So the guy comes over and, of course, like most people on Tinder, he doesn’t really look like his pictures. I give him the benefit of the doubt and assume that maybe they were from a few years ago? Or maybe Photoshop is also something he does professionally? Either way, I can get past appearances because he wasn’t in terrible shape. What I can’t get past is that this guy turned out to be somewhat of a doofus. He also blurted out some language that lead me to think he might be a little racist. I can’t remember the exact wording he used, but, I do remember at the very least he definitely said something about “the Mexicans” in a less-than-flattering tone. He asked where I worked and when I told him he said, “oh I go there all the time!” He then began to talk about one of my best friends who works with me. I said, “Oh, she’s one of my best friends.” A response which was met by him with chatter about what a bitch she is. Not a great idea in social situations, to talk shit about the best friend of someone you just met. So far this guy was 0 for 3. But here’s the thing, he was there for one very specific reason: to give me a Tantric massage, something I’ve wanted my entire sexual life! So when he excused himself to go to the restroom my partner gave me the classic, “we should make him leave, right?” look. I felt really awkward in that moment. It’s one thing to say, “well, we should be going,” but it’s another to say, “well, YOU should be going.” For some reason there’s extra confrontation in that statement. Plus, I really wanted this tantric massage! I felt like sitting through a terrible conversation meant that I was owed at least that. So I said to my partner, “I want this fucking massage, otherwise we let this guy in here for nothing.”
Once he emerged from the bathroom we proceeded into the bedroom where there was a towel laid out on the bed, as per his request. I stripped down and my partner sat down in a chair to watch what we both thought would be pure magic. I was so ready to get this tantric massage! What I got instead was, well…I don’t quite know what to call it.
My head was at the end of the bed allowing him to stand over me with his baggy gym shorts and began the “massage.” It might have been the worst “massage” I’ve ever received, not just because his balls were continually lopping against the back of my head, but because he was touching me almost the same way a blind person touches someone’s face to find out what they look like, only much less gently. Moments later, he progressed to straight up poking different parts of my back with a few fingers at once. At this point all I could think to myself was, “shit what do I do to make this stop?!” If he was this bad at regular massage, there’s no way he could be any good at Tantric massage.
He proceeded to retrieve some “massage oil” from his backpack. This impressive accessory was actually just some essential oil from Whole Foods. I think it was lilac, or lavender, one of those “L” oils. He put a healthy dose on his hands and proceeded straight into my vagina. He fingered it roughly as though we hit the skip button on a bad porn and went from the beginning straight to the part where they’re trying to make the girl squirt. Though I’ve never had one before, something told me…THIS WAS NOT A TANTRIC MASSAGE!!! This wasn’t even good fingering.