My mood is right tonight to drop by Blue Sea, to satisfy idle curiosity. I always see lots of parked cars there. I also remember Flopboyz favorable review: http://www.eforum.xxx.ca/vbulletin/showthread.php?t=117292&highlight=Blue
Blue Sea's receptionist is talking, in Cantonese, with another customer when I walk in. It takes a while before my presence is acknowledged. "$60 for 45 minutes and minimum $20 tip," the pretty but unsmiling receptionist says curtly, handing me a locker key. "You pay after." There's a board with names of about 8 masseuses on the wall behind her desk.
I turn a corner and find myself in an area with lockers, a sauna, steam room, showers, toilets, a jacuzzi, a cool-off pool, plastic chairs and a TV tuned to a sports program. About 10 loudly talking Asian men are milling about, some naked but most with a towel wrapped around their waists. I smile at several men and say hello, but no one responds—perhaps they resent a Caucasian invading their spa?
After a quick shower and steam bath I walk to the separate massage area in the back where there's second receptionist. "The ladies all busy tonight?" I ask jovially, but receive only a grumpy look.
The massage-area receptionist shouts out the name "Coco." Moments later there appears a dainty, moderately appealing lady in her late 30s who looks friendly enough. She ushers me into a nice enough massage room and starts kneading my back. Soon she climbs on top and spends at least 15 minutes walking on my back. I like the feeling of her bare feet until she attempts a strong stomping movement. "To crack your spine," she says, "feel more relaxed." Alarmed, I ask her to stop.
Coco's fluent English makes chatting easy. She willingly volunteers information. She's from Hongkong, has been in Canada for 5 years, is about to take a 1-week vacation, and only works at Blue Sea 4 nights a week and the rest of the time at a beauty salon.
After about another 10 minutes of competent oil massage, Coco asks, "You want special?" "Sure," I reply. "We just do hand release here," she says. "It's $40 for tip."
I say okay. With lots of warm oil on her hands she does a good job rousing Tantalizer slowly but surely. Her movements are fluid and not jerky, alternate between pumping and squeezing, and show trained intuition about applying the right pressure. Still—I don't find the situation erotically charged. Our conversation has no erotic content, and Coco wears a strikingly unsexy outfit, a drab blouse and dark pants.
"Can I see your tits?" I ask. "Okay, for 20 extra tip," she replies. "Fine," I say.
While she takes off her blouse and bra I myself assume responsibility for keeping Tantalizer fired up. She has the expected tiny titties with perky nipples which she doesn't seem to mind getting squeezed.
"Let me see your pussy too," I say, a request she initially ignores. I let her take charge of Tantalizer again and repeat my request, almost pleadingly, before she pulls down her pants part-way with one hand. Perhaps she hopes this sight will help me orgasm. But she keeps her panties on. All I get to do is rub that pussy through the panties.
I suspect my time is almost up when I finally manage, with the help of dirty talking in a language she doesn't understand, to let my juices squirt. And sure enough, a few seconds later an end-of-session buzzer sounds.
With evident relief Coco says, "Good. I'm tired now." She wipes me off perfunctorily and hands me a paper towel to clean myself. She gets busy thoroughly scrubbing her hands over at the washbasin while repeatedly telling me, "Give me tip before you have shower."
I go to my locker, dig out 3 greens and and hand them to her, with best wishes for a good vacation. Then I shower, dress and pay the receptionist another 3 greens on my way out.
I find out her name is Bonnie. I cheerily inquire about the advertised special, "$90 for 2 sessions." In a sharp voice Bonnie corrects me that this doesn't mean 2 different visits but rather, a single 1 1/2 hr session. "Plus $40 tip minimum," she adds in a tone that, by no stretch of the imagination, encourages return visits.
Just as well. I leave, feeling pleasantly relaxed. But personally speaking, when I think of the many places where, for 1 or 2 more greens, no begging is needed to behold a pussy in all its glory—which I can then penetrate to my heart's content—I can't possibly feel I got good value for my $.2 at Blue Sea.
Blue Sea's receptionist is talking, in Cantonese, with another customer when I walk in. It takes a while before my presence is acknowledged. "$60 for 45 minutes and minimum $20 tip," the pretty but unsmiling receptionist says curtly, handing me a locker key. "You pay after." There's a board with names of about 8 masseuses on the wall behind her desk.
I turn a corner and find myself in an area with lockers, a sauna, steam room, showers, toilets, a jacuzzi, a cool-off pool, plastic chairs and a TV tuned to a sports program. About 10 loudly talking Asian men are milling about, some naked but most with a towel wrapped around their waists. I smile at several men and say hello, but no one responds—perhaps they resent a Caucasian invading their spa?
After a quick shower and steam bath I walk to the separate massage area in the back where there's second receptionist. "The ladies all busy tonight?" I ask jovially, but receive only a grumpy look.
The massage-area receptionist shouts out the name "Coco." Moments later there appears a dainty, moderately appealing lady in her late 30s who looks friendly enough. She ushers me into a nice enough massage room and starts kneading my back. Soon she climbs on top and spends at least 15 minutes walking on my back. I like the feeling of her bare feet until she attempts a strong stomping movement. "To crack your spine," she says, "feel more relaxed." Alarmed, I ask her to stop.
Coco's fluent English makes chatting easy. She willingly volunteers information. She's from Hongkong, has been in Canada for 5 years, is about to take a 1-week vacation, and only works at Blue Sea 4 nights a week and the rest of the time at a beauty salon.
After about another 10 minutes of competent oil massage, Coco asks, "You want special?" "Sure," I reply. "We just do hand release here," she says. "It's $40 for tip."
I say okay. With lots of warm oil on her hands she does a good job rousing Tantalizer slowly but surely. Her movements are fluid and not jerky, alternate between pumping and squeezing, and show trained intuition about applying the right pressure. Still—I don't find the situation erotically charged. Our conversation has no erotic content, and Coco wears a strikingly unsexy outfit, a drab blouse and dark pants.
"Can I see your tits?" I ask. "Okay, for 20 extra tip," she replies. "Fine," I say.
While she takes off her blouse and bra I myself assume responsibility for keeping Tantalizer fired up. She has the expected tiny titties with perky nipples which she doesn't seem to mind getting squeezed.
"Let me see your pussy too," I say, a request she initially ignores. I let her take charge of Tantalizer again and repeat my request, almost pleadingly, before she pulls down her pants part-way with one hand. Perhaps she hopes this sight will help me orgasm. But she keeps her panties on. All I get to do is rub that pussy through the panties.
I suspect my time is almost up when I finally manage, with the help of dirty talking in a language she doesn't understand, to let my juices squirt. And sure enough, a few seconds later an end-of-session buzzer sounds.
With evident relief Coco says, "Good. I'm tired now." She wipes me off perfunctorily and hands me a paper towel to clean myself. She gets busy thoroughly scrubbing her hands over at the washbasin while repeatedly telling me, "Give me tip before you have shower."
I go to my locker, dig out 3 greens and and hand them to her, with best wishes for a good vacation. Then I shower, dress and pay the receptionist another 3 greens on my way out.
I find out her name is Bonnie. I cheerily inquire about the advertised special, "$90 for 2 sessions." In a sharp voice Bonnie corrects me that this doesn't mean 2 different visits but rather, a single 1 1/2 hr session. "Plus $40 tip minimum," she adds in a tone that, by no stretch of the imagination, encourages return visits.
Just as well. I leave, feeling pleasantly relaxed. But personally speaking, when I think of the many places where, for 1 or 2 more greens, no begging is needed to behold a pussy in all its glory—which I can then penetrate to my heart's content—I can't possibly feel I got good value for my $.2 at Blue Sea.
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