I am Tim, a forty-two year old unmarried male, working at a large pharmaceutical company as Vice-President of Marketing. I am unmarried in the sense that I have no wife, but most of my friends consider me married to my job. I do work a lot of hours and am well compensated for my time, making just over forty thousand dollars per month. Like most Americans, I spend just about every penny I make. I contribute the maximum allowable amount to my 401k retirement plan, but after taxes and medical insurance premiums are taken out of my paycheck, I pretty much spend the rest.
I have a lot of standing financial commitments. A huge mortgage, two large car payments, a Ducati motorcycle and a Harley-Davidson that are also financed, a boat payment, a brand new Recreational Vehicle, also financed. Most of my professional friends are in the same position as me, heavily leveraged, planning to work until the day they die.
The American dream is an illusion, conjured up in order to chain people to their desks. The "work hard, play hard" mantra is flawed, because if you work really hard, you don't have any time to play hard. I get three weeks vacation a year, after eleven years with my company. However, I rarely take more than a long weekend because there are mirror images of me, as I was ten years ago, dotted around my company, looking to take my job.
Believe me, as hard as it is to keep a forty thousand dollar per month job, it is even harder to replace one. I spend many a restless night worried about the prospect of losing my job, especially as I have minimal equity in my house. If someone would have mentored me fifteen years ago, about the importance of saving for a rainy day, I would be in a much better financial position.
Instead, I spent the last decade keeping up with the Jones'. I have no clue why I just upgraded my RV. My old one, which itself was only three years old, was perfectly adequate, especially as I only used it twice last year. Then the guy two doors up the street from me, just came home with a 43 foot diesel pusher, and the spotlight is on me to see if "I can be a baller" too. Now I have a fourteen hundred dollar a month payment on a 45 foot long vehicle, that sits in my driveway every day, rapidly depreciating. I put twenty percent down on that motor coach, and am probably already several thousand dollars upside down.
I am not sharing my extensive list of toys to try and make anyone jealous. Rather to set the tone for why keeping my job was so important to me. If my steady flow of income was terminated, I had ninety days maximum to replace it, before I was bankrupt.
My only source of joy, and the thing that kept me sane, was my girlfriend, Suky. She tells everyone that she is my girlfriend. However, our relationship is unconventional in the fact that it is non-sexual, other than for a weekly handjob. You see Suky is a masseuse in an erotic massage parlor. Once a week I book an appointment and Suky's magic hands take me to heaven. We date outside of the massage parlor, but it is completely one-sided sexually, in her favor. I know it is unorthodox but our relationship just evolved this way.
I have been using massage parlors, escort services and street-walkers for my sexual release for years. I work too much to date any high maintenance American chicks, and it is just easier to get a massage and bust a nut with a happy ending. Escort services are mainly a treat for me, like on my birthday, as the cost is much higher than a massage. Street-walkers, on the rare occasions that I use them, are usually an impulse purchase!
After I moved to my small town, my options were limited. There were no working girls walking the streets within thirty miles of my house, and the closest escort agency didn't have the hottest girls available. I did manage to find a massage parlor close to my home, that I really liked. I would go there two or three times a month, and after several months I got to know the Mamasan, Joy. I had two or three regular girls, that knew how I liked my session, and I would enjoy a very sensual, tender full-body massage. Then, after the flip, I liked a slow, edging handjob with lots of eye-contact. My sessions improved as the girls communicated with each other, and worked to ensure I got what I wanted.
Joy, who I soon learned was the owner, took a particular interest in my satisfaction. I had garnered a reputation as a clean, well-groomed, generous tipper with impeccable manners. For this reason, when I showed up there were no shortage of volunteers to work on me. There was the occasional new girl, but for the most part, it was the same five or six attentive masseuses from which to choose. I never even made an appointment as the service was about the same, whoever attended to me.
Joy worked on me once, and through very skillful communication, learned more about my hot buttons in one session, than the other girls had in two years. If she hadn't been twenty years older than the other girls, she would have been my regular masseuse. She peppered me with questions about my sexual proclivities, and by the end of the session, which she extended to ninety minutes at no extra cost, I had enjoyed three very intense orgasms.
Like I said, if Joy had been twenty years younger, it would have been a no-brainer. However, I need the visual component of the young masseuse, as much as the mechanics of the handjob, to really enjoy myself. Joy apparently had a staff meeting about my favorite kinks, because from that day forward, the girls paid more attention to my shaved asshole, and always jerked me off using a pair of silk panties.
I hardly even remember telling Joy about my affinity for silk undies, so immersed was I in the moment. However, she had unearthed all of my favorite kinks and shared them with the team.
"You know there is a lot more on the menu for a generous, well-mannered gentleman like you," Joy told me one day, as I was leaving her massage parlor.
I had just had a very intense orgasm courtesy of a young Thai masseuse named Rosebud. For this reason, I wasn't that interested in the available extras, but Joy was always pleasant to be around, so I accepted her offer of a cup of tea. We sat in the staff room, and as she brewed the tea, I looked at her occupational license board. There were seven licenses posted, and I recognized all of the young faces. They were licensed, obviously, under their real names, but Joy had put their working names above their respective licenses.
As I absorbed their working names, I realized that all of the girls had a moniker that could be construed as a sex act, or service. The aptly named "Joy" certainly was a complete and utter joy in every sense of the word. I had enjoyed the services of "Rosebud" without even noticing the significance of her apparent specialty, and wondered out loud if anal sex was available from this young beauty.
"Yes," Joy said with a smile. "As a VIP customer, you can enjoy her tight little ass, if you desire."
As I continued to read the names on the occupational licenses, I noticed "Pleasure", "Rim" and "Handi". While these names weren't going to be as tough to decipher as the Enigma code, I did smile at the ingenuity of indicating each girls chosen specialty. I enjoyed my tea and the pleasant company of Joy, before thanking her and leaving to go back to work.
On my next visit to the massage parlor, Joy intercepted me as I entered the lobby.
"Tim, this is Rim," Joy said, reacquainting me with a young Filipino girl, who had given me a very tender massage a few times in the past.
Rim smiled seductively, as if to signal her complete availability to me.
"Why don't you try Rim today?" Joy said sweetly. "I know how you enjoy attention on your asshole, and Rim will definitely not disappoint," she continued.
I smiled at the openness of the offer and nodded my head to give my consent.
"Tim would like your specialty today," Joy continued.
