Brief Encounters

I’ve been working as an erotic masseuse in a small city for nearly three years now, so it probably wouldn’t surprise anybody to learn that I occasionally bump into clients out in the 'real world'. The first time this happened, I was just about to be seated at a restaurant when I noticed a former client – a clean-cut Republican type - at another table, clearly on a first date with a woman. The situation demanded a degree of tact, so I did not, of course, say hello - but I simply couldn’t resist sitting diagonally across from him so I could get a good look at the proceedings. I hate to admit it but I rather enjoyed seeing the guy’s face turn whiter than the tablecloth when he spotted me. I winked at him mischievously and watched him squirm in his seat for the rest of the evening.

Apart from this one night, all my other encounters with clients, past and present, have been relatively banal and have, curiously, nearly all taken place in supermarket aisles. I’ll mostly be able to tell that the person is or was a client but, other than that, I often won’t remember a damn thing about them. This may seem callous on my part, but given that nearly all my clients come from the same demographic – middle-aged; middle-class; out of shape – it’s hardly surprising. Should any of them decide to talk to me, my amnesia can be embarrassing because it makes for a very one-sided conversation. My clients remember details about me, and can ask questions accordingly, but all I have to go on is that I’ve had their cock in my hand at some point. This is not an uninteresting fact per se, but it does not provide much opportunity for supermarket-appropriate chitchat.

Awkward conversations aside, it doesn’t particularly faze me to bump into clients. This is perhaps because I’m more or less the same person in the massage room as I am outside it, so it doesn’t feel strange to meet clients in a more realistic setting. What has always bothered me, however, is the idea of booking a session with a new client and opening up the door to find an acquaintance standing there. If you already know someone, even if only slightly, the boundaries of your relationship are already clearly defined, so how on earth does one move seamlessly to the handjob stage in such a situation? I can only imagine what the conversation would sound like: “Aye, nice seein’ you doon the pub on Saturday night, Jim. Now, if you don’t mind, jist whip it oot so we can get started, eh?”

Several weeks ago, I did come into contact with someone I had once met very briefly and didn’t recognise. He spared us both the initial awkwardness by only reminding me sheepishly halfway through the massage that we had both attended a trainee teacher orientation meeting in January. This means that we will soon be in the same class three days a week for the next year, training to be teachers together! As soon as I realized who the guy was, I must admit that I balked at the idea of giving him a handjob. Once the shock had worn off, however, I saw clearly that giving this guy a massage had effectively broken down all those social niceties that would have taken weeks, if not months, for us to overcome normally in the classroom. Put more simply, we had used the penis to cut through all the crap to get to what really interests us: pedagogy.