed fairly innocuous from the outside. On the inside, it looked like a doctor's office. There was a cheap plastic countertop for the receptionist, a young Vietnamese girl, and old rickety wooden chairs which served as the waiting room. In one of these chairs sat a rather rotund goateed Asian man, playing on his phone and occasionally glancing up at me. The receptionist had a limited command of the English language, so I struggled to communicate my simple request for a $40 massage. She seemed to be trying to goad me into getting a more expensive 60-minute massage or a VIP service massage.

After a while, hoping I had made my request clear enough, I was called past the table, and into a room full of massage tables separated by curtains. It looked more like a hospital wing than a relaxing massage parlor but it was cheap, so who am I to criticize? I dressed down to my underwear and laid down on the paper-covered table. With my eyes closed, I began to pay more attention to my other senses and focused on the sounds coming from the rooms next to me. I heard light conversing in Vietnamese and Mandarin, with the occasional grunt and groan, along with the sound of slick massage oil being rubbed against skin. Nothing really out of the ordinary.

My masseuse came in a few minutes later and asked me the standard where/how hard. I explained my situation, she acknowledged and began the massage. It wasn't bad, but nothing special. But to my tense air-mattress soreness, it was a great relief nonetheless. During the massage, she asked multiple times whether or not I wanted to upgrade to the 60 min or VIP package, to which I politely declined. She seemed almost relieved by this, seemingly surprised that I did. I thought nothing of it.

About 10 minutes into the massage, attuned to the sounds around me, I started to become suspicious. There was a very clear rhythmic panting noise coming from the table to my right, which I originally had thought to be the result of a particularly rough knot-untying. But the more I listened, I realized that was not the case. The pieces came together and I realized the type of operation I had just walked into. Great job, Josh.

The rest of the massage I spent trying to block out the sounds and blushing hard, thinking of how I was going to explain myself if someone saw me walking out. Particularly hard to block out was the orgasmic groaning of the guy on the table to my right, which my masseuse noticed made me cringe, and she giggled. The massage ended spot-on 30 minutes, and I quickly got dressed. Whilst I was putting on my shirt, the guy several tables to my left had a rather loud happy ending. I looked back down at the table I had just laid on for 30 minutes, protected by only a thin sheet of paper, with a new perspective.

I exited to the counter to settle my bill. The goatee guy was still there. When they rang me up on the register, the receptionist didn't even say how much she was charging me. When she tried to run it through, it failed. Curious, I checked my bank account. I had $50 in my checking account. Strange that it wasn't going through. My immediate thought was perhaps there was some ridiculous tip and tax charge added, so I asked to see the transaction on the screen. She was trying to bill me $80!

Now I was angry. I asked her firmly but politely to please charge me the correct amount. To which she insisted she was doing. We both got more and more frustrated as I noticed goatee guy reach into his pocket. Sensing that he had more than just his phone in his pocket, I calmed and stepped back from the table. I asked clearly 'why not $40?' The receptionist replied '$40 for neck and shoulder only. She say you do whole back.'

This wasn't listed anywhere, but goatee's eyes hadn't left me and his hand hadn't left his pocket so I decided best not to fight this battle. I tried to transfer more money into my account, but I had reached the transaction limit and it didn't go through. Panicked, I even called my girlfriend, sheepishly trying to ask for money (whilst in the middle of essentially a brothel). To avoid more confrontation, I just pulled out my Australian credit card which would work overseas but at a ridiculous surcharge. Didn't leave a tip"

Culture Shock
Culture Shock

"We are in Brazil, hoping to soak up the tropical air with a great beachside massage. Well, in Brazil, massage is more synonymous with erotic prostitution than regulated, medicinal bodywork like the US.

We keep asking, and people keep giving us judgmental looks when we ask for a massage. Any searching on the internet reveals risqué massage parlors that do much more than just massage. But we finally found one. The short, professional girl show up at our room with a folded massage table and 1950's era nurse uniform, white shoes and white hat. Ok, this looks legit.

I have my wife go first. She lays down on the sheeted massage table, no drape, but no problem. She is in her bikini bathing suit. She starts to untie the bra strap of her bikini so that the masseuse can get her full back. The masseuse absolutely freaks out and says if she touches her bra she will leave and no more massage. OK. My wife is very modest. I speak Portuguese and I am laughing. My wife has no idea what is being said. I tell her to tie her suit. Keep her bikini on! The massage proceeds for 10--15 minutes on her back, neck and arms. Now, the legs and...

As the masseuse reach the backside, she yanks the bottoms off. She goes to town on my wife's butt. She spent nearly 30 minutes massaging her glutes. Best butt massage of her life. Heaven forbid that she would see the entire backside without the bra strap!

In Brazil, keep your bikini top on, but it is ok to walk around the beach with dental floss (butt thong). Hmmm. So funny. Every culture is so different"

Blinded Of The Truth
Blinded Of The Truth

"My wife and I were staying at the Marriott in San Jose Costa Rica and decided to schedule massages at the hotel. As there was only one masseuse I let me wife have her massage first while I worked out. When she came to the gym, she seemed a bit out of sorts and I asked her if the massage was good. Her answer was that it was 'fine.' I told that I really didn't want to waste the time and money on a 'fine' massage but she told be that it was ok and to go ahead. After the massage, I asked my wife what the problem was as I thought the massage was really good. She told me that she thought the masseuse was a lesbian because she watched my wife undress, stared at her through the entire massage and didn't seem concerned about keeping my wife's private parts covered. By this time, I was really enjoying my wife's discomfort as my wife had not noticed that our massage lady was completely blind and met you at the door using her cane to navigate"

Too Much Of A Good Thing
Too Much Of A Good Thing

"I saved up money as a student and bought a ticket to India to visit my family. I decided to max out the layover experience and got one through Singapore airlines with a 22 hours layover in Changi Airport. I did some research into what the airport had to offer - Free movies in the airport theater, free beds to crash, great reasonably priced food, free 2 hour Singapore tour, and.....FREE MASSAGE chairs around the airport.

I went out for the free tour, shopped around the airport and whenever I found a massage chair, I sat in it for a free foot and back massage. Not one, not two...I totaled to about 7 or 8 such massages and my guess what!? My foot swelled up. I could simply not walk comfortably anymore.

Time had come to board my flight to India and I literally dragged myself and likely made a scene. People looked at me and wondered what happened. I somehow got myself to board the flight and sat down in my seat, cursing myself for loading up on free massage chairs. The next time around, I stayed away from those"

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