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Archive for the ‘TALES FROM THE LITTLE MASSEUSE’ Category

 

Songthaew

 

Recently while leaving Paradise by the Sea (Jomtien Beach) to return to Bangkok the little masseuse and I took the small converted pick up truck transit vehicle called a songthaew from the condo to the bus station to catch the Pattaya-Bangkok bus. When we arrived at the bus station my masseuse went to pay the songthaew driver our fare. Suddenly an enormous row ensued. The driver jumped out of his vehicle, leaving the other passengers to wait while the two of them went at it, shouting at each other.

For a while, I enjoyed the spectacle of the diminutive masseuse all 5 feet of her and the much larger bus driver (about my size) shred the Thai cultural requirement of Jai Yen (Maintaining a cool heart). Finally, I stepped between them and the driver returned to his vehicle and drove off in a huff.

When I asked my friend what had caused the argument, she answered:

“I tried to pay the driver the usual 10 baht(about 30 cents) per person fare, but he insisted that I pay 20 baht instead. I asked him why he is demanding twice the amount for the ride than I usually pay. He answered, ‘That was when you traveled by yourself, this time you are traveling with a farang.’”

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One day my masseuse told me about the Thai woman who was a member of the Health club in the hotel where she worked. The woman always insisted that the masseuse apply intense pressure to her body during her massages.

The woman was in her 60′s and independently wealthy having built up a high-tech business of sorts.

When taking her massage, she always requests three therapists, two women. one for each side of her upper body and a man for below the waist. They would massage her vigorously for one hour. Then the male massage theripast had to mount her for the next half hour and with equal vigor satisfy another of her needs.

According to M, it was very difficult to find a male massage therapist willing to repeat his assignment since they were generally so exhausted by their first encounter that they usually declined to venture it again.

The woman gave the male massage therapist a $40 tip and about $20 to each woman.

The customer told M that until recently she had two husbands, a Thai husband and American one. A few months ago she divorced her Thai husband.

When M inquired as to what prompted the divorce the woman explained that whenever they made love he would move up and down for a few thrusts and then get tired and rest. After resting he would start up again and so on. So, she decided to divorce him.

The woman indicated that she spent a few months each year in the US with her American husband.

M asked how he was as a lover.

“Very bad,” she responded.

I then asked M what she thought about that.

She answered with a question of her own, “Is it true that American men are bad lovers?”

“I have no knowledge of how other American men have sex other than from the stories we men tell one another about our sexual affairs”, I said, “but based upon those stories and an evaluation of my own performance, I would have to guess that, alas, we probably are.”

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I am not a person often troubled by Nightmares; once or twice a decade perhaps, but when they did occur they were sometimes life-changing.

When I was a child, I had recurring nightmares in which I felt like I was running through molasses trying to escape a pursuer in black brandishing a knife. In those dreams, I was usually running through a limestone cavern with grottoes off to the side all strangely separated from the main cavern by a white picket fence. For some reason, there also were always a lot of colored lights giving the walls a bright rainbow-like appearance. Of course, I would wake up before my pursuer caught up to me, except for the last time when he plunged the knife deep into my back. I still remember the sound that it made.

These dreams were later replaced by dreams about falling. I would wake up before hitting bottom, again except for the last time when I was sure I was going to hit bottom and die unless I woke myself up. So, I struggled mightily pushing through the thick fog of sleep to wakefulness and safety.

Thereafter I found that I became what is often referred to as a vivid dreamer. Someone who knows he is dreaming and to some extent can control it. In my case, I used that ability to keep away the darkness and danger; thick doors leading into the crypt became windows looking out on mountain meadows, jagged craters into the dark underworld became lakes or ponds reflecting the few billowing clouds passing overhead in an otherwise sparkling blue sky.

I grew to love my dreams. For most of my life, I preferred my sleeping life to my real one. Although in all likelihood my dreams were as brief as those who study such thing say they usually are, for me, however, they often were glorious adventures that appeared to last all night and beyond.

I thought of keeping a notebook by my bed and recording them but I never did. My analyst also encouraged me to do so. I noticed that the only time he would take notes during my sessions was when I mentioned a dream. So, I began to make up dreams (usually about my mother) in order to keep him writing and not asking questions.

Anyway, a few days ago I was lying on my back sprawled on the rock hard bed in my little apartment in Bangkok, Kesorn, the Little Masseuse, who prefers sleeping on the floor was asleep beside the bed. I thought I was still awake staring at the ceiling annoyed that I was having difficulty falling asleep when suddenly what felt like a great pressure bearing down over every part of body gripped it and squeezed it so forcefully I felt as though I was shrinking into myself. I could neither breathe nor move. I panicked and knew I had to call for help.

It was at that minute that I first suspected that I was dreaming because suddenly I noticed another bed in the room with a dark shape lying on it. Nevertheless, I still heard myself screaming for help. I called out the name of the dark shape on the other bed and was shocked. I was screaming for help from my long-dead wife, the mother of my daughter who I had not even thought of or about for over a decade.

Then I woke up, looked around and saw that the other bed had disappeared and Kesorn was still sleeping on the floor beside me.

I could not get back to sleep again that night for fear of ghosts or dying.

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One day the little masseuse mentioned that a co-worker at the health club had a customer who paid for a one hour massage. Shortly into the massage he fell into a deep sleep only waking up when the hour was over and the massage finished.

He then told the masseuse that he really wanted a “Happy Ending.” The masseuse told him that she was sorry but his time was up and he would have to pay for another hour if he wanted a “Happy Ending.” The customer became upset and left.

I asked the little masseuse, what she thought about that.

She said, “If you’re looking for happiness don’t fall asleep or it will cost you more.”

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One day during my weekly massage, I asked my masseuse, who I shall call M, to tell me some stories about her life in the massage business. One of her tales follows:

Among her regular customers was a  woman from India. She and her husband were members of the health club in the Bangkok hotel in which M worked. The couple would exercise several times a week and have a massage about once a week. Generally, they both chose male massage therapists, but when two were not available, the woman would request M’s services.

The woman would always ask for the exact same treatment from M and explained why:

“Every time my husband wants sex.” she explained. “he would start grabbing at my sari, trying to pull it off until I agreed to go to bed with him. He would get on top, move up and down for a few moments, finish, then get up and go into the shower where he would wash and sing happily to himself. After, his shower he would return to the bedroom and ask:

‘Are you happy?’

I being a good wife always nod my head and say, ‘yes very much.’

So as a result .whenever I have a massage, I choose a male masseuse and I tell him that all that I want from him is to mount me like a buffalo and pound me for one half an hour, no more and no less.”

She then explained to M, that she wanted M to massage only one part of her body for precisely one half an hour and instructed M, on the proper placement of M’s fingers and preferred repetitive movement.

At that point, I asked M what she thought about all that.

She answered, ” My arm hurt a lot, but she gave me a nice tip.”

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