(Urban Life) My Real-Life Experience Giving Massage to Women

My Real-Life Experience Giving Massages to Women (Part 1)

It was somewhat of a coincidence, a case of unintended consequences. A while ago, I had a fight with my wife and, out of boredom, posted a dating ad on a website, listing swimming, running, cooking, and massage as my hobbies. I didn't think much of it at first, and after a couple of days, my cold war with my wife ended, and we were as loving as ever, and I completely forgot about the ad. About a week later, I suddenly received an email saying that she was interested in my post, liked massages, and asked if I had time. I was quite puzzled at the time. Why would anyone ask me for a massage? Going back to the website where I originally posted, it dawned on me – I had listed massage as one of my hobbies. I must have been angry after arguing with my wife and didn't make it clear; I meant I enjoy being massaged, not giving massages.

Anyway, speaking of massage, I'm actually quite good at it, thanks to an elective course I took in college. I chose Traditional Chinese Medicine, and although it was just basic knowledge, it did include some acupoints and massage techniques. Later, I visited a college classmate whose father was a traditional Chinese medicine doctor, so we had some common ground and started chatting... After chatting for a while, seeing my interest in Traditional Chinese Medicine, he taught me some finger techniques and even practiced them on him a few times. You could say that's where my massage foundation was built. However, I haven't practiced it since. The only time I did was when I was dating my then-girlfriend, now my wife. I remember using my techniques on her after only a few meetings, making her weak and wet, completely captivated by me. But it left a lasting effect; now, before having sex with my wife, massage is practically part of the foreplay, adding to my workload. Greatly increased. Although I'm a man, I have naturally slender hands, and many people say they look like a woman's. I remember shortly after graduating from university and starting my new job, a middle-aged woman in the office grabbed my hand and kept rubbing it, praising it repeatedly. I was so embarrassed that I blushed and felt hot and hard down there. Later, when I went to the toilet, I discovered that my penis had actually leaked some lubrication (note, not semen; my principles aren't that weak, haha).

I've digressed a bit. Back to the main point. See the sender's address: Kelly Cheung, a Hong Konger, replied that it was possible and gave her my MSN. Online instant messaging is always faster than email, but we spent several days trying to chat without success. Either she wasn't online, or I wasn't; we just couldn't connect. Finally, one day we connected online.

Like any first chat with an online friend, we exchanged a few pleasantries (in English, of course), nothing more than boring pleasantries like "hello," "hello," and "good weather." It was boring, but you have to say it; that's life.

Then I asked, "Where do you live?"

Kelly replied, "Yonge and Major Mac."

Haha, not far from where I live. "

Can you send me a photo?" Kelly asked.

I said, "Is it online?"

Kelly said she had no face.

I thought to myself with a self-deprecating smile, why would anyone care about face when doing something like this? But I still chose a photo and sent it.

As the saying goes, it's impolite not to reciprocate, so I asked, "Can you send me one too?" Kelly said, "Sure." I couldn't contain my excitement when I received the photo, and immediately clicked to open it, but I was a little dumbfounded.

It

turned out to be a black woman, wearing sunglasses and a headscarf. If she had a figure like Beyonce, that would be fine, but she looked more like Shaquille O'Neal. My heart sank, and I almost gave up.

So I continued to ask, "Where are you from?"

"Jamaica." I thought to myself, "Isn't that sprint star very thin? Why is she so strong?

I'm curious, why do you have a Hong Kong surname?"

"That's my grandfather's surname. It's a new world all mixed up." "Kelly answered.

I asked again, "Aren't you worried I'm a bad person?" Even I found the question laughable; she should have been asking me. "

No, you look like a good person from the photos," Kelly replied. "

I hope you're a bad person," Kelly added.

"Why?"

"Bad people can touch and kiss all over your body," Kelly replied.

Haha, how did I run into such a naive person? Actually, I could have just gone offline, but I'm a person of my word. Having promised, how could I go back on my word?

Knowing there were dangers, I gritted my teeth and asked, "Can you give me the specific address?"

"XX Street, XX Number, buzz code X," she replied honestly.

I continued, "Let's set it for tomorrow, Thursday, at 11 AM. I'll confirm again tomorrow morning."

But when it came time for the final confirmation the next morning, I couldn't reach her on MSN. It was already 12 PM, and since I had to work in the afternoon, I was about to cancel the date when she responded. It turned out she had gone out to buy something.

Kelly asked, "What do I need to prepare?"

I replied, "Take a shower and shave your public hair.

Do you want me to wear clothes or not?"

I thought for a moment, then said, "No."

Kelly: "Okay, see you later."

Before leaving, I prepared massage oil and hand sanitizer, and wrote Kelly's address on a piece of paper, placing it next to my computer. I thought that if anything really happened, the police could help me get justice. Haha, it really felt like going to my execution.

Since we lived very close, it didn't take long for me to drive to Kelly's apartment. As soon as I got upstairs, before I even knocked, Kelly had already opened the door to greet me. She looked even more robust than in the photos. I couldn't help but secretly gasp. The apartment... It was small and messy. Turns out, single women and single men aren't that different after all.

After a few pleasantries, we got straight to the point. Kelly took off her bathrobe and lay down on the bed. I was truly dumbfounded; her arms were thicker than my thighs! How was I supposed to massage that?

(Real-life version of giving a woman a massage - Part 3)

The weather in Toronto at the end of May was still relatively cool, but that day, perhaps because I was too hot inside, I felt the room was very hot. Seeing Kelly's brown flesh, although it wasn't exactly beautiful, my male instincts still made my little penis... It hardened against my will, and the swelling was a little uncomfortable.

I asked Kelly, just like before, "Do you want me to take my clothes off or with them on?"

Kelly, lying on the bed, said, "You can take them off now."

So, in a few quick movements, I stripped off all my clothes. My little thing, freed from its constraints, stood erect in the sunlight, like a caged bird released from its cage. With some release of desire, I felt much better.

Kelly lay lazily on her back on the bed, perhaps because she had worked the night before, looking somewhat listless.

I went to Kelly's bedside. Her bed was a bit low, forcing me to kneel in front of her feet to begin a foot massage. At that moment, a scene from the movie *Raise the Red Lantern*, featuring Gong Li, flashed through my mind—a scene where the maid massages her feet is unforgettable. I don't know if foot massages can actually stimulate other women's libido, but whenever I do it for my wife, she always seems very satisfied, moaning constantly.

I first applied some massage oil to the soles of Kelly's feet, then made a half-fist with my right hand and used my four knuckles to gently scrape the soles of her feet from top to bottom for about two to three minutes. I then switched to the other foot and repeated the same procedure, finishing the foot massage in about five minutes. I felt a little guilty; I skipped the sole and toe massage—that position is too uncomfortable, after all, I've never been a maid and haven't received any special training in kneeling.

So, I moved on to a back massage, having Kelly lie face down on the bed. I have to admit I skipped the head and neck massage for Kelly again, which was a bit unfair, haha. Luckily, it was a free service, so I didn't have to worry about cheating customers. I applied some oil to Kelly's shoulders and back and started massaging from top to bottom and left to right, using the traditional pinching, pressing, kneading, and scraping techniques. Don't let Kelly's large size fool you; her flesh is really firm, not the loose kind. It was quite a struggle to knead her, like kneading dough, or perhaps "rolling dough" would be a more apt description. Soon, my knuckles started to ache, and I groaned. My hands moved down Kelly's shoulders, back, and waist, until I reached her buttocks, where I felt a sudden sense of relief and softness. I held Kelly's thighs with both hands, constantly relaxing them, occasionally "casually" touching the inner thighs with my fingers. Kelly seemed to enjoy it.

After the leg massage, it was time for the breasts. I had Kelly turn over, and her two large breasts were clearly visible, like two big pancakes, lazily resting on her chest. I poured some massage oil into my palm and began massaging her breasts, humming to myself: "Three circles to the left, three circles to the right, twist your neck, wiggle your butt, let's exercise together..." Looking at her sleeping nipples, I leaned down and gently sucked on Kelly's nipples, sometimes stirring them with my tongue, sometimes gently biting them with my teeth. In no time, I woke up her two sleeping nipples, and they stood erect.

Seeing that the time was right, I quickly washed and disinfected my hands and began to slowly explore Kelly's lower abdomen. Kelly had shaved her genitals very clean, and her two large labia completely concealed her secrets, leaving only a slit that aroused endless imagination. I poured some "water" into her vulva, and the "water" slowly seeped in along the crevices. I gently pinched one labia majora with my right thumb and forefinger and massaged it from top to bottom, repeating this about 20 times. Then I massaged the other labia majora in the same way. After the external massage, I used two fingers of my left hand to separate the labia majora, and used my right thumb and forefinger to gently pinch the clitoris and labia minora, moving them up and down slowly, repeating this several times. After seeing that the vulva was more moist, I slowly inserted my right middle finger into Kelly's vagina, gently exploring it back and forth and up and down. I could feel Kelly getting more and more wet, and I could even hear the sound of my finger moving in and out of her vagina. At this point, I also slowly inserted my forefinger into her vagina, increasing the intensity of the massage and continuously massaging behind the pubic bone. At this point, I heard Kelly unable to hold back her moans. After the massage inside her vagina, I applied some oil to Kelly's clitoris and began massaging it. Kelly closed her eyes, clamped her legs together, and let me rub her clitoris. My pressure gradually increased, and the frequency went from slow to fast. I could clearly feel her legs clamping tighter and tighter, and my speed increased as well. Suddenly, Kelly rolled over and moaned softly, trapping my right hand tightly between her legs. I knew she had reached orgasm. After a woman reaches orgasm, her clitoris becomes extremely sensitive to stimulation. So I reduced the pressure and slowed the pace to avoid overstimulating her clitoris.

Kelly lay contentedly on the bed after her climax, then took one hand and began to rub my penis up and down. Now it was my turn to enjoy myself. I poured some massage oil into Kelly's palm to reduce the stimulation to the glans. She occasionally rubbed the glans with her thumb, stimulating me to moan continuously. As the frequency of the rubbing increased, my penis became increasingly itchy, and finally, a warm, white fluid spurted out—a lot, covering Kelly's hand. I used a paper towel to wipe it off. My first massage for a woman could be considered a victory.

As she was leaving, Kelly told me that she was moving next week to Hwy 400 and Rutherford, and asked if I wanted the vase in her room. I saw it was a large Chinese-style vase, and I was too embarrassed to take it, so I left it for her.

After returning from Kelly's place, I was inspired and changed my website profile, adding more massage content. Unexpectedly, two days later I received another email. Looking at the sender, yvxxxxcheung, I was a little confused. Was this another mixed-race case?

(My real-life massage experience with women - Part 4)

Opening the email, I saw the message asking if the massage was truly free and if I could send a photo. I replied that it was free, attached my MSN and a photo of myself, and told her that if she was interested, we could add each other to discuss further. It really felt like a blind date, hehe.

Not long after, I logged into MSN and found that she had indeed added me to her list. It seemed she was at least quite satisfied with my photo. So, I "peeked" at her profile on MSN. It turned out she was indeed from Hong Kong and a university student. Now I felt more at ease; unlike Kelly, who had a Hong Kong name but was actually mixed-race, which surprised me greatly.

The first hurdle of the "blind date" was cleared; next was "dating." About a week later, we finally met online. Naturally, there were the usual pleasantries and small talk, before we got down to business. First, we exchanged information. Ivy (I'll call her that for now to protect her privacy), single, a university student, living near Yonge/16th Ave (wow, could she be my neighbor? Haha), 23 years old (compared to this old cow, she's practically a tender shoot). At my request

, she sent me a photo, a picture of herself with her sister. She looked average-looking in the photo, smiling brightly. We tentatively agreed to meet at Hillcrest Mall the following Wednesday morning. We exchanged phone numbers, and I called to confirm on Tuesday night.

The week went by uneventfully. The night before the meeting, I called as agreed, but no one answered. Around 9 pm, I called again, still no answer. A bad feeling crept in. The next morning, I called again, still no answer. Since I had to work, I had to cancel the date. I'd been stood up, haha.

A few days later, I met Ivy on MSN.

I asked why she hadn't answered the phone.

She explained that she was sick. "

Are you still interested in massage?"

I asked. She said yes.

I asked, "When are you free?" "

Next Monday morning, at the central library," she replied.

I said, "Okay." "I'll call to confirm next Monday at 10:30."

She said, "Sure."

Time flew by, and Monday arrived in the blink of an eye. At the agreed time of 10:30, I called on time. The phone rang twice, and thank goodness, someone finally answered. I asked, "Is this Ivy?" To my surprise, a gruff male voice came from the other end.

The Real Story of Giving a Massage to a Woman (Part 5)

At this moment, I felt a chill run down my spine. Could it be like Ronaldo, hiring prostitutes and transvestites? So I "timidly" asked again, then strained my ears to listen. That deep voice came from the other end of the phone again, "Yes." This time I finally heard it clearly; it was a deep female voice, not a rough one. A weight was lifted from my heart. After confirming again, everything proceeded as planned.

At the appointed time, I drove to the library parking lot on time and called her. After a while, a woman emerged from the library, about 1.65 meters tall, wearing a tight vest and denim shorts, carrying a backpack, walking towards me. When she reached me, I asked, and it was indeed Ivy. I invited her into the car, and we drove together to my place. I led her into the guest room and asked if she could take off her outer clothes. To my surprise, Ivy readily agreed. So I closed the door and left the room to wait for her to change—or rather, undress, since she had nothing to change into, haha.

After she finished, Ivy let me in, so I pushed the door open. Ivy was standing in the room wearing a bikini; her breasts were full, her hips rounded, radiating youthful energy. I had Ivy lie face down on the bed with her head facing outwards and began massaging her neck, then her shoulders and arms. When I got to her back, I tentatively asked if she could take off her bra. Ivy agreed without hesitation; now, only her panties were covering her. After massaging her back and legs, Ivy said she didn't want her feet massaged this time because she had cut them on broken glass. I thought, "That's fine, anyway, my real intention wasn't the massage."

So I had Ivy turn over, and her two round breasts stood before me like two small mountains. I applied some massage oil to her chest, then my hands, like a car driving up a mountain road, wound their way up the mountainside, reaching the summit and then slowly descending, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, sometimes intense, sometimes gentle. Ivy closed her eyes, quietly enjoying the sensation.

After crossing the mountain, the car entered a plain. I became a little too forward, asking Ivy if she could take off her panties. Ivy thought for a moment and nodded in agreement. I helped her remove her panties, folded them, and placed them by the bed. At this point, Ivy's vulva was fully exposed. There wasn't much pubic hair, and you could see the edges had been trimmed. After washing my hands with disinfectant, I gently parted the labia with my left hand, revealing the pink stamen inside. Ivy's stamen was very small. I dripped the crystal-clear massage oil drop by drop onto the stamen, like spring water flowing slowly down a valley cliff, forming a shallow pool in the depression. At that moment, my middle finger instantly transformed into an explorer, carefully wading through the small pool and into the cave. Sometimes crawling, sometimes climbing, sometimes bending down to pick up shells, sometimes looking up. In no time, the once tranquil cave became bustling, with spring water gurgling and overflowing. Suddenly, the explorer transformed into a little bee, flying out of the cave, landing on flower stamens, constantly flitting between petals, diligently collecting nectar. At this moment, Ivy gently bit her lip and moaned, instantly bringing me back to reality; she had reached her climax. Perhaps because it was her first time, Ivy's reaction wasn't intense; she was a little reserved, as if she hadn't had enough.

After the massage, Ivy got dressed, I got her a bottle of juice, and then took her back to the library.

About a week later, I met Ivy again on MSN.

I asked, "Did you like the massage last time?"

"Yes," she replied. "

What other techniques do you have?" she asked.

I said, "Last time I mainly massaged your neck, back, and limbs, as well as your chest and private parts, but I didn't massage those areas much."

Ivy replied, "Next time you can do more there."

It seems that women and men have the same sexual desires, only one is reserved and the other is unrestrained; one is poised to act and the other is ready to ignite. They say men are animals, but aren't women the same? So we arranged to meet again.

The second meeting was smooth sailing, much less awkward. When I entered the room, Ivy was waiting for me, only wearing her underwear. I had her lie on the bed and was about to help her remove her panties when Ivy said, "I'm in period."

(Real version of giving a woman a massage (Part 6))

Hearing her say this, I was startled, my hands stopping at her waist. I then noticed the white sanitary napkin faintly visible through Ivy's underwear. While I hesitated, Ivy dispelled my concerns, "You can take a look, I don't know if it's clean?"

I carefully pulled her underwear down to her thighs, flipped it open, and saw that the sanitary napkin was very white. Looking at her vulva, it was clean, so I replied, "It's clean."

Ivy said, "Then take it off."

So, I slowly pulled down her underwear and placed it on the stool beside the bed.

Then, I asked, "Can I take off my coat?"

She nodded, "Okay!"

I quickly took off my coat, leaving only my tight underwear, revealing my physique completely. The caged bird couldn't contain its eagerness, constantly flapping its wings, waiting for its chance to fly away. Ivy glanced at me out of the corner of her eye, a hint of barely perceptible shyness in her eyes.

Unlike usual, before the massage, I lightly sprayed some perfume on both wrists, hoping it would make her feel better and more relaxed. Ivy really liked the scent of this men's cologne and asked me, "What brand is it?" To be honest, I rarely wear perfume, and her question really stumped me. I remembered it was French, so I glanced at the perfume on the bedside table and stammered out the brand.

I sat in front of Ivy, her head resting against my chest. I buried Ivy's head between my forearms, and with the pads of my index fingers, like a mountaineer slowly climbing up her nose and cheeks along the sides of her nose, all the way to her eye sockets, eye sockets, and corners of her eyes, then slowly returning along the same path, from the end to the beginning. After walking back and forth along this "mountain path" a few times, I began to massage her temples with my thumbs, clockwise and counterclockwise, gently and softly. In no time, she felt warmth on both sides of her face. After finishing the temple massage, I gently inserted my ten fingers into her black hair, my fingertips like a comb, continuously combing her hair from top to bottom. At this moment, I hummed an old Jacky Cheung song, "My Hand Through Your Black Hair," in my mind, and Ivy remained motionless, completely absorbed in the moment.

After massaging her head, the next step was her back and limbs, and finally, the highlight of the massage. I had Ivy turn over, and after obtaining her consent, I began to kiss her nipples (after all, she was still unmarried). I slowly took her nipple into my mouth, sometimes licking it, sometimes biting it, sometimes stirring it, sometimes sucking on it. Like a grain of fructose, it rolled around in my mouth, from front to back, from left to right, and I kept sucking on it, as if afraid it would melt away too soon.

Then, my hands instantly transformed into an eagle, circling several times over the plain, before swooping down and disappearing into the valley. In the valley, the explorer once again came to the cave. Inside, a stream was already flowing. Unlike last time, the explorer discovered the legendary sacred place—a soft sandy beach. The explorer knelt on it, feeling its softness like a sponge.

At this moment, I saw Ivy's face twitch and asked urgently, "Does it hurt?"

Ivy shook her head. "

Do you like it?"

Ivy nodded.

Ivy quietly accepted the explorer's adoration, after which the explorer proudly left the cave. I then leaned forward and gently took Ivy's nipple into my mouth again, flicking it repeatedly with the tip of my right middle finger. My lips slowly moved upward from her breast, kissing her neck and earlobe. At this moment, Ivy gently pushed my head back to her chest with her hand, and I understood, lowering my head to kiss her nipple again, while my left hand gently caressed her other breast. In that instant, I felt as if I had become a musician, my left hand playing the zither, my right hand plucking the strings. The strings were plucked faster and faster, the music growing more urgent, until suddenly, a string snapped, and the music stopped abruptly. I leaned down and buried my head in Ivy's chest. She hugged me tightly, gently scratching my back with both hands. I could feel her trying hard not to cry out, her legs tightly clamping my fingers between them, breathing deeply. After the climax, she lay motionless with her eyes closed, as if she had fallen asleep peacefully. After a while, she turned over, still lying quietly, immersed in that wonderful and blissful moment. This went on for a full five or six minutes before I had to wake her up and bring her back to reality.

Since that massage, school started and Ivy went back to school, unable to go home often. Although we haven't seen each other since, we still keep in touch on MSN. My post is still up on the website, and people occasionally inquire about it, but without any results. Before I knew it, it was the end of September. Finally, one day I received an email from someone named Melissa. I replied, and without even exchanging personal information, Melissa gave me her address and we arranged to meet at 1:30 pm on Saturday. Everything went surprisingly smoothly! This time, I was genuinely a little worried. (To be continued) My Real-Life Experience Giving Massages to Women (Part 7) Friday arrived in the blink of an eye, but I still hadn't figured out the "enemy's" background, which is a major taboo in warfare. On Friday night, I finally made a bold decision—to stand her up! So, I immediately wrote a letter to Melissa, coming up with a plausible excuse: my arthritis had flared up (I had indeed injured my foot while playing soccer, and it was a bit painful, hence the idea), so I couldn't go and we'd reschedule. The next morning, when I saw her reply, I could sense her disappointment. She had a date that morning, which was why she'd scheduled the massage for 1:30 PM, and now I'd had to cancel. The letter went on and on… and at the end, she said it seemed I needed to treat her, and provided a link. I opened it, and lo and behold, it was like finding a needle in a haystack—Melissa's information was right there!

Another chocolate person! I mentally berated myself; there are countless online names in the world, and of all people, I had to choose "Chocolate Chef," and now I'd "lured" another Black woman to my door. But looking at the photos again, Melissa had a baby face, a sweet smile, and looked very cute—far superior to Kelly. Seeing this, my "self-reproach" lessened considerably. A closer look at the website revealed it was her own, using energy fields and frequencies to balance and improve health—somewhat reminiscent of Chinese Qigong masters. No wonder she mentioned having a massage bed in her letter. This suddenly reminded me of Master Li, and I couldn't help but chuckle. I thought that perhaps I could introduce the two of them sometime to exchange ideas. With that in mind, I decided to see who was the real deal between us two imposters. On Tuesday, I replied that my arthritis had lessened and that we could reschedule for Thursday afternoon if I hadn't changed my mind. She replied that it was 1 p.m.

She lived near Victoria Park and Finch. Around noon, I drove in quietly like a Japanese soldier into her "village," without firing a shot. Seeing that it was still early, I parked my car under the shade of a tree not far from her address. While eating my McDonald's meal, I surveyed the area, mentally calculating how to escape if I were assaulted. It was garbage collection day, and many people were out collecting their trash. Seeing that most were Chinese and Caucasians, I felt a little more at ease, figuring the chances of assault were slim.

She rented a basement. At exactly one o'clock, I knocked on the door. The door opened quickly, and she stood there. Comparing the photos to the pictures on the website, I could tell they weren't photoshopped. The living room curtains were drawn, the light was soft, and it was very clean. Music was playing in the room, creating a nice atmosphere—what Uncle Benshan would call Scottish flirting. Then, she brought out a massage bed, a folding type. I helped her set it up while we chatted, learning that her parents were from Guyana, where she was born. After setting up the bed and adjusting the height, she went into the bedroom to change. The door wasn't closed properly, and I peeked in—the bed was messy, the blankets weren't made. Then, I looked around the living room again. The bookshelves were full of books, covering everything from computers and business to real estate. An electronic keyboard sat in the corner, indicating that my knowledge and cultivation were clearly on a higher level than Master Li's. I was fantasizing about Melissa standing before me in a sexy bikini when the door opened. Melissa walked up to me, wearing a pair of large floral shorts and a tank top, holding a blanket. Seeing this, I almost dropped my chewing gum. I remembered the actress Shu Qi once saying that you should put your clothes back on one by one. Facing Melissa, I secretly resolved to make her take off her clothes one by one.

Melissa lay down on the bed, covered with a blanket, only her shoulders and legs exposed, like a heavily fortified city before me, and I the soldier about to attack. Where to begin? Encircle the city from the countryside—start with the foot. So I found a chair and sat down in front of Melissa's feet. To be honest, this was the first time I'd ever examined a woman's feet so closely since I started working in the "sex industry" of massage. Her feet weren't big, and her brown toes were delicate, plump, and adorable like pig's trotters. Suddenly, a question popped into my head: could she have athlete's foot? How could I have thought of such an important health issue before? Even the wisest can make a mistake. I carefully picked up her feet and examined them closely. Her feet were very clean, and her skin was smooth; I guessed she didn't have athlete's foot. As I pondered this, I evenly applied massage oil to the soles, insteps, and between her toes, like coloring a pig's trotter. As I looked, suddenly her feet really did turn into braised pig's trotters, emitting a fragrant aroma. I shook my head vigorously to clear my head, constantly reminding myself that these weren't pig's trotters. I gently massaged her feet and soles with both hands, occasionally pinching different parts of her toes. Then, I teasingly and slowly probed between her toes with my fingers, gradually breaking down her defenses.

After the foot massage, I moved on to her head, limbs, and shoulders. Then I asked, "Would you like a back massage?"

She nodded.

I seized the opportunity to press her further, asking, "With or without clothes?" I thought to myself, "Isn't that obvious? Can a massage through clothes be comfortable?"

She thought for a moment and said, "I'll take them off."

So she took off her vest and bra, revealing her smooth back to me, while I kept the blanket covering her legs. I had breached two lines of defense at once, and I was secretly pleased. After the back massage, she asked if I could do a waist massage. I was secretly delighted, and my hands immediately slid down to her waist, pulling her shorts down a bit. I didn't expect she was wearing underwear underneath! Mamma mia! It seems I'll have to proceed cautiously. After "obediently" finishing the waist massage, I tentatively asked, "Where else would you like a massage?"

She asked knowingly, "Where else haven't you pressed?"

I replied, "My breasts and that area."

She said, "Then keep pressing."

Haha, we're one step closer to the city. Melissa then turned over, and I continued, "Can I take off my underwear?" I could tell she'd had a fierce internal struggle; she hesitated for a moment, but finally took off her underwear and lay there naked. Her "painstakingly constructed" last two lines of defense had finally been breached, and now the city was at our gates. Her private parts resembled a whole-wheat ham bun, the two slices slightly parted, vaguely revealing what lay within. I poured the "sauce" along the seam of the ham bun, gently spreading it, and was about to place the ham between the two slices when I heard her say, "I am a virgin." Hearing this, my heart skipped a beat; the old revolutionary had encountered a new problem. It seemed this hotdog

scene

was off, so I had to take the ham out of the bun I'd just half-placed. I muttered to myself, "What era are we living in? Virgins her age are as rare as pandas in China, how come I've run into one in Canada? I'd better buy a lottery ticket and try my luck today." But then again, if she's a virgin, is she a full-fledged or deputy full-fledged virgin? This reminded me of a joke about a few deputy full-fledged officials who went to an entertainment venue and found a female waitress who looked very innocent. The guys made a bet, arguing about whether she was a virgin or not. Unable to agree, they simply asked the girl to ask. The girl smiled and replied, "If you say I'm a virgin, I've already slept with men; if you say I'm not, I've never been married. At most, I'm just a deputy full-fledged virgin." Jokes aside, it's better to be safe than sorry. What if she really lost her virginity and wanted to repay him? I couldn't exactly carry her back to my wife, could I? Thinking of this, I gritted my teeth and decided to endure it.

Next, I took off my shirt and brought my head close to her chest. Her breasts were full, like round chocolate muffins exuding an alluring aroma. Her nipples were like two delicate cherries, making my mouth water. I gently took one of the cherries into my mouth, my tongue constantly swirling around it. My left hand held the other cherry, gently caressing it, while my right hand slowly inserted my fingers between her legs, teasing her like a beloved lute. Occasionally, I deliberately rubbed my nipples against hers, like the touch of opposite poles, a tingling sensation instantly spreading from my nipples throughout my body. Melissa's breathing grew heavier, and I listened with rapt attention. She wrapped her arms around me, pressing my face tightly against her chest, moaning loudly. Melissa quickly reached her climax. Damn it, now it was my turn to breathe heavily, but not from excitement, but from holding it in. Finally, the climax passed, and her hand on my head loosened its grip. I lifted my head and took a deep breath—the air of freedom. As

I finished dressing and was about to say goodbye, Melissa said, "Don't go, let me treat you." I was a little excited and started to take off my clothes. She continued, "No need to take them off, just keep them on." The balloon between my legs deflated instantly. Lying on the bed, I received treatment from the "qigong" master. She moved her hands over my affected area, asking, "Can you feel anything?"

I replied, "Yes, I can feel warmth."

I wanted to laugh, but I dared not, so I held it in.

The room remained dimly lit, and the music had stopped sometime during the night; everything seemed frozen.

Then I noticed Melissa slowly moving her hands from my feet to between my legs, her fingers gently stroking my groin through my pants, like striking a match. I was already burning with desire, and she was igniting it; my penis struggled violently inside my underwear. Melissa gently unbuckled my belt, slid down my zipper, and slowly pulled my pants down to my thighs. Then, she carefully pulled down my tight underwear, and my penis sprang up like a spring, standing erect. Perhaps it was a case of obsessive-compulsive disorder, but I shaved that area very cleanly. Melissa leaned her head over my penis, looking at it in amazement, and said, "Chef, I want banana cream." Hearing this, my suspicions were finally confirmed: Melissa wasn't a virgin at all, at most a deputy director. Melissa gently took my glans into her mouth, swirling it around with her tongue. Only then did I notice that Melissa had three steel beads on the tip of her tongue—something I hadn't noticed before. She tapped the steel beads on my glans with her tongue, like a cat drinking water—a sensation I had never experienced before, which excited me greatly. At the same time, she used one hand to rub my penis up and down. She slowly swallowed my penis deeper and deeper, sucking vigorously up and down. My glans felt like it was crawling with a million ants. Just as the banana cream was about to be made, she suddenly stopped. She slowly moved her lips down my penis until she stopped in front of my nipples. She gently sucked one into her mouth, then softly placed the other in with her hand, stirring it inside with her tongue. It was so warm. I don't know when, but Melissa had quietly taken off her shorts. She got on the bed, knelt on my legs, and then spat into one palm and smeared it on her genitals. With the other hand, she guided my penis to sit on it. At that moment, I said, "Condo!" Whether from excitement or nervousness, I couldn't pronounce the last "m." Melissa paused, not understanding what I meant. I repeated it, but this time I only opened my mouth, unable to utter a single word. Had she cast a spell on me? Just as Melissa was about to sit on my penis, a horrifying image of an AIDS-stricken child in Africa flashed through my mind. Safety first, survival is paramount, so I didn't care about anything else. I kicked Melissa with my leg, only to hear her cry out, "Are you okay?"

This startled me awake. I had actually fallen asleep on the massage bed, and that kick was just a twitch in my sleep that startled Melissa. It was all just a dream.

(The End)

(Word Count: 23694)

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