I prefer to stay within the five boroughs of New York City unless I am unavoidably required to appear elsewhere. In point of fact, I am not especially fond of Staten Island and rarely make it to the Bronx anyway, so we're talking about Brooklyn, Queens and Manhattan as pretty much the entire universe.
So when I tell you that I had to go to Islip to take care of some dumbass paperwork with the Town Clerk, I can assure you in no uncertain terms that it was unavoidable. And when I say that I walked from the LIRR to the Town Hall, you will understand that no one walks more than 20 feet in any direction on Long Island unless they happen to be on the wrong side of the mall relative to Johnny Rocket's when the urge for retro faux-sitcom bullshit fast food hits. I will take my stinky, damp, angry, crowded agitated New York City over any of the places around it.
The suburbs jangle my every nerve and make my ankles hurt. The sounds of lawnmowers and souls slowly dying fill the suburban air, punctuated by the machine-gun-with-Tourette's bursts of new cancer clusters popping up and dotting the barren moonscape.
There is good and bad in everything I suppose and there is one redeeming quality in every trip to Long Island: at the end of your return trip, the LIRR drops you at 34th and 7th, the epicenter of Midtown Monger paradise.
It took me 3.5 seconds to identify a place to which I have never been a block from Penn Station. Emerging from the special circle of hell below Madison Square Garden that has been outfitted with shops and restaurants for commuters I called and within five minutes was ringing the bell. Five minutes after that I was being attended to by a beautiful Chinese girl in her twenties.
My addiction grows and consumes whatever it encounters because life feels bad and indulgence feels good...but there is good and bad in everything...the bad gives way to good...the good means nothing without reference to the bad.
Sky Spa appeared as if, well, out of the sky, like any one of a thousand similar places folded into the batter of New York. It's a decent sized place in the exact same building as another provider I saw last week. The space is clean but there are privacy issues in that the walls are short and doors are...not doors. The good obscures the bad.
There's a nice fishtank up front filled with fish who scattered in terror when I growled at them. The mamasan is not an old lady and most definitely works the tables herself. It seems like a two girl operation. When I walked in it was empty so I ended up with Jenny, a young, cute girl with nice B cups, a tight ass, and amazing hair. A pleasant person to be around with a hot little body and a pretty face. Things were looking up. I paid the 60 buck house fee and got myself comfortable. The good was getting better and the bad was running for cover.
Jenny gave me a good hard rub, an above average massage for sure. She went a little heavy on the oil, but, on the other hand I didn't try to stop her. Maybe oil would wipe away the out of town muck anyway. She worked every ounce of her 100 pound frame into the process, and by the end she was working up a sweat. She went for the hot towels and rubbed me down.
The good got even better. She ran her hands over my ass and between my ass cheeks, teasing me. She reached under me and grabbed my swelling cock, tugging at it until it was too hard for me to lay back down, and she whispered sweetly for me to turn over.
She rubbed my chest and looked into my eyes and I felt connected to her for just a second. There was only good, the bad was gone. As she traced her hand down my chest, past my belly, to where my cock was waiting for her touch, fully erect, burning for her attentions.
She wrapped her oiled hand around my impossibly hard cock and stroked it lightly. I ran my hands over her perfect little body. Her tight little ass...her perky breasts. I could feel her nipples getting hard through her shirt.
She touched her finger lightly against my asshole and looked at me as if to ask "yes?" I nodded slowly and she slid a finger in my ass as she began pumping her hand harder and faster on my hot and glowing cock. I slid my hand under her shirt and pushed her bra aside. I felt her hard nipples and she exhaled hard staccato breaths and gave a low rumbling sigh of pleasure. That was all I needed and the good melted into perfection as I came and came and came with the stupidest smile in history plastered across my face.
She giggled at my goofy grin and leaned over and touched her lips lightly against mine, in a perfect little gesture, a tiny shared moment of intimacy, of human connection, of simple good feeling.
We made a little small talk as I dressed and she cleaned up and then I handed her a 50 for a tip. She smiled and said she hoped I would come back. I said I would - I wanted to scare the fish again. She liked that.
The bad recedes and the good succeeds. I felt alive again as I hit the street and walked through the throngs of dead-eyed commuters heading for Penn Station. I bowed my head in a silent prayer of gratitude. Gratitude for the beautiful women in my life and the many more I hope to meet. Gratitude for the controlled insanity that is New York. Gratitude for all that is good and right and just in my world. For handjobs and massage oil. For Ray Charles and Charles Bukowski. For beauty, for truth, for love.
For all of these things I gave thanks.
Sky Spa
212-273-0833
35th between 7th and 8th