Two years ago my partner and I were amidst a real estate deal that fell through at the last second. Everyone in our city moves on September 1. We were off the moving schedule, so the immediate options for vacant apartments were scarce. The only thing we could find was a converted disused religious building within an outlying neighborhood that was approximately 90% Asian American.
We loved the neighborhood, we loved the culture, and we were happy with our temporary spot. In this new neighborhood there was an abundance of massage parlors. In a one-mile radius of our home, there were at least 10 of these little massage parlors, possibly more.
My partner explained that happy endings at these types of massage parlors were actually real things. It really happened. The concept of the happy ending became a running joke with us. Each time we passed one of these little massage parlors, we would make note of the patrons entering and exiting and imagine their home lives, what they were feeling, what their partners must think, all those things.
We would also imagine how awkward it must be to get a hand job at a massage parlor. Was there some secret signal? Was it part of every massage package offered? How did the masseuse know a happy ending was requested? Was it on the checklist? Areas you would like us to work: shoulders, neck, and my dick.
Our google searches led us to rubmaps.com, but alas, none of the massage parlors were listed. No secret signals were listed either.
With all our talking, imagining, pretending, and google searching, my partner started to get intrigued. He brought it up during one of our discussions, “What if I went to one of those and got a hand job? Would you be mad?”
The answer came very easy, “No. I wouldn’t be mad. I would think it was awesome.” Then I started laughing, and so did he. The whole thing seemed completely absurd, and hilarious, and I felt like I really needed to know if this whole “happy ending” was actually a real thing. He felt the same, plus he would be the one getting the happy ending, so it was an added bonus for him.
The idea bounced around between us a lot. The conversations were never contentious in anyway, it was more us joking about when he would do it. He would leave to go to the store, and I would ask him to text me if he decided to get a happy ending, just so I wouldn’t be worried if he was late. There is a lot of humor in our lives, and this was part of it.
As we talked about it more, he asked if I would consider it cheating. No, I did not consider it cheating to get a happy ending. It was just a hand job from a stranger, in a controlled setting. There would be no affair, there would be no emotional connection, there would be no back alley hooker, there would be no penetration. A happy ending seemed like nothing to me as long as he was completely upfront about it and was not sneaking around. If he was going behind my back to get happy endings, I would be upset. That wasn’t the case. We talked about it a lot, and joked about it a lot. If he did decide to go through with it, it would not feel like cheating to either of us. Rather, the quest for a happy ending felt like this secret spy mission, this experiment. He had my full consent, I just asked to know every detail.
After a year, we were ready to get back to the city. Moving day was approaching, and he was very overwhelmed with the change. Moving is always very difficult for him. A friend was over helping us pack, my partner was pacing around in circles completely unable to participate in the moving process with his thoughts scrambled around in his head.
So I said, “You need to get out of here. Why don’t you go get a massage and let us take care of the packing for now? A massage may clear your head, and your back has really been hurting.” Obviously our friend had no idea what we were really planning here. I had made this suggestion to him many times, but this time was different. My partner thought for a second, grinned, and said, “Yeah, I think that’s a good idea. I’m going to go.” I threw out the bait, he took it. It felt sneaky and sly and exciting.
He left, I was frantically checking my phone like a madwoman, wanting an update every second. I did not hear from him until about an hour and a half later, when I got a text that simply said, “Great success.”
Immediately I thought, “YES!” More than anything I was excited. I couldn’t wait for him to get home. First, I could not believe a happy ending was real, and second, I wanted to know every single detail. He did not disappoint. He explained he went to two separate places before he settled on one, and he felt very awkward the whole time. The women were asking him lots of questions, what did he do for a living, where was he from, etc. He said later he felt like they were feeling him out to see if he could be a police officer. Apparently there had been several raids on massage parlors in the neighborhood lately.
They took him back into a room where he met his masseuse, Lisa. Lisa asked him to get naked, he did. She wore high heels, and gave him a great back massage. She asked him to flip over, he did, and she just went for it. With no prodding, no permission, she lubed him up and started in. He reported that there was nothing sensual about it, it was very mechanical. He said it was over very quickly, both because he was so turned on and because apparently Lisa had some magical hand job skills. After it was over, she cleaned him up, and finished the massage. He paid and left.
That was it.
Immediately after he seemed a little conflicted, and asked me if he had cheated. No, he hadn’t. He asked if I thought less of him. No, I didn’t. I gave him a high five, and we went on with life.
Has he gone back? No. Has he expressed a desire to go back? No. Has anything in our relationship changed whatsoever? Yes, our sex life has gotten even better. He fantasized about it after that day, because despite a happy ending being such a socially taboo and forbidden thing, it was a major turn on for him to be able to experience it one time with my full consent.
In response to his fantasies, I gave him my first hand job ever. It wasn’t that great, because I had never done it before, but it got better. We’ve since experimented with various lubes, various speeds, various techniques, even anal play. Hand jobs have become part of our repertoire, and it is really, really hot for both of us. I love watching his body react, and watch him shake and shiver and quiver – something I don’t really get to see during our other sexy times.
Will I ever give hand jobs as good as Lisa? Probably not. But I love this new part of our sex life, and I have Lisa to thank for that. 
