She Misses Her Perverts

Torrance, the second row city behind the posh ocean communities of Manhattan Beach and Redondo Beach, was Los Angeles neighborhood that received the bare minimum of city services. Hawthorne Boulevard had two wide driving lanes and a third lane for parked cars. Parked cars were spaced sparse due to a lack of stores and high density apartment buildings. The non-descript buildings had paint bleached by decades of glaring California sun. On the lazy Sunday noon, there were hardly any cars in the road.

Tamiko guided her two-car-generations-old Toyota Corolla down the road with both her hands diligently gripping the steering wheel on top. Her fingers were short and stubby like those of a mole. The faded steering wheel barely held onto its original color. The cars paint was dulled by age and endless tiny scratches from harsh kitchen sponges instead of car grade terry clothes. Gentle jazz music fizzled out of the CD player from a CD with pirated songs.

The suspension had the soft sagging feeling of a worn out mattress. It bottomed out, when Tamiko slowly drove over the curb to enter the drive way. The square two story building had a crumbling façade. The driveway past the building was narrow. She carefully turned her head left and right to watch the tips of her side mirrors. Her head turn was energetic and demonstrated the strong yang energy inside of her. Her movements had a simplistic linearity about it. She'd reach and move in a straight line with sudden acceleration and stop. There was no graceful swing, no elegant acceleration, and no playful embellishments about it. Yet, she seemed bottled up with energy.

Behind the building was a small parking lot: gray pavement and a car shade. The car shade was made from corrugated metal sheet suspended by four steel beams in the air. It would have been right at home in a Third World country. The parking spot lines were long gone – worn of by tires and seasonal rain. The business owner was very meticulous about where employees parked. Tamiko found the imaginary outlines of her spot with pride.

Tamiko stepped out of her car. She was short and stout. Her body was lean. Yet, her strong bones made her stout. She wore white sneakers, a black drawstring workout pant, and a dark green t-shirt. The t-shirt was a snug fit, which was not so much her trying to be sexy, much rather her being from Japan with a different sense of fashion. Her hair was the dark, thick, fluid famous Asian kind of hair. The hair was neck long. Her face had simple features. Her eyes were deep, dark, and intelligent.

She put on black plastic glasses to shield herself from the blinding California summer sun. Even the sky was bleached to a pale baby blue. A few large trees with dried, washed out green leaves rustled their leaves in the remnants of the ocean breeze that made it this far. The air was standing. All human activity seemed suspended. There was silence in the background noise of this Sunday.

The keys turned the lock to let herself in. The stair case was dimly lit from the strong sun through a tiny glassy window. The stone tiles were easy to clean. It had almost been a week for the next cleaning. A cheap railing with thin poles guided her to the second floor. There were no decorations in this almost factory like hallway. Yet, it was an apartment building, where her employer had converted an apartment into a spa.

It was one of those fly by night spas that operated without a license or paying taxes. An Asian immigrant wife had taken her spare time and her husband's salary to open a spa. She served other Asian immigrants and low middle class people of her neighborhood. The conversion was very simple. A sign printed on the home desktop computer announced the name of the spa "Elegant Touch" on the front door. The reception was small room with two white plastic chairs against the wall. The plastic chairs had the varnishes of having stood outside in the pollution and rain for a couple years. A hand-me down desk presented the appointment book with dog ears. A five-dollar poster of a flower bouquet in a hand tried to say 'serenity' and 'beauty.' A corner next to the scotch tape was already torn.

Tamiko had a smile on her face. Her customer would arrive soon. She opened one of the two treatment rooms. It had a fold out massage table put in square ways, because the room was otherwise too small. There was a little table, a foot high, in a corner. It had a candle and a Chihuahua sized ghetto blaster. A no-name CD with burned mp3's of soft orchestra music and nature sounds was inside.

Tamiko lit the round white candle and checked up on the massage oil bottle. She pulled the old white, thin, cotton sheets of the massage table. There was a canvas bag behind the desk for them. She put on new sheets. They were cool, a little stiff, and very thin. They were the ten for a $1 kind. Rather than a fitted sheet, she placed on of the sheets down on the table. The other was folded on top to suggest itself as a cover to the customer later.

While setting up the room, her t-shirt exposed a slit of her belly. It was without the shades of muscle definition. Yet, the shape was smoothly curved that her leanness was evident. Her strong arms had wide spaced stubbles of strong body hair that she regularly shaved. The skin was smooth, milky, and of perfect health for a woman in her early twenties.

The buzzer rang. Tamiko jumped down the stairs with athletic strength. She smiled big and slightly bowed at the customer. Her face was gleaming with hospitality. The man was in his mid-thirties. He was average tall, perhaps on the shorter side. He was dressed in clean jeans and a checkered shirt, both of which purchased at a discount store. His hair was neatly trimmed, yet not stylish. He had a little belly. He looked somewhat strong from his job that probably involved manual labor. His face spoke of a long career as a shipping clerk or tool shop attendant. He was definitely the kind that would spring for the cheap services offered by a local neighborhood immigrant business.

He followed Tamiko silently up to the office. He stood in the room waiting. Tamiko's movement tried to show that she was working hard to be hospital. She bent forward showing her back to the man, while she let hot water out of the water fountain. The white cup with a printed photo from Toronto held a tea bag that slowly swirled with the water pouring in. Once done, Tamiko held out the cup with straight elbows to the customer. Her face gleaned with pride.

The man accepted the cup slowly. His stance was uncertain, like he was mentally trying to figure out what to expect from this back alley business. He could sense the young inexperience in Tamiko and thin pretense of being a real business in the room's décor. He couldn't quite fall into the inner stance of being in a service business with a clear workflow and expectations for him to behave. All he could sense was him being much older and secure than the young, foreign girl. He could feel that to every little move, she reacted. It was like he was going to set the rules in this relationship. Little hope snuck in his mind of tales from his buddies at the bar about unregulated massage parlors in the forgotten part of town that offered real happy endings.

Being in doubt, he went with being charming: "You have wonderful hands. You probably give a great massage."

Tamiko looked down at her hands that were holding each other. She looked back at the man, "Uh-huh, best massage in town. You like firm pressure?"

"I like firm. But, I also like a little tender." When he rolled tender over his tongue, his eyes looked dreamy and a more vibrant shade of blue, and his voice sounded unsure. With the same stroke, he seemed like a guarded man opening up and a creep at the same time.

Tamiko responded with a drawn out Japanese "uh-huh." She nodded deeply.

"This way, sir." She guided the man with wide stretched out arms into the massage room with no windows and the flickering candle. The man followed her direction like a lamb.

"You take clothes off and go under top blanket. There are two sheets."

She took the cup with the still clear water out of his hand. The tea hadn't had enough time to steep. It was another sign of the inexperience in the business. She placed the cup on the floor and went outside. The man had lifted the sheet to inspect it. He could see the color of his own hand shining through the sheet. It was that thin. He looked at her questioningly. Yet, she didn't notice the non-verbal communication and left. The last glimpse of the man was him standing facing the wall with his arms slightly in front unsure about taking his clothes off.

After standing outside at attention for two minutes, the man called, "Miss, I am ready." Tamiko entered the cavern like lit room by the candle and dimmed light bulb. The man was lying face down. The top sheet had been crumbled over his back only partially covering the back, because it was hard to reach back with arms. Tamiko stood at his head and leaned over his back. She pulled the sheet properly over his back and then folded it down in sections over his back, until she placed the pile of unraveled sheet on top of his butt. She pressed the sheet bundle down on his butt to properly secure it. She could feel the softness of an undressed butt.

His back was rounded with a little fat, yet not obese. He had numerous age spots and sections with coarse, blond body hair. She squeezed half an ounce of yellow, thick massage oil into her hand. The liquid slowly draped around her hand to make it elegantly shiny. She started beneath his neck and glided her hands down his back left and right of the spine. The skin felt immediately oily from the excess of oil. Her medium pressure created an impression in the tissue. It was like the bow wave of a ship following ahead of her fingers.

Her hands glided all over his back, slowly working deeper from warming up effleurages to deep kneading with her fists and forearms. A gentle sweat collected at her brow from the warm summer day without air conditioning. She got into the rhythm of work. A glance under the table revealed his pants and underwear carelessly tossed down. Her mind got one with the noisy stereo's nature sounds and the quietness in the building. She felt alone with the naked man on the massage table. There was nobody tell them the rules. It was just them together. She was new to massage and the customs of America, still figure out her way.

The deep moaning of the man startled her. He let out a grunt. The grunt was a mixture of typical deep sigh of massage release and something sexually aroused. Tamiko paused for a second and forced herself to massage on to brush over the moment. Yet, she moved more cautiously to notice, if she was triggering anything with the man. She felt herself alone with the man twice her size in the empty building and neighborhood with the police far away.

The man's breathing turned deep and relaxed. His large chest opened wide with the inhale. The sheet was raised high. Tamiko fell back into the rhythm of her massage. The rhythm had worked up a sweet in her. She could faintly smell the sourness from her own armpits. The scent mingled with the body scent of the men, who filled the room. There is a thing about, when people relax. Their body starts to produce more scents, their personal scent. The copious massage oil's scent made the smell soup in the room even thicker.

She folded the sheet back over his back. She walked around the table with the massage bottle in her hand. She made a crisp clean fold of the sheet diagonally across the back of his knee to expose his calves. Then, she folded the sheet again to diagonally expose one butt cheek. The massage teacher had taught them that crisp, confident folds make the customer comfortable. And, with that comfort, the therapist can massage right up to the boundaries.

One corner of the boundary was the sitting bone at the bottom of the butt. Tamiko started gliding her fingers soaked in oil from the heels over the calves, back of knee, thighs right up to the sitting bone. Her fingers relaxed, when she hit the sitting bone. She hadn't erred into off limits territory. Then, her hands fell down left and right of the leg and did their journey back to the heel. The heel stood up like a peak with the foot resting on its back.

She started the same stroke to disperse the oil over the leg. Getting close to the butt, she had again the uncertainty about hitting the right spot, the sitting bone. And, then she relaxed, when she felt the hard nub in the soft flesh. Her hands fell down the outside and inside of the leg. This time, her inside hand went a little deeper under the edge of the folded sheet. She could feel her finger nails tracing the customer's scrotum.

A nervous laugh escaped her lips. She had a dark raspy voice. The tense laugh was raspy and deep. Both were two embarrassed and unsure to talk. She could feel his body becoming hyper alert, following the sensation of her strokes carefully. The tension lingered. She could smell a new musky body odor adding itself. It emanated somewhere from his butt or nether region.

She continued steadfastly with the other leg. Then, she covered him up completely. She walked around the table and laid her stout hand on his back. "Hello, wakey-wakey. Time to turn around."

The man slowly moved dazed and incoherent. She stretched her arms out and reached for opposite side of the sheet. Then, she raised the sheet up into the sky and made a screen with it in front of her eyes to give the man privacy. The man only found himself suddenly butt naked and uncovered on the table. Realizing that his exposure was part of the drill, he slowly turned himself on his back, carefully not to fall off the table in his dreamy state of consciousness.

Tamiko placed the sheet back down over his body. The tent pole of the erection was clearly visible. The sheet was so thin that she could see the outline of the head and the ripples around the muscular shaft. The musk smell from earlier was instantly more intense. She recognized it as the scent of a penis head stretched by the blood rushing into it. The penis stood at a stiff thirty degree angle. The men had a deeply red head.

She undraped one arm. She held his hand with one of her own. The other arm glided all around his raised arm to distribute oil. The smell of his erection was intense and went directly to the primal parts of her brain. She was more aware of her own nipples and the stretchy strings of her underwear. She kept massaging on, stealing glances occasionally at the perfect manlihood.

When she did his legs, she had to carefully squeeze the folded up sheet between the hip bone and the erection to have free access to the front of the leg. "Excuse me," escaped her lips, when she pushed the bundle of sheet against his thick staff. "Not a problem," replied he with quick reaction and a deeply throaty voice that suggested, his sinuses and throat muscles were completely relaxed. The penis kept wiggling as she pushed her deep strokes into the leg.

The neck and face where the last part of her routine. She was kneeling at the head of the table. Her knuckles slowly sunk into his neck. She had long calm relaxed breaths, while she was holding the tension. The end of the massage was supposed to be more serene and energetic. While she held his head in her hands, all she could do was gaze down over the white sheet on his body to the standing erection. After looking at it for a while in the semi-darkness, she could see the faint dark spot in the thin sheet. The penis hold was staring directly at her. She starred right back at it knowing that her customer had his eyes shut with sandman's dusting. Five minutes or so drifted on.

"Time up. Get dressed. I'll be outside."

Tamiko pushed herself up to standing with the help of the massage table. Her hair had gotten messy from working. A couple strands had gotten stuck to her sweaty face. Dark spots were on her t-shirt. She felt worked from the physical activity. She walked outside to wait.

Five minute later, the man appeared. He had his shirt only half buttoned to look like a dirty Southern playboy. His steps had a swagger in them. He was stepping wide to steady himself. He was deeply relaxed and dreamy from the massage. Yet, his eyes had something lusty and searching about them. They were so dark and black. And, they were fastened on her. He pulled out his wallet and gave her the money and a $10 tip.

She replied, "Thank you very much" in an extremely cheery manner with a little bend in her knees. She respectfully received the money with both hands and placed it like a valuable gift inside of a plain white envelope for the owner.

"I enjoyed it very much. You are a very talented angel."

Tamiko smiled overly joyed and turned her head humbly sideways. The men stretched out his arms to hug Tamiko. Tamiko quickly stretched out her arms as well to follow the American tradition of hugging. The man placed a wet and needy kiss on her lips, like he was trying to take her. Tamiko pushed impulsively back and smiled at him, "very kind sir."

The men turned and stopped unsure about what he was doing. Then, he resolved himself and walked down the stairs, out the building, and down street, back into his own life.

That evening, Tamiko was sitting on the couch in her apartment. It was a simple studio with the kitchen, living room, and bed room in the same room. The building was an old hotel converted into cheap living in Korea Town. The twenty bucks ceiling fan was working overtime and threatening to fall off the ceiling. It wiggled hard and desperately to provide solace to the hot summer evening.

Her new boyfriend, a white boy, was sitting in her arm next to you. He daringly asked her, "So, do any of your customer's get hard-ons?"

"Oh yes, they do."

After a pause, she added, "I miss my perverts." And, she broke out into a daring naughty giggling that told way more than the words.