As I wrote last time, I was a flunky at a massage parlor in Santa Cruz, California back in 1974. I also slept there about half the time and spent a fair amount of time there, which gave me a chance to get to know the ‘masseuses.’
The prettiest one there, in my opinion, was Jan. In her mid 20s, long dark hair, slim and with a borderline beautiful face. She was from a well to do family in Washington State and rather ‘classy,’ although you had to overlook the fact that she didn’t shave her legs and the hair there was also long and dark. Jan was a heroin addict. My most vivid memory of Jan was one night when she came to work right after getting high, and I can still picture her nodding off and on sitting on the couch.
At the other end of the spectrum was Terri. She wasn’t bad looking, but wasn’t a beauty either. Tall and slim with dusky skin and pale eyes, she was a little older than Jan, maybe early 30s. Like Jan, she was an addict. Unlike Jan, she had a trailer park vibe and actually DID live in a trailer. I remember her dirty fingernails and how she once said that if you put ketchup on soda crackers, it’s almost like tomato soup.
Gerri was a hippie type, and we had a mutual attraction that I was too stupid to pursue. She had no drug problem, as far as I knew. Maybe she smoked weed. She had wavy blondish hair and wore granny glasses. I remember she used to paint water colors out of a little paint box to pass the time.
Then there was Mona, a little natural redhead with a charming personality and a husband with a big monkey on his back. She was originally from West Virginia, though her accent was more middle-America. She formerly worked as a substitute school teacher back in West Virginny. I thought she was cute and charming, but Al, the boss, REALLY had the hots for her. But she wasn’t going for it. Al gave me his old car when he got a newer one, and I gave Mona my old 60 Ford Fairlane that leaked both oil and transmission fluid. The front seat springs were shot, so she got a sofa cushion to sit up high enough to see.
Last of all was Christy. She was another small girl, blondish, who wore a lot of makeup and unlike the other girls, loved to go ‘all the way’ with her customers. She did pretty good business, but men are always on the lookout for something new, and a topless hand job from a fresh body appealed to some more than a full service from a known quantity.
They would all be over 65 now, assuming they lived that long. I have my doubts about Terri and Jan. Mona too, though I have some hope. Christy might have found a way to capitalize on her ‘assets.’ Gerri is probably a great grandmother by now. But I will never know for sure about any of them. Such is life.