Mindy's New Job

This is a work of fiction. All characters are of majority age.

*

My daughter needed a job to help pay for school. She's a kind, giving person who many would consider to be unconventional. At first, my wife and I were surprised, no shocked by her chosen profession, but I don't think there was any other way this could have turned out.

It started seven years ago when she got over her shyness about having gone through puberty and getting her "breasts." Well actually, it started long before that.

When Mindy was a child she would climb up onto our bed after her evening bath so either I or my wife could brush her hair out. If it was my turn (she was adamant that we each got equal time), she would snuggle back against me and I would use the brush 100 strokes for each side of her head.

She would count softly as I ran my fingers through her hair until about mid way through the count she would seem to drift off into dream land. But if I stopped, her eyes popped open and she would admonish me for interrupting her "happy time."

My wife once asked her what she meant by happy time and all she could think to answer was; she felt as if the whole world slowed down as the sky opened up and stardust fell to the earth when we brushed her hair. Now mind you, this was from the imagination of a little seven year old, but it would make my wife and I smile with the knowledge she not only had a vivid imagination, but that she understood, even if she could not articulate it, what tranquility or bliss was all about.

After puberty, she would snuggle with me and let me brush her hair like before, but when she was on her period, or her cycle as her mother taught her to say, she would only snuggle with her mom to get her hair brushed. I told her it was okay to be with me too, but she was a bit shy for the first couple of years.

"First I got my tri-cycle, then I got my bi-cycle, and now I got this stupid cycle" she would say. But after a while she got over her embarrassment and would snuggle while we brushed her hair during alternate days regardless whether or not her cycle was "in town." It was also a time we three would bring each other up to date on the daily joys and sorrows of living.

When she got to high school, the nightly routine began to wane and by the time she was a senior, it was reduced to Sunday nights and Thursday nights. She kept Sunday night because she wanted to enter the school week relaxed and nothing relaxed her more than sharing happy time with her mom and dad.

On Thursdays, she was a bit more restless as she would tell us of the coming weekend festivities with her friends, both at school and at her part time job. She worked on Saturday's at a boutique gift shop inside a small L-shaped strip mall just down the street between our house and the high school.

One Sunday just before graduation, I was brushing her hair while her mother was reading when, out of the blue, she asked the most amazing question.

"Mom," she said. "Why do men go to massage parlours?"

Her mom looked at me, saw my big-as-saucer eyes and replied with the only answer she could muster. "Why darling, they go to massage parlours to get a massage."

"Oh mom," she said. "You guys don't think I was born last week do you?"

"Of course not honey and I don't mean to insult your intelligence, but why else would they go there?"

"Dad..."

"Yes Pip." Pip was the name we called her out of affection and acknowledgement of her petite stature. At 5'3" with a slender build, she was our little pipsqueak and we adored her. But the short version was "Pip" because she insisted that her breasts were as large as a "big girl" and if we must make reference to her stature, we should eliminate the squeak because she was only petite, by definition, because of her height. We went along with her request.

"Dad, you're a man. Do you go to massage parlours?"

I saw my wife smile out of the corner of my eye as I continued brushing Pip's hair.

"No baby. Mom never lets me get that tense."

"Mom. Is that true? Do men go to massage parlours to get rid of tension?"

"I suppose so honey. Why do you ask?"

"Because that massage parlour two doors down from the shop has men coming and going all day?" She paused, and then dropped the bomb. "Do they get sexed there?"

I immediately pointed my finger at my wife indicating it was her question and I was not about to answer it.

"Uh...", was all my wife seemed to be able to say.

"Uh, what mom?"

"Uh honey, I honestly don't know." She added, "I've never been to a massage parlour, and I don't know anyone who works there."

"Dad?"

OH NO.

"Dad", she said turning her head to look in my eyes. "Do you know anyone who has ever gone to one of those places?"

"Can't say that I do", I fibbed as I thought of one of my co-workers who would brag about this place or that when we went out for lunch with our group. We were all men in the group and the conversations sometimes reminded me of high school, with old guys acting out the parts usually played by adolescent boys.

"Well," Pip continued. "Amy, that's not her real name of course, works at the parlour next to our store, and I had lunch with her a couple times, and she says, in confidence of course, that the men come there for a happy ending."

My wife giggled.

Pip went on. "I asked her if a happy ending was like our happy time."

This time I was the one who chuckled.

"Why do you laugh," Pip asked?

"Oh I think happy endings," I just managed to get out, "are a little different than happy time."

"Oh dad. I now know they are different. Amy eventually told me what a happy ending is and I think it's kinda cool men can go there and get relief."

"You what?" This from my wife who was now chewing her glasses waiting for an answer.

"Oh mom. This is the twenty first century," my daughter pointed out. "Everybody needs relief and even women and girls now do what they have to in order to have their own happy time, I mean happy ending."

The room was silent for a minute. Then...

"I only wish," Pip paused, "I only wish there was a place where women could get a happy ending too, just like men do."

You could have bowled me over with a feather. Here was our naïve, or so we thought, daughter making not so naïve pronouncements.

The room was silent for a few minutes while each of us digested the conversation. Then Mindy said her goodnights and quick as a bug, she was off to bed.

My wife looked at the door my daughter had just walked through for at least two minutes and then just shook her head, turned to me and asked, "So, do you want a happy ending big boy?"

Did I ever!

•

Not much else was said about massage parlours and happy endings in the ensuing weeks as Mindy's high school days came to a close.

After graduation Mindy started looking at career opportunities and talked to a counselor at the local community college. Though Mindy was a bright girl and in some ways wise beyond her years, she was just slightly above average in her school work. She blamed it on being bored all the time in class, but we were happy she was well behaved and liked by students and faculty alike.

I work as a finished woodworker and my wife works as a floral designer at a nursery so we never were too sure what a working class couple could offer in the way of financing for a college education. Mindy solved all that one night when my wife was reading and I was brushing her hair.

"I've decided."

"Decided what," my wife asked?

"I've decided what I'm going to do for work while I go to college."

"That's great honey," I offered. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to massage therapy school."

"You're what," my wife exclaimed?

"Fat chance," I offered.

The room was silent for a minute as we all waited to see who would speak first. It was Pip.

"Listen," she began. "I'm old enough to vote. I'm actually old enough to go off to some other country and shoot people. I have a driver's license, my own bank account and..." she paused for effect. "I have the two most loving, understanding parents anyone could ever ask for and when I explain why I want to do this, you'll see it is the perfect job for me."

I looked over at my wife whose jaw had still not made it back up off the floor.

"Okay," I said. "Shoot."

"Mom! Mom! Are you paying attention?"

My wife refocused her eyes, set her book down and pushed her glasses up to the top of her head. "Uh-huh."

"Okay. Here goes." Pip turned around in front of me so she could keep both my wife and I in her line of site.

"First. I'm still a virgin." We both smiled. "Second, I plan to stay that way until I'm married or until I decide I'm not going to get married."

My wife furrowed her brow.

"Don't worry mom. I'm probably going to get married some day, but until I find Mr. Right, I'm going to live at home, pursue getting a grip on my college courses so I do better there than I did in High School, and I think I'd like to travel a bit, on my own of course, until I either have a career or a husband or both."

"Wow," was all I could offer.

My wife though had already taken it all in and responded; "How long have you been thinking about all of this sweetie?"

"Since I was three," my daughter responded.

"Really," (me again, the king of the one word sentence)?

"Yes dad, really. When you took mom and I to that fireworks display down by the shore, I remember clearly thinking I'm going to do this every year for the rest of my life."

"Do what, my dear?"

"Mom, don't you wonder why I insist every Fourth of July we go somewhere new to see fireworks?"

"I hadn't really thought about it Pip."

"Well, if you had, you'd remember it was me who planned our trips the first weekend school was out for summer break, every year since I've known how to read."

"Wow honey, I had no idea."

"Right," Pip went on. "If you think about it, I've pretty much gotten my way ever since."

I thought back to all those years, and in fact she was right. She was the one who always made our plans, insisting we go either north, east, south, or west once every four years. Come to think of it, though it always seemed like a suggestion, it really was Pip who, in the end, got exactly what she wanted. I resigned myself that that was probably going to be the case now.

"Have you thought about what a so-called happy ending entails," my wife asked?

"Of course. Amy has filled me in on the details."

"Oh," I said.

"Yeah. I know what makes a happy ending, but I intend only to use my hands. I'll never do oral and I certainly won't let a man anywhere near my privates."

"Honey," my wife said ever so softly.

"Yes," Pip responded?

"Have you ever, you know, done that before."

"Oh no. Never. I've never even let a boy do more than kiss me." Pip thought for a minute. "Oh yeah. Remember Billy?"

"Yes," we both answered.

"Well he touched my breast once. But he got all red in the face and ran home. He never came over again after that."

Both my wife and I smiled at the revelation and probably both had the exact same thought; that Billy had come in his pants and was too embarrassed to ever show his face again.

"Well, if you've never done that before, aren't you a little apprehensive," her mother asked?

"Oh no. I figure you'll show me how and I'll practice on Dad."

"WHAT!" We both hollered in unison.

"No way Jose," was the only stupid thing I could think to say.

"That's right Pip," her mother continued. "First off, I can't imagine anything more embarrassing for you than for someone, anyone, one of your friends, or the pastor, to find out you're working in a massage parlour. But, to have them find out you're practicing the tricks of the trade on your father, that would be all the excuse this town would need to run us clean into a third world country."

"I know. But I've made up my mind and you know what that means..."

"Honey, we've got to reason this out. You're not the only one," my wife stuttered, "you're not the only one in this family."

"Of course I'm not. I know that. But, and you have to agree, I've never," Pip hesitated, "I've never ever been one to not think something through."

"Okay," I said. "But in this case, I have. So a, there's no way I'm going to let you work there, and b, I'm certainly not going to let you practice on me."

"The Pastor goes there."

"WHAT," we both hollered again.

"The Pastor goes there and so does the sheriff."

"How do you know," my wife asked?

"Amy told me."

"Amy told you. Now what kind of place is it that would allow one of its employees to tell tales out of school," I asked?

"I doubt she would have ever told anyone, but I told her," Pip said with a twinkle in her eye, "that if I wanted your blessing, I needed to overcome this main objection. Oh, and I forgot, she owns the place."

"Why don't you sell shoes? You'd make a great sales rep," my wife suggested.

"I don't want to sell shoes. I want to make lots of people happy, make lots of money and make myself happy so I can travel and see things. Amy says I'm pretty well adjusted."

"She just wants to get you to work there," I said.

"Oh no she doesn't. In fact, she said non-asian girls don't usually last too long as they don't get enough clients."

"Well then little miss smarty pants," my wife asked in a very condescending voice, "how do you expect to make enough money to travel and such, if you're doomed from the start?"

"My expertise will build a steady and repeat business."

"But you haven't ever done anything. How do you expect...Oh!"

I looked at my wife and I swear, it was the first time I'd ever known her to be absolutely stymied. Neither she nor I could out reason our daughter. We'd either have to say no, absolutely not, or we'd eventually be beat into submission. I knew it and I could see she knew it too.

A week later Pip started at the Parlour as a receptionist. The following week, the Pastor missed his Sunday sermon as his wife said he was a bit under the weather. We knew otherwise.

We'd told Pip she could work the receptionist job as a compromise while she got her certification. That way, she would be seen by just about everyone in town and after a while, it was inevitable, one or more of the regulars who knew her, would ask her for a session. She could pretend that it was their idea, and see where it led. Of course it was the horny old Pastor who suggested it.

She hadn't even been certified for two weeks when my ticket got punched, so to speak.

"Dad," Pip said while I was brushing her hair.

"Yes, Pip?"

"It's time."

Oh god help me.

Those two words were even worse than being told "you're fired." I looked at my wife for help but I could see she was not going to lift a finger. I decided to call her bluff.

"Okay. What," I asked, "do I need to do?"

"Well first off, you need to take off your clothes."

My wife could hardly suppress her smile.

"And?"

"Well then you need to lay down on the bed, face down, and I'll give you a massage, not a long one of course, but long enough for you to want a happy ending."

"Pip," I croaked, "right now a happy ending would be if I woke up and found out all this is a dream."

"Well, duh. I think you'll change your mind after I show you what I've learned from mom this week."

"What? You've been encouraging this," I asked my wife?

"Sweetie pie..."

Oh no. The sweetie pie treatment.

"Sweetie pie, you know this was inevitable."

"Nothing, I repeat, no thing is inevitable. I've struggled to make sense out of all of this," I said, "but I can't. So far, there is no rationale either one of you can offer that makes me want to do this."

"Mom. Can I tell him what you told me?"

My wife nodded at Pip. "Um-humm."

Pip leaned back and whispered in my ear.

"I'm sorry," I said. "Did I hear you correctly?"

Pip repeated her whispered message from my wife.

"Really?"

My wife nodded.

I was undressed in a flash.

Once I was comfortable, laying face down, Pip put a towel over my butt. She got up and went to her room for a couple of minutes to get her supplies.

"You weren't just jerking my chain were you," I asked my wife once Pip was out of the room?

"Nope."

"You'd really do that?"

"Yep."

"How did you know..."

"I just know. There are times when I've wanted to do it because I know you'd like it so much. But, I always had this slight reservation that it might cause you to think unseemly thoughts about me/us."

"Hon, that can't possibly happen. I've been with you for let's see now," I paused to count the years, "for the last twenty-five years. You were my first and only girlfriend and you're my first and only and, I might add, my last wife. Everything I know about sex, I know because of you and because of the stuff we've learned together.."

"That's what makes this whole thing special. You," she went on, "never asked for anything, and you were always willing to give whatever it was you sensed I needed. I hope I've done the same for you?"

"Hand over fist," I said. "Hand over fist."

"So there. You help Pip and I'll be more than glad to lick you back there. Of course, you'll have to take a shower first."

"Oh rats," I said. "Then forget it."

"Ha-ha," she laughed.

"What's so funny," Pip asked coming back into the room? She was carrying a tray of stuff for massage and had some towels draped over one arm.

"What's all that for," my wife asked?

"The massage, of course," Pip answered. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," I answered.

"Not nothing honey," my wife admonished me. "I told him, if I was going to lick his butt, he'd have to shower first."

"Gosh. People do the coolest things to give and get pleasure. I've got a lot to learn," Pip realized.

"All in due time, my dear, all in due time," my wife said looking at me as she spoke. Then she winked.

"Okay Dad, you need to..." as she spoke and manipulated me into a position from which she would begin her massage, I thought to all the times my wife and I would try new things to add to our sexual repertoire. We even bought an illustrated Kama Sutra, but would laugh trying to get into at least a third of the positions. After a few years, we kind of settled into the standard three or four positions most couples utilize for love-making. Of course, we also did things to each other with our mouths and with our hands, but for the most part, our sexual escapades were pretty tame by most standards. Oddly, I didn't feel too bad about it and I don't think my wife did either.

"Dad! Dad!. For goodness sake, where'd you wander off to?"

"Huh? Sorry Pip. What was it you said?"

"I said, if this is going to be like the type of massage I'm going to give at Amy's place, I need to wash you down there. We're supposed to do that to inspect for bad stuff like, well like...sores and things."

"What happens if you find something like that," my wife asked?

"Amy told me to just give a massage and to skip touching that area. She also said to tell the client to go to the doctor to get a check-up."

"That's sensible," my wife offered.

"So roll over Daddy dearest. I've got to inspect and wash you before I can do the rest of the massage."

Oh god. Here goes nothing.

"My oh my. How impressive," Pip said as I rolled to my back.

"How would you know," I asked. "You said you'd never seen one before."

"I haven't. Amy said if I say things like that, I get bigger tips and more repeat business."

"Oh?"

"Yup. Amy's smart. Do you know she owns the center and she owns almost one-hundred rental units in the county?"

"Yikes. What did you just do?"

"Oh, sorry Dad. I guess the water got cold while we were talking. Let me go warm it up. Here, lay under this blanket so you don't get cold. I'll be right back."

I tossed the blanket over me and somehow that made me feel less vulnerable. "Impressive, huh?"