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No one must know my terrible secret...

House of Noh!


Thursday, January 05, 2006

Lately I’ve been gauging my level of emotional maturity by the amount of wool clothing I wear. I except suits from this measure.

Also, a few days ago a guy was telling me about hand-job massage parlors in Chicago. He says some advertise a limousine service from the airport in various papers. I don’t know if he has experience or not, but this is how he says it works: First, they give you a bath (giggling while they wash your balls - this is an important element), then they take you into this room and dry you off with a bunch of towels. Then they take you into different rooms, and do various bathing things to you (I wasn’t paying careful attention during the explanation of these parts of the process). Then, at the end, the masseuse asks you if they missed any spots. This is your chance. If you want a hand-job, then you’re supposed to take the masseuse’s hand and place it on your genitalia. Then they give you a hand-job.

“I don’t think I could ever get up the guts to do that,” I told the guy.

“Maybe, when they ask you if they’ve missed a spot, instead of putting their hand on your dick, you could just point to your own crotch or something,” the guy suggested as an alternative.

Which was both a thoughtful and hilarious thing to say, and seems to be about par for him - this dude is pretty cool.

But I realized later that my comment was more of an admission: no matter how much time I had during a layover, and how nice of a limousine ride it would be, I don’t think I’d ever really have the guts to go through with it. And I’d walk out the door of the massage parlor without a happy ending.

And as a younger man, I would have interpreted my own reticence to taking advantage of a well-recommended hand-job parlor as a self-indictment against my coolness and adventuresome spirit. Me just being a total square. But as I’ve thought it about these last few days, I’ve realized I’m okay with it, and myself, regarding this issue. And maybe this is part of growing up? That and all the wool.


Brian 3:21 PM

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