A pretty foxy receptionist waved us forward. I think I looked very confused. We talked over the ramifications of half-drunkenly paying for sex. She began vigorously pointing at my schlong. Two of us were wearing what we wore the night before. Massage the left arm.
I laid back and looked up.
How I Got A ‘Massage’ in NYC, And You Can Too!
Please head to the locker room on your right. Kevin and I decided this was going to be a cash transaction and went to go find a nearby ATM. After what felt like 15 minutes she pointed at me to stand, and dried me off Including the balls, which I thought was a nice touch. We got off the subway car and, using iPhones, we found a surprisingly nice storefront that said the name of the parlor. Seeing all it kicked in a memory from the dormant parts of my alcohol-soaked brain: