September 10, 2011


I was never big on blowjobs. Just not my thing. Throughout college I had a strict no blowjob policy. I never wanted to have some immature asshole go around bragging that I sucked his dick. 

Fuck that!

However, as I got older, I sucked it up, so to speak.  My no blowjob policy became lax. Although, I always opted for the Happy Ending instead.

David, my boyfriend, it turned out, was a fan of the Happy Ending. Well, at least in the traditional sense of getting a handjob from a “masseuse.” 

A year after David and I started dating, opportunity knocked. 

I had just graduated with my M.A. in psychology, and I needed a thinking break. At the time, I was working in a research lab and all the locked doors, windowless rooms, and constant silence was driving me crazy. I resigned. 

I needed a job. A mindless job.

Apparently, I have a knack for finding the sketchiest of Craigslist ads. First the foot fetish gig then this: Massage Therapy (no experience required. Will train). 

“Oh, I know what that means.”  David said with a nod. 

I was apparently twenty-stupid and in my naivety, I disagreed. 

Now, I don’t know if David devised his plan at that moment, or this was some dirty fantasy lingering in his mind. 

“Let me try it out,” he said, “If you’re right, you can go to the interview.” 

“And if I’m wrong, you get a handjob?”

I honestly didn’t think he had the balls. 

David, I thought, was a pussy. So when he stated that he was going to call the ad, I honestly didn’t believe him. I should have noticed he was serious when he sweetened the pot.

He said that if he was wrong, he would give me a hundred bucks. On the flipped side, if he was right, I would give him a hundred bucks. I reiterated that if he was right, he was getting a FUCKING HANDJOB. The only rule was that there was to be no other sexual contact, especially kissing. I didn’t want to catch anything from some prostitute masquerading as a masseuse. And if he got arrested, don’t call me.

The night came (no pun intend), I went the gym, went home, and waited for the verdict. It was in the early evening when David called. And… Happy Ending achieved. Oh, Fuck!

I tried my best not to get angry. After all, I agreed to this mess. I congratulated him on his handjob and asked him to tell me the details. As he got to the end of his recap, he began to mumble. A sure sign he was hiding something.

“You better not have fucked that whore!” I said violently. 

He assured me that he didn’t. I tried to calm down and coax it out of him.  He insisted that I promise not to get mad before he told me. Jut saying that made me mad, but I promised.

“We kissed.” He said.

I kinda lost it then. I called him the nastiest names I could think of, told him it was over, and hung up. He called me back a few times before I picked it up. We talked and I decided not to break up with him. I just let him know he wasn’t getting anything from me for a long, long time. 

A few months later David was going on a business trip. He asked me if he could visit a “massage parlor.” We had discussed our experiment at length and had become desensitized to the idea. 

I made a deal with him, he could get his Happy Ending, but I had two conditions. First, I was not going to give him a blowjob or handjob as long as he continued visiting whores. Second, if I went out to a night club I would be allowed to kiss someone for every blowjob he got. After a serious discussion, we had a deal.  

We stood on a slippery slope. 

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