He lived happily until…
He wanted that next blow job
Let’s be realistic here. Leave the Forever After to our books and TVs. Except for Happy Endings, that is entirely possible. Pay the right amount and you can get it in your local massage parlor. Just look for the business signboards that show ‘feet’ or one of those stores with the white curtains drawn out, sandwiched between an Asian restaurant and some other shop in some strip mall.
Yeah. If you’re in the US, you know what I mean. Strip Malls are everywhere, and no, they are not Stripper’s Mall. Just normal places with unnamed shops, small restaurants and shops selling big refillable water bottles, kids martial arts, art classes, the local Kumon or the laundromat, you get the gist.
To think, as you’re walking by to your shop, that behind those curtains is a man lying on a massage bed naked except for a tiny piece of cloth on his body, and an older lady jerking him off.
His face was scrunched and he was moaning. He was getting there, almost there with the rhythmic movements of her experienced oiled hands. His eyes were closed because he was imagining a hot MILF masturbating him, and when he felt a wet mouth on his hard cock, he was thinking it was she, the Asian matured woman with the big juicy breasts and naughty mouth taking him in. Deep throating as he groaned, feeling the burst coming.
He wanted to hold back. To savor the moment longer. It was a long while since he had a woman touch him. Those wet lips gripped his cock tight. Warm smooth hands trailing up and down the thin veins of his hard rod.
He paid good money for this experience. Seeing the Ajumma was a disappointment but who cared? With his eyes closed, she could be any female he wanted her to be.
“I’m coming…I’m coming…” He groaned, his body spazzing as his cock spilled his cum, like a fountain seeping from her fingers down her hands.
“Happy Ending good?" she asked. Totally ruining the moment. He nodded, trying to hold to the feeling a little longer.
She walked out the room and he was left naked with a towel over his chest, and his limped wet cock exposed.
When did he come to this point? That’s when the flashbacks started.
“Hi," he said.
“Annyeonghaseyo! 안녕하세요”, I replied. He was the first Korean stranger I spoke to outside my social circles. A man from the cheating dating app - Ashley Madison (AM). A man who was married.
“Nice to meet you. I’m K. Are you new here?" he asked.
“Yes. I started a few days ago.” I replied. I won’t bore you with the casual chats and how we got to the point where he was telling me his sexual conquests on Insta.
K loved to talk. He loved talking most about the number of women he fucked. “My body count is high. A hundred," he said proudly.
“A hundred?” H laughed. At that time, H and I were just starting. Our wings were wet and H was my site admin on AM and monitored all my chats, and the sleazy ones that didn’t past my type profile. “It’s obvious he’s lying.”
“It’s possible to have slept with a hundred over several years. I mean in ten years of sleeping around, it’s very possible,” I said.
“Sure. But a hundred? Why not a hundred-fifty-five, or ninety-seven? One hundred is too convenient a count. He wants you to think he’s a great lover.”
“Okay…,” I said. H had a point. Guess I was too naive to think too much when I gave K the ‘wow emoji’. Frankly, emojis were easy to give. Reactions didn’t really mean anything online.
“How do you find the women?” I asked K. “Do you pay on Ashley?”
“I do," K replied. “It’s easier to find a married or single woman on Ashley than on Tinder.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. “Tinder is the best place to hook up.”
“For the younger people. Ashley has more horny, desperate women.”
What he also meant which at that time I didn’t know, was about odds.
Women ruled everywhere on dating apps. The proportion of single horny men was at least ten times more than women. Normal, average and below average women stood a better chance of leveling up. Of course, there were cases where hot men were just out for a quick fling and would say anything to get her to bed.
Sweet words, empty promises, ghosting and flaking out. Those were words and actions I’d to learn along the way.
“People online aren’t real. You can’t treat them as humans,” H said. Every time when I got hurt and played, he’d say that.
“You can’t be so naive and thin-skinned about this. You want to play, you need a thicker skin.”
Yes, good sound advice. I admit, after falling and picking myself back up again, I was getting hardier.
I do want to play. I do want to flirt and tease and use it and lose it.
“Or I’d go to the coffee shop or laundromat. Those are good places to find horny women,” K said.
Yes. Dear K was a man whore. He’d fuck anything woman with a hole. That explained his hundred lays. He told me about the hotel app that you could book a nice room for 70% off, and cancel at any time. It was god-sent. A great way to save some money in the US which didn’t have those love motels like they did in Japan, Korea and all the other East Asian countries.
Later we learnt K was a mid-ranking Tesla guy which was fun because I teased him by sending nude pics of myself while he was at a meeting, especially when he was leading one.
One time, I sent a boob pic with a dildo on it. “Meet me now,” I said. We’d been vid sexting and the carrot was set.
“I’m coming!” he texted back, and from his panting later, he ran from his meeting room, across the hall of cubicles, passed his colleagues who thought he had family emergency, and to his car where he called me.
“I’d never done this before,” he said. “This is crazy. You’re such a bad girl,” he laughed.
But he wasn’t my type. Past my age range which I’d realized was way lower than I thought. He was in his late thirties, just shy of ten years younger than I and for this cougar, that wasn’t enough.
Still, he was my first Korean guy I’d talked to and had many sexy stories to tell. The best was his ‘Happy Ending’ stories.
“I bought a monthly pack. It was just after military service in Korea, in my early twenties, when I got back to US to work. One time, my back was hurting bad so I asked my work mates where I could get cheap massages and they were giving me strange looks and told me to go ask this guy in another department.”
“When I went to the place I was a little worried. It was in some strip mall, in a kind of run-down area. There wasn’t a lobby, just some old wooden chairs and Asian looking pictures on the walls, dated patterned curtains pulled in. A flowery incense smell and an Asian lady, petite about fifties, standing at a podium with a book,” he said.
“Didn’t you think it was suspicious? Why didn’t you leave?” I asked.
“My back was hurting and it was a good deal. Four massages for forty bucks. And that colleague swore they knew what they were doing.”
Typical Asian. Who could resist a good deal? Those ‘Buy one get one’, we loved that. Boast all day about them. Except in his case, he’d probably kept it to himself till he met me.
“I’ve not told anyone about this…,” he said. “She lead me to a room with a massage table. There was a hole in the middle of it.”
OMG.
“I asked her what the hole was for and she said, ‘To breathe’,” he said.
OMG.
“She told me to take all my clothes off and I asked if I could keep my underpants on,” he said “She said no.”
Duh of course.
“She gave me a small white towel, and I couldn’t decide if I should use to cover my ass or my dick,” he said.
“So what did you do?” I asked.
“Jumped quickly on the table. She came in too fast. I covered my dick and laid on my stomach. ”
“And?” At this point I’m laughing too hard. H was on his side of the bed and glanced over several times when I couldn’t stop giggling.
“She was good. Her hands had good pressure and my back was feeling less tight. Then, she told me to turn around.”
OMG.
“The towel fell…” He paused.
“And then?” I asked.
“I was so embarrassed…”
“And…?”
“She pointed at my dick. It was semi-hard. You know…her touch was good…she pointed at it and asked if I wanted a massage. It’s extra charge.”
“Ah of course. So you said yes,” I said.
“Well…yes…I mean…I haven’t had a woman’s touch.”
“Dude. No judgments,” I said. Though I was laughing till my cheeks hurt.
“And when she was massaging with the oils. She asked if I wanted a ‘Happy Ending’.”
At this point, I was a little clueless. “What’s Happy Ending?” I turned to H.
“He got a ‘Happy Ending’?” H laughed. “Woah. This guy. He’s really desperate. What do you think it is?”
“Oh.my.god.,” I said. “They do that? But she’s an older lady.”
“Come on. Not that old…,” H said.
True. She wasn’t that old. But she wasn’t a hot woman. Guess it didn’t matter.
“How was it?” I asked K.
“It was good…but I felt sick after.”
Of course, he did. Had his Hyeonja Time and feeling guilt seeped through his dick up to his head. At least she got paid.
“Did you do it again?” I had to ask.
He gave me some naughty emojis. “My back was feeling better.”
In his other tales, she gave him a nice prostate massage. Who cared how she looked?
Shy at first and then broken. The love for the handjob, blowjob, and Happy Endings.
Blowjobs. It seemed that was the common factor in all my chats and talks. The MILF was the experienced lover. The one who could give the best bjs and make him cum when his girlfriend or young wife could not.
And rumors and myths were true.
It was nature’s calling, the pairing of young with old — the mature woman with the young man, teaching him the ways of the world, and the young girls and their sugar daddies, padding their purses with designer brands.
A Korean boy, D, who once had me asked if he should try one of those ‘Happy Endings’ places.
“My friend said it was so fucking good. Damn. He cummed so much. Had two women massaging his balls and taking turns to suck him,” D said. “Do you think I should try?”
I rolled my eyes. WTF.
“Dude. How did those women look?” I asked.
“Old? Maybe fifties. Asian. Low mid? He said one looked in her sixties!” D answered.
“And why do you need them?” I was feeling beyond annoyed.
“Hahaha…I guess I don’t…I have a hot milf like you. I told him that and he was so jealous…”
“Yeah…” I replied. Another man-boy. I seemed to attract these types often. In just those words, in my mind and in my books, I’d written him off.
Bugs who didn’t know which is honey didn’t get honey.
If Happy Endings were all a guy wanted. Red flags salute. He might as well stick his cock in a vacuum. Men could be dumb jerks, and Happy Endings didn’t always end well.