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What pisses me off? Cheap parlors—ugh, sticky tables, fake moans, gimme a break! I want the real deal, darlin’, not some half-assed back pat. But when it’s good? Oh, I’m happy as a clam—muscles loosey-goosey, mind floatin’. Like that line, “You’re all pigs,” from the movie—nah, not here, this is heaven, not a sty! Surprised me how some folks—get this—use feathers or hot stones. Feathers! Tickled me pink, literally.

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Massage therapists: have you ever had someone try to ask for a happy ending or was extremely inappropriate during a massage? If so, what did you do?

I finally make it to the new spot, and I’m sweating like a sinner in church. But hey, at least the view of the harbor is killer. I take a deep breath, try to calm my nerves. Then, I walk in, and the room’s packed. Like, standing-room-only packed. I’m thinking, “Did I miss the memo about this being a concert or something?”

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