Though a void still remained, the melancholy had, ever so subtly, dimmed. The tears, brought on by the loneliness felt after the masturbation to images of Courtney, had finally ceased. When he went home that night, pissed and hungry, he heated up a box of party pies and whacked off in the shower to memories of his ex-wife.
“Very well, I’d imagine,” said Mike, chuckling. He had two daughters in primary school Mike’s were a little older, and he had a son, too. What would we do without them?” said Tim. “I’d love to, but that extra twenty has already gone to child support,” said Mike. “What if you offered a tip? Another twenty on top?” suggested Tim. “I don’t think that’s part of the package,” he said. “Did you ever try to instruct them?” Tim asked. Mike nodded, finishing his beer in one last gulp and placing it back down on the table they’d managed to snag at the Beresford Hotel after work. “There’s not a lot of consistency out there.” “Jesus,” said Mike’s best friend, Tim, who he told one weekend after he’d received the third happy ending.
Roughly forty seconds later and he was being slapped with the bill and his clothes handed back to him. This division of labour was efficient - perhaps too efficient. This time it was an establishment down south he’d seen a TripAdvisor review that raved about the place and their ‘offerings.’ This one was attended to by a second masseuse at the same time he was receiving a cranium massage from the first. It turned into a slow, practised affair, but when she went to the toilet for the second time in ten minutes, he got himself to the verge so that she could finally finish him off (hopefully, after washing her hands).Īnother month rolled by before he tried again. For an affordable price, the hand-job was pleasant, but the masseuse - this time a larger woman with terrifyingly long fingernails - was disinclined to jerk with much enthusiasm. Three weeks later, after he’d confirmed that his foreskin was still attached and hadn’t rolled up to the base of his penis, he visited the Rub&Rub in Maroubra. Although the small woman had managed to work out a lingering twinge in his lower back, the happy ending was overpriced and over-jerked the masseuse didn’t even use massage oil, and gripped his penis with a choking, clenched fist, like one might a toilet plunger. Though the quality of the massages had, in their own right, been acceptable, the happy endings themselves were nothing remotely special.Ībout three months after his divorce was finalised, Mike had frequented the Relax+Calm establishment on the North Shore. Since his divorce, Mike Fray had been to three massage parlours, but he’d never gone back to a single one of them.
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