Kendallkasey's Blog











{July 15, 2010}   I am Not a Hooker

Title says it folks, I’m not a hooker, but I think the majority of the people on my table think I am. Although most of you think I’m talking about men, women are just as guilty. Here’s an example:

This was screamed down the hall at me once as a woman left the room after the massage, getting dressed as she ran out the door “I left your money on the bed. You were great!”

That’s awesome lady, could you tell my pimp too while you’re at it? Maybe I’ll be able to keep 70% this time.

Example number 2 (for everyone who has only been reading my blog to see when the hell I was going to write about happy endings)

A man asked me just the other day if I could give him a “really good release.” I was hoping he didn’t mean what I thought he did, but being in this profession for almost five years, I knew exactly what he meant.

“No, I don’t do that,” I said.

“Oh, come on! I won’t tell anyone – I promise.”

Hmmmm, mister when you put it that way, it sounds like something I want to do now – yeah right! Now, here’s the speech I give all of them:

“No! I am not willing to risk my family, my license, or my job just so you can “feel better”. That’s what hookers are for!” They follow this up by saying “Come on, baby, no one will know. I won’t tell.” To which I reply “I will know, and the thought disgusts me – you disgust me. The massage is over and I will meet you up front to collect your payment.” As I walk out of the room I can hear them call me “bitch” or other mean names, but I don’t stop and turn around to defend myself. They are worthless, and it’s pointless to waste my breath.

Did you know that there are actually massage bootie calls? Yes, there are! All of my clients have my cell phone number. This faux pas happened when I was an eager beaver, wanted everyone’s business at any hour of the day. Be careful what you wish for. Now, I have a steady practice which consists of semi-average people (okay, who am I kidding? You’ve read what goes on in this place. They are weird!), and I have a schedule that is very consistent. It never fails though. My cell, which is positioned right by my head when I sleep, will ring or alert me that I have a text at 3am and it’s a client (most of the time half drunk) asking me for a massage. See, massage bootie calls. I just tell them they are drunk and stupid, and we will forget that it ever happened.

What’s even worse is massage therapists act like their clients, who could have been with them for years or just weeks, are the equivalent to street corners. Do not, I repeat do not, look at another therapists client! It’s exactly like standing on Kiki’s turf without permission. Your fellow therapist will do anything to keep that client, right down to spreading nasty rumors about you.

It’s funny to me that massage therapists ar portrayed as these flighty, pot smokin’ hippies who pick flowers all day, but I beg to differ. I always have to be on the look out for a man’s wondering eyes and hands, rude comments, and unthinkable requests. I have to remind people I work on them while they are lying on a table, not a bed, and I have to tell them not to talk about the fact I “see them naked on a weekly basis and make them feel so good” if they see me in public. I’ve gotten plenty of strange looks from people who overhear our conversation.

Oh, and as far as the other “hooker”, I mean therapist I worked with – I had to let her go. I was tired of fighting over corners.

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Summer says:

I am not going to get any sleep, this is funny stuff!



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