“What massage ads?” I asked taking a clunk of beer. “You mean you don’t know those ads? The ones like ‘Tired‘? My hands wfll relax you.’ Shit! When I read those ads I can just feel those oiled hands sliding up and down my jockey,” he said with a shudder of delight.
“What papers are they in?”
He looked at me in disbelief. “Free Press . . Advocate . . .Reader . . .a lot of papers. Gawd some of those masseurs put anything in their ads. The first one I ever answered, he wanted fifteen bucks to come to my place, but if I went to his place, it was only ten bucks, so I went there.” He paused.
“What happened?” I was curious.
“Well! He was wearing only this short towel and he said to take off my clothes and lie face down on the massage table. It sounded like I was going to get raped. Promises, promises! He was super nice looking and his towel was so shortI could see his balls and the tip of his cock. I. kept staring at him while I was undressing and by the time I was stripped I was half hard.” The young bartender strolled past. Oh hey, doll, gimme another beer.” My friend turned to me: “You want another?”
I thanked him no.
“Let’s see where was I?” he asked absently, staring at the buns on the cute bartender.