Mansha Massage, Brendale - No
Gentlemen I bid you greetings. Tis been many a morrow since my last post and so I decided to share my experience with the aforementioned pleasure parlour.
Following the unexpected absence of a colleague and my being tasked with his duties in addition to my own, then add to that even more responsibilities that were bestowed upon me, due in part to my foolish admission that I used to work in IT. I found myself nigh intolerably stressed and was in dire need of relief. Fortuitously, work had placed me on a callout near Mansha Massage in Brendale. Enticed by a positive review, I decided this was to be my place of pressure relief.
Upon my ingress, I was near chocked by the smoke of industrial strength incense. Possibly being used to mask... other odours. A tiny, thin Hong Kong woman who must've been in her forties emerges from one of the other rooms and asks if I want a massage. The cadence in her voice sounded like it had less emotion than if she were reading the instructions for a DVD player. "Yes" I respond, "How long?" she abruptly replies. "Half an hour thank you", and with less ceremony than folding laundry, we were on our way to the room. I disrobed, and lay upon table, that had a smaller face hole than I've experienced before. The air in the room had a chill and so I used the towel to cover my posterior. Upon her return, the woman whipped away the towel as though it were an inconvenience. She began massaging my shoulders, her thin fingers penetrating deep into my flesh, causing me to wince. "Too hard?" asked she. "Yes, a little. Perhaps a soft massage today" and with that, she began massaging me with her elbows, backed by what was most of her bodyweight. She began telling me that I could have a four hands massage for only $100 more than what I had paid for the thirty minute massage and that a happy ending would be included in said price. To which I foolishly agreed, based on the premise that the second woman may be a short, skinny, moderately attractive for their age, woman as well. I was wrong.
The second woman, Thai, began massaging my legs, occasionally grazing Mr. Wiggly's luggage. Which would sound alluring to many, not when I tell of her pointed fake fingernails that, to her credit, she was somewhat conscious of. Additional credit goes to her foot massage too. The Thai woman's fingers seemed to penetrate even deeper than those of the Hong Kong woman's. I asked for a soft massage to which she replies "I can only do hard". Oh goodie. Here I was, being kneaded like dough by two bakers that had unresolved anger issues. Then it was time for the rollover. It is worth committing to memory that at this point I'd not seen the Thai woman quite yet.
At the risk of disclosing too much information about myself, I am a grower. Not a shower. And the chill in the air within that room did me no favours. Regardless, They began working co-operatively between Mr. Wiggly, his luggage and my other erogenous areas. Both of these women worked well together in that regard and I was finished promptly. They wiped off the massage oil from my body and cleaned me up. And just like that, like the ending of a disappointing book we're happy to leave behind, we were done. I glimpsed the Thai woman's face as I stood up, and I can say I was glad my eyes were closed for the massage and tandem HJ. Lisa and Linda their names were and I've not remembered which name belongs to whom.
I egressed the establishment and upon my being seated in my car vowed to never return. And I urge you all to stay away as well.
