Two posts in one day = slow day at work. Anyhow, I found this little nugget in Time Out Magazine. Kind of a trashy little city read but seems much more entertaining than The Metro or Boston Now. This month's cover is about leading double lives. I was drawn by the JPM Analyst by day, Cabbie by night story which was plenty interesting. Then I got to the following story.
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I am a... happily married guy / happy-ending addict.
I’m just coming from there now, the spa. Yeah. I wasn’t planning on it—it’s always an impulse thing—but then I guess it isn’t totally, because I do know that I’m definitely going to go at least three, four times a month. It’s not exactly a double life, but I feel wrong doing it—it gives me this weird sense of power, which feels good and also, I know, is shitty. I don’t want to be some Patrick Bateman–like douche bag, all full of himself. But I can’t stop. I’m married, but I love to get hand jobs.
It started with online porn. I’ve only been married for a year and I love my wife. Really, it’s an intense, open connection. And our love life is good—this isn’t about being dissatisfied. It’s about new experiences. The porn wasn’t enough, so I started looking up escorts—in-calls. There’s this site, the Erotic Review (theeroticreview.com), where these dudes post about their experiences. The rip-offs, the sure things, what to do. I was reading them and realized I didn’t want to have sex with another woman. I couldn’t do that to my wife. So the posts about the Asian spas looked great. No intercourse, just a hand job.
The first time, I went to this place White Hyacinth (243 W 30th St between Seventh and Eighth Aves, suite 501; 212-279-6644), and it looked like a real spa, in a legit business building. They gave me a shower on a table, a bad massage and nothing after. I didn’t ask—I didn’t know. So then I went to this other place that got amazing reviews, Gold Spa (128 W 36th St between Sixth Ave and Broadway, 212-947-0544). I walked in one workday morning, because that’s how you beat the other dudes. There’s an Asian chick there. She takes me into a small room. And it’s like—she got right down to it: stroking me, she took off her top, I’m sucking on her nipples. No sex. Again, it was about the new experience. To be honest, I wasn’t thinking, I’m so turned on. It was more like, Wow, these nipples are different than my wife’s nipples. Do I like that? I don’t know. But something’s working. Afterward, when I leave these places—especially if it’s cold outside—I see everything in HD. I’m so relaxed.
I got to work that day and felt like, Man, if these people knew…They’d never guess, they’d never know. I’m Mr. Clean-Cut IT Guy. But if they did…I’ve been back to Gold Spa—and White Hyacinth, which turned out to do something similar, if you ask. And I also tried this place called My Heavenly Hands, which advertised on Craigslist. Latin women. You go to this studio apartment right over the Ed Sullivan Theater where Late Show is filmed, which I think is funny.
Each time I go after work to any of these places, I feel like I’m shedding my office personality and doing my own thing—something that’s mine. I feel that way when I come home, too—not guilty. I compartmentalize it. I tell my wife that I was at work late. If that’s what I need to be the perfect worker and decent husband, then I deserve it. See, again, I sound like a complete asshole. But I don’t know any other way to, you know, feel clear.
(h/t Dealbreaker, Time Out NY)
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