Happy Ending For A Woman

Happy Ending For A Woman
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CAD703X US Space Force Fan Liberty Island Member since Jul 2008 72836 posts
Do women get happy endings and if so how often are they arrested for it? Posted by CAD703X on 8/9/20 at 11:00 am
Asking for an Equal Treatment For Women friend.
Evil Little Thing Detroit Mercy Fan Member since Jul 2013 10570 posts Online
Posted by Evil Little Thing on 8/9/20 at 11:01 am to CAD703X
We don’t typically have to pay for it, so it isn’t illegal.
BuddyRoeaux LA-Lafayette Fan Northshore Member since Jun 2019 2265 posts
Posted by BuddyRoeaux on 8/9/20 at 11:02 am to CAD703X
Your mom and I Equally had a happy ending last night. Handcuffs were used. No one was arrested.
CAD703X US Space Force Fan Liberty Island Member since Jul 2008 72836 posts
Posted by CAD703X on 8/9/20 at 11:02 am to Evil Little Thing
So if I get a happy ending at a massage parlor and didn't pay extra for it I'm good to go?
Evil Little Thing Detroit Mercy Fan Member since Jul 2013 10570 posts Online
Posted by Evil Little Thing on 8/9/20 at 11:03 am to CAD703X
The Mick LSU Fan Member since Oct 2010 41954 posts
Posted by The Mick on 8/9/20 at 11:03 am to CAD703X
Couple years ago that black kid was randomly eating pussy at Massage Envy without consent, that's all I got.
saint tiger225 US Space Force Fan San Diego Member since Jan 2011 18405 posts
Posted by saint tiger225 on 8/9/20 at 11:03 am to CAD703X
I mean, how many women actually can't get dick and have to pay for it?
tgrbaitn08 LSU Fan LCA131's Head Member since Dec 2007 129401 posts
Posted by tgrbaitn08 on 8/9/20 at 11:04 am to CAD703X
You were watching VICE the other night too?
PrivatePublic Alabama Fan Member since Nov 2012 17848 posts
Posted by PrivatePublic on 8/9/20 at 11:05 am to CAD703X
Masseuses don't have all day for one customer.
fr33manator LSU Fan Baton Rouge Member since Oct 2010 114236 posts
Posted by fr33manator on 8/9/20 at 11:25 am to The Mick
quote: black kid was randomly eating pussy
soccerfüt Location: A Series of Tubes Member since May 2013 56739 posts
Posted by soccerfüt on 8/9/20 at 11:27 am to CAD703X
WaterLink LSU Fan Baton Rouge Member since Sep 2015 9788 posts
Posted by WaterLink on 8/9/20 at 11:27 am to saint tiger225
quote: I mean, how many women actually can't get dick and have to pay for it?
BigPerm30 Chicago Cubs Fan Member since Aug 2011 19890 posts
Posted by BigPerm30 on 8/9/20 at 11:30 am to The Mick
quote: Couple years ago that black kid was randomly eating pussy at Massage Envy without consent, that's all I got. How does that even happen? I could see if you slipped in a finger and they jumped but how full own eating pussy? Maybe the kid was good at it and consent was given during the act?
Darth_Vader US Army Fan A galaxy far, far away Member since Dec 2011 55777 posts
Posted by Darth_Vader on 8/9/20 at 11:40 am to CAD703X
A woman would have to be pretty damn fugly to have to pay for sex.
Darth_Vader US Army Fan A galaxy far, far away Member since Dec 2011 55777 posts
Posted by Darth_Vader on 8/9/20 at 11:42 am to BigPerm30
quote: Couple years ago that black kid was randomly eating pussy at Massage Envy without consent, that's all I got. How does that even happen? I could see if you slipped in a finger and they jumped but how full own eating pussy? Maybe the kid was good at it and consent was given during the act? I could be wrong but I seem to remember a thread from a few years back about this story. I don’t think consent was ever obtained though.
lsuguy84 USA Fan CO Member since Feb 2009 11921 posts
Posted by lsuguy84 on 8/9/20 at 11:43 am to CAD703X
Blizzard of Chizz Auburn Fan Member since Apr 2012 17480 posts Online
Posted by Blizzard of Chizz on 8/9/20 at 11:49 am to The Mick
quote: Couple years ago that black kid was randomly eating pussy at Massage Envy without consent, that's all I got True story. About 3 years ago I was dating a woman who decided she wanted to take me to massage envy for a couples massage for my birthday. The first girl came out and she was pretty fricking attractive, so I’m thinking hell yeah, this is gonna be great! Second girl comes out and she’s a beast!! I’m taking like barely 5’ but pushing 4 bills easily. I died inside. So there I am laying face down on the table. I can easily put my palms flat on the floor because she’s lowered the table to the ground. For the next solid hour, all I hear is the sound of the wheels on the rolling chair/ stool she’s sitting in squeaking like hell as her fat arse rolled around the massage table. My gf laughed about that shite for weeks. She’s said the look on my face when she introduced herself was priceless.
Skillet Member since Aug 2006 100810 posts
Posted by Skillet on 8/9/20 at 11:50 am to lsuguy84
jmarto1 LSU Fan Houma, LA/ Las Vegas, NV Member since Mar 2008 30102 posts Online
Posted by jmarto1 on 8/9/20 at 12:24 pm to Blizzard of Chizz
She should have let you have some innocent fun with the hot one. Healthier for the relationship imo. Support some window shopping and flirting then take it home and alpha that arse all over the house.
The Mick LSU Fan Member since Oct 2010 41954 posts
Posted by The Mick on 8/9/20 at 3:44 pm to BigPerm30
quote: How does that even happen? I could see if you slipped in a finger and they jumped but how full own eating pussy? Maybe the kid was good at it and consent was given during the act? Maybe so... I think the first time he got busted they transferred him to a different location so that would line up with your theory imo.
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Tags:
carolita johnson dramatic haircuts happy boobs pining with the best of them the rare pleasure of a single woman's company

I like it! I love the twist mystery ending at the end as well. The lack of resolution is it's own resolution!
Oh Carolita, how I've missed your vignettes!
Full body oil massage sounds amazzzzzzzing
Carolita! Seeing youry byline made my day! And the description of the sproing! in your lower back, and then feeling super-old and decrepit even though you're only in your 30's...terrifyingly familiar.
Oh my goodness, Carolita. You are always a treasure.
Well, these comments are making my day job feel very tolerable today! Thank you! Thank you! :) (Running back to work, just taking a peek!) xox
I am a) super happy to see Carolita here and b) super happy that she was happy with her intimate massage experiences, but this piece also really left me with a lot of other feels. I often suffer from a weird form of paralysis when I am paying other people to do things to me, like cutting my hair or receiving various forms of body work. It's like I don't like what's going on but it's realllllllllly hard for me to Say So, I think in part because I'm Paying Them and They Are Professionals, and for some strange reason that renders my autonomy mute. I know I'm not the only person to feel this way, and I would be really freaked out in this situation. I shudder to think about how many people out there might not be quite so willing or consenting as our dear Carolita!
And lest people think I am some sort of prude, I just want to state that I also REALLY ENJOY good breast exams. So that part of this piece really spoke to me! I think it's really interesting how we interact with physical forms of service. I also have many friends who do massage therapy work and talk about how draining it can be to work with people who sometimes really wear their emotional hearts on their proverbial sleeves. This piece made me think a LOT, and so, was obviously successful!
You're perfectly right to have your reservations. To be honest, I'm not without reservations, myself. Most normal people wouldn't have let that happen to them. For a long time, I was just open to things "happening" to me. It seemed like the only way to move forward in life: just let something happen, make everything different, be forced into a new situation with new choices to make. I was certainly fortunate that worse things didn't happen to me. And sometimes I wonder, what if I'd objected? Perhaps "Mike" would have adjusted his behavior and not gotten into trouble with (or traumatized?) others, if, indeed he had gotten busted. If anyone was capable of telling him in all benevolence and firm sincerity that what he was doing was pleasant but inappropriate and possibly dangerous, it would've been me. I'm usually very good at defusing "situations." But I was lonely and selfish and I welcomed it, rather than allowing myself to foresee consequences for anyone other than myself. I almost feel like I was the one who did wrong, by not guiding him on the right path. But of course, Mike was also a consenting adult, and accepting all the responsibility for his behavior makes me sound too much like some Christian idea of the Harlot/Gate To Hell. He had his half of the responsibility. For the record, another time, a masseur at the Russian Bathhouse acted as if he was going to cross the line with me, and I was not for that at all, and made it clear that I wasn't. It wasn't like I had a propensity for being violated! It was just that one time, with that one Mike. (I've never had or sought a "happy ending" again!).
This happened to an acquaintance of mine, she sued the spa and got 30K after legal fees. But your ending sounds good too.
But... I would feel so uncomfortable! How did she even broach the subject to bring up a suit?
Carolita, you're my favourite and you're over here!
I got two tui na massages during a brief stint in China, because I had done dire things to my sacroiliac and back and was dreading the long trans-Pacific flight. Completely G-rated: Nary a boob was groped; nary a finger strayed past the spa-mandated cotton jammies to scandalize the translator/chaperone. I left dizzy and relaxed, but not for quite the same reason as Carolita!
Carolita, thank you so much for writing this. Sometimes - often - I feel like people around me view my life as an unformed, chaotic series of bad decisions about men - still getting judged by very old morals. It's not as simple (or horrible) as that! I was really, really driven to find someone, I'm stupidly loyal, and rather than meeting someone wonderful at age 25 I tried to be loyal to a series of idiots. I made the best decision I could each time, as we all do. I don't have many models of a woman (or man) in my life who have lived this kind of life - I try to explain to people that not everyone meets someone great to settle down with at age 25, and that some people who do find themselves freshly single at age 45 anyway. (I have also been a fan of the massage-for-touch while single, and had a strange breast massage experience with a woman massage therapist... no happy ending though ha.) Thank you for including the phrase 'unhappily single', I got so sick of hearing about how you should just LOVE being single. You can have a great time being single and still hope to meet someone! I don't know why this is so easy for people in relationships to forget! tl;dr... Thank you, thank you, just thank you for helping me feel stronger in my belief I'm not the only one!
Carolita!!!! You have such a marvelous gift for cutting to the heart of things, though not to diminish the work you do honing your skill. I actually stopped getting massages (in part) because of how guilty I felt for just enjoying having someone touch me--this sense that I was degrading the therapist somehow by enjoying that aspect of it. I am a single lady, and I think your perspective is much healthier. Unrelated/related: This is also part of why Kate Nash's "Pumpkin Soup" is my jam. "I'm not in love/ I just want to be touched."
Carolita, I'm so happy to see you here! I've missed your posts so much. And OH, LORDY what a post!
Or MAYBE, he was a GHOST, a massage ghost who couldn't be free until he found true love.
Oh, Carolita. I LOVE YOUR WRITING SO. We are going to hear when your book is coming out, yes?
Carolita! I love reading your work, and this one's a real doozy!
Oh Carolita, this is just terrific, as always.
Carolita, i met you at Randall's today...you are hysterical!!!!!
That was not what I was expecting when I first started reading...in the best way possible!
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on July 11, 2013 in Personal Stories
It’s perhaps an alarming fact to some that many of my stories begin with “ so, I was between boyfriends/ recently dumped.” But this should tell you two things. One, that I’ve had my share of boyfriends and/or heartaches. Some might even say I’ve been rather fast and loose, to put it mildly (these pristine beings always put things mildly). But if you took the number of men I’ve had (and I use “had” in the same way I “had a cold,” or “had a dream”), and replaced the word “men” with “hits of heroin” or “atom bombs dropped on major cities,” or even “number of times I didn’t stand by a friend or help a stranger in need,” I agree, that would be excessive.
But as far as human experience and the search for love goes? Particularly when considering the unlikelihood of success in that pursuit? Please.
Second in the things one will have noticed about me: I’m not one to despond for long. Oh, I can pine with the best of them, but at some point pining loses its charms. And it is alluring, to a point: what’s more self-indulgent, expensive, and a better test of your friends’ loyalty than a good long pining-away period? But my innate practicality would always force me earlier than my good sense to embrace eating and sleeping again: I simply couldn’t afford to go shopping for smaller, pining-away outfits, especially after spending all my extra cash on sushi and massages, my longstanding cure for the blues.
I’ve tried other methods of self-consolation. After one breakup in the 1990s, in classic spurned-woman fashion, I got my hair cut dramatically short by the hairstylist who had given the celebrated Linda Evangelista her iconic haircut slightly earlier in the 1990s. I had significantly less professional success with the style than she had (but you already know this because you’ve never heard of Carolita Johnson the top model, have you?), and quickly learned how much money you can end up spending on products for short hair.
I never chopped all my hair off in grief again, partly because my local baker’s wife called me “ jeune homme ” shortly thereafter, as if I needed the insecurity of a perceived ambiguous gender identity during my “will I never find another man?” phase. Basic pining was much more practical and always ended when I’d forget to pine, which never took too long to happen.
And there would always be my dog, Carmen. She would tremble and make pleading, strangled noises in her throat when she’d catch me vehemently whispering pathetic esprit de l’escalier comebacks into the bathroom mirror. The pang of seeing my dog suffer from my unstable emotional life would force me to pull myself together. Back in fighting form, I’d throw myself out into the world, which was still as cruel as ever, but reminding myself of the words of one of my favorite Carmina Burana songs: “ Quicquid Venus imperat, Labor est suavis .” Looking for love is work. Sweet work. You have to be worthy of it.
I was a regular Lancelot, a female Quixote. I’d pick myself up, dust myself off, and start all over again to the dismay and eventual lassitude of my friends. This search for love seemed to be my life’s work during my twenties and thirties. It’s not as if I didn’t realize and wonder about the healthiness of it, either: I just didn’t know at the time if nature had intended things to be this way for everyone in their youth or if, having as yet no skills or true vocation to cultivate, this was the only activity I was suited for.
If the latter, I was duty-bound to make the most of what I had to work with. Lazy I was not.
The search for true love and the search for gainful employment seemed, at the time, disconcertingly similar in both method and results. I spent over fifteen years of my life on both, and for a while it looked like I wasn’t very good at either, if the evidence of “being good at it” was having a boyfriend who actually wanted me to be his girlfriend, or a job that paid enough to keep me out of debt.
But this particular between-boyfriends time was different. I was on the cusp of something–not quite there, but almost. It was a moment in my life defined by ambiguity and a blurring of lines as I tried to focus. My long-suffering dog was with my parents while I sublet an apartment in Astor Place, and I was making the most of my singleness, of being in New York, seeing girlfriends (many of whom were also between boyfriends, as it happened), enjoying the rare pleasure of a single woman’s company.
My friend Hattie and I would sit, gloriously and consciously single in our wonderful clothes, crazy shoes and the kind of hairstyles that only the self-employed or unemployed ever wear, at a Vietnamese place on Hester Street, surrounded by wizened senior citizens. We congratulated ourselves–or perhaps only I congratulated ourselves, happy to be back in what I considered then to be “a real city, not like that village, Paris” with every casual sip of our tea, on how authentic, how real we were. Real, though maybe not quite “gritty.” Grit in New York City seems to have gone the way of the public pay phone. It’s still there, but you really have to look for it, and would rather not have to rely on it if at all possible.
By all evidence, this was the accepted custom for those living in New York as part of the so-called creative class, a lifestyle that was gratifying for me to live but probably annoying for people with “real jobs” to witness. These little self-gratifying and fleetingly pleasant delusions of freedom were compensation for our lack of stability, life savings or health care, and we were reluctant to admit that our supposed freedom didn’t always seem worth it.
Women of the world, we compared our exes, travel experiences, masseurs. Hattie loved hers, a Chi Tui Na guy named Mike who worked out of a Chinatown basement. The thing about massages when you’re unhappily single is that they can fill a void. For the lonely, they can be a chaste and legal version of visiting a prostitute: you long to be touched, but who’s going to touch you? Some creep you might not even want to sleep with by the time you get him home from some random party or a long and boring dinner that feels more like a job interview? A guy you have to get rid of when you realize you don’t want to sleep with him after all?
Or perhaps you’ll just sleep with him on the off chance that it might surprise you and be halfway decent or even a pleasure? How often has that happened lately, you ask yourself? What are the chances of it happening again? I’m sure you get the picture, if you haven’t already had the privilege. Isn’t it better to just pay a masseur who at least knows exactly how to loosen your i
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