Tits Trump Ticket – Whatever You’re Thinking I’m Pretty Sure You’re Way Off

I got together with a good friend of mine this past weekend, one of my favourite people in fact.  Kelly* and I lived together for a year in university and have remained friends, even after the puking in the sink incident.  Her puke, our sink, to be clear.

Kelly is a tall, very attractive woman who modeled for a short time before deciding “fuck that shit” and carried on with life and normal eating.  When we graduated school, we went our different ways, her to British Columbia, me to marriage (bangs head against wall) and a suburb of Toronto.  Eventually my crappy husband and I also moved out to B.C. and Kelly and I saw each other as much as we were able, considering I moved to a small coastal island and she bopped around from mainland to other small islands often.  Hers was an unconventional life, and still is.

With an evening of Kelly to myself while she was here visiting parents in Ontario, we didn’t shut up.  Always easy to laugh and always philosophical about life, we probably sat in the ten-table Mexican restaurant way too long and cost the business way too much money as patrons-to-be huddled in the doorway, but with Kelly the good times just roll.

We quite naturally got on the topic of massages as earlier in the day I had been for the second massage of my entire life (yes, pitiful).  Kelly naturally goes for massages regularly between yoga classes and gardening.  I did mention she lives in B.C. right?  Well, Kelly shared the weirdest, most disturbing, yet kinda sickly hilarious story with me ever related to a massage experience that only she could have.

She and two friends went to a spa together.  One of the other women had arranged it and talked the place up.  It took nothing to twist Kelly’s rubber massage arm.  Once there, the women were separated and led to individual spa baths.  As Kelly described it, there she was in this private bath with the jets set so high that even her 5’10” body was flailing in the water.  As she was gripping the bars to keep from being jettisoned across the pool, the masseur, a woman, began giving her a scalp massage.  It was difficult for Kelly to enjoy as she was spending her energy attempting to stay put.  At some point, the masseur bent down and began whispering in Kelly’s ear about what great tits she had and how full they were.  Kelly, focusing on steeling her body against the excessive water turbulence replied with a dismissive thanks and that her boyfriend thought so too.

Okay, you might be asking yourself the same question that I asked Kelly – or you may just want me to shut up with this interjection and get on with it now that the word tits has entered the story.  Sorry guys.  I simply had to ask her why she didn’t shut things down then and there, as I’m laughing hysterically at the picture of her long frame flopping around in the pool in the most spastic way.  Kelly said she really didn’t know.  She was busy trying to figure out just what kind of establishment her friends had brought her to and what was with all the ear whispering?

Back to the program.  With the scalp massage complete, the masseur invited her over to the table where she ordered Kelly onto her back.  Now, as I stated at the outset, I’ve only ever been for two massages in my entire life but I can assure you that both started with me lying on my front.  Perhaps I’m feeling a bit inadequate right now, but this isn’t about me.

Anyway, Kelly’s massage therapist commences with a massage, well a boob massage to be more exact.  According to Kelly, this woman spent 80% of her time massaging her very ample boobs.

Second annoying interjection.  Apologies.

Me: “Kelly, why on earth did you lie down on that table and let her massage your boobs?”

Kelly: “I don’t know.  I guess I’m just too permissive or something.  They’re just boobs.  I was still trying to figure out what kind of massage place it was.”

Me: “Wasn’t that obvious?”

Kelly: “I guess.  I mean the massage was good, it was just really boob focused.  I’d never experienced a massage like it mind you.”

The story continues.

So, after the full, extended boob feel up, the lady directs Kelly to flip over, where she promptly starts in on her ass.  Surprised?  Well I kinda was, as in: Kelly what the hell?  You’re still on the table?  Yes, yes, she was still on the table when the woman leaned over and again started whispering in her ear, practically licking it as Kelly described it and said: “Is there anything else you want?  Anything at all, just say it,” continuing to feel her way in and around the general ass area.

So Kelly being Kelly says: “I would really like some neck and shoulder work.”

Yes folks, she’s still anticipating the professional massage beginning sometime during this third base madness.  I am like dying from laughter and I’m all out of questions.

When the massage finally ended, the woman gives Kelly a card and tells her to call her.  It’s okay, Kelly reports that she never called.  That’s showing her, Kelly.

So here’s the kicker.  In the dressing room afterward, Kelly and her two friends discuss their massages.  Remarkably, no one else got the same “service” as Kelly.  They’re amazed with what went down but were then rushing to get out because the meter on the car had most certainly run out as a result of Kelly’s extended treatment.

As they get outside and to the car, the ticket guy sure enough is just writing out a ticket.

Kelly rushes up to him and asks him to please not give the ticket as it was her fault, explaining that her appointment had run over.  The ticket guy says to them: “Well what really good reason can you three pretty ladies come up with to not ticket you?”

For the record, it is here that Kelly says she can’t stand that macho crap and would have happily told the fellow to fuck off. Not the masseur feeling her up and offering additional “off the menu” services, but the ticket guy several feet away from them with hands only on his ticket pad.

Luckily, Kelly’s one friend steps in to save the day.  She says to the ticket guy:

“Do you see my long-legged, gorgeous friend here with the great tits?  Well, she just got a full-on boob massage followed by an ass rub by some horny lesbian who didn’t want her to get off the table.  Because of that, we’re late getting back to the car.”

The ticket guy literally had his mouth hanging open while staring at Kelly.

“And,” adds her friend, “to top it off, she’s flying low!”  Friend points toward Kelly’s crotch.  Ticket guy’s eyes follow.

Kelly looks down and sure enough.

The ticket guy, getting his wits back about him, holds the ticket up in the air and ceremoniously rips it into shreds, stating breathlessly:

“That, hands down, is the absolute best reason I have ever heard to not give a ticket.”

As a postscript, Kelly now only books massages through coupon web sites and happily reports that nothing similar, except for a deep ass massage she received from a short Asian man, has ever happened to her again.

Man, cougars rock.

*Name changed to protect the ticket guy.

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Thank You and Goodnight, Lou

By all accounts he was a crotchety guy, but who cares when you make music like he made music.  For the past while, my cousin had been heading up his touring band, prepping the set lists and keeping the stage show tight.  Due to this, I had the opportunity to meet the man, quite unexpectedly, after a concert in none other than New York.

I flew in for  a show in the meatpacking district.  After watching my cousin perform with one of his all time musical heroes, we stumbled along the streets of New York with the band and ended up eating goulash in a small and cozy restaurant reserved by Lou himself.

It was here in my somewhat drunken ecstatic state that I got up the nerve to saunter over to Lou and request a photo.  My cousin was across the table dying of embarrassment because he had clearly advised me that “Lou doesn’t like having pictures taken.”  My sweet-talking angle was to blurb to Lou how wonderful my cousin was and to assure Lou that he hadn’t done too badly himself.

Yeah, how about another round, Denmother?

Anywho, Lou distinctly grunted at me and in my mom voice I scolded “oh don’t grunt, Lou” and promptly nestled in for a picture.  Naturally he was smitten with me.  I mean, what’s not to be attracted to there?

Actually, I do believe stunning him with my complete idiocy is what scored me the photo. Like a deer in headlights.

RIP Lou Reed.  You made many a day perfect.