Bow Chicka Bow Wow

Last Thursday I had my first p0rn0 massage experience. (Well, mostly just the part of the p0rn0 leading up to the point where the lady bends over the copier with her skirt hiked high up and says, "Mr. Copier-repairman, can you PLEASE fix my copier? It needs to be unjammed. And then jammed. And then unjammed. Over and over." Not so much the aftermath.) My second client was the hottest guy ever. Fireman. Cute little alternative-looking eyeglasses and snug little winter cap while dressed. Pierced nipples and coated in tattoos when undressed. And a foxy wife, though we'll slide on past that.

It all started when I returned to the room after having him strip down, and his boxers were covered only with a teeny-tiny towel (he had "misunderstood" my directions to climb under the top sheet and climbed under the top TOWEL instead). Then it continued on with the naked lady tattoo that kept staring at me and the pierced nipples which, for some reason, he decided not to pull his sheet up over. So needless to say, they drew my stare like a tractor beam. But it wasn't until he started making little appreciative moany noises whenever I did something particularly well that I had to stop and make sure that the relaxation music filtering in didn't have a bit of the old BOW CHICKA BOW WOW pumping through it. It didn't, and yet he continued to make charming little moany and breathy noises while I massaged him, to the point that I just wanted to hop on up there with him, rip off my scrubs, and shout, "Well, if that's the way you're gonna play this, then bring it on, bitch."

But I didn't.

That would've been unprofessional.

Fucking hot, but unprofessional.

So instead he fell asleep, not even the quietest of Bow Chicka Bow Wows echoing in the humid air of the massage room.

And then he awoke, disoriented and groggy, his nipple rings winking at me with a bit of sand in the corners of their eyes.

And then he was gone.