Page 2 of All I Wank for Christmas

“What kind of services do you do to help?” the man asks, clasping his hands over his stomach and staring at the ceiling. “I’m desperate. My wife has given up all hope.”

One ofthoseguys. I see a lot of the guys that use a little blue pill. Either that, or they need a twenty-four-year-old woman in high heels and a short skirt to get hard. That’s where I come in.

“I’ll fix you right as rain, sir,” I say, propping a pillow under his knees. “It was nice of your friend to give you a gift card for my services.”

“My wife bought it for me.”

Huh. That’s a little unorthodox. Most wives don’t want their husbands coming here. Maybe his wife likes the idea of him fucking around with someone else and then coming home to her and telling her about it? I get that once or twice a month. One client likes to record the session and stream it to his wife.

Whatever. I don’t kink shame.

“Where would you like me to focus?”

He waves his hands over his torso and down to his thighs. “On the problem.”

“Of course.”

I snap on some gloves, and he eyes me warily. “Is that necessary?” he asks.

“Oh, yes. Things can get messy, and we are safe and sanitary at The Happy Stroke Club.”

“Well, I guess that’s fine,” he says, chewing on his lip. “Will this hurt?”

What kind of sadist has been handling his skin flute? This man clearly needs me, and I should have his wife come in for a lesson or something. “No, sir. I think you’ll find the treatment most pleasant.”

He relaxes and closes his eyes, and I wonder if I should have him take his glasses off. Some guys are shooters and get it all over.

I unbutton my blouse until my cleavage shows. This increases tips, especially if they ask to palm my breasts while I finish them. The men feel like they owe me something extra then, and I’ve never had a problem with it. Nothing wrong with a little afternoon nipple flick.

“You can touch me if you like,” I whisper, massaging up the man’s legs on my way to his fly.

“Why would I touch you? I’m the one getting stroke care.”

“Fair enough,” I say. I move my hands from his knees and up his thighs.

When I get to his pants and start to unbutton them, he gasps and rolls to his side. He swipes my hands away and looks at me like I’ve hurt him. I instinctually step back, and my butt hits the counter behind me.

“What the hell are you doing, young lady? Are you trying to touch my pecker? What does this have to do with stroke care?”

Oh shit. The pieces come together like the last few missing pieces of a puzzle. This happens now and then, so it’s not a new situation, but I take my gloves off with a snap and throw them in the nearby metal can.

He looks at me with a look of revulsion and horror. “I don’t understand,” he mumbles.

“What did your wife tell you when she gave you the gift card?”

He squints and looks at the ceiling like he’s trying to remember. “Well, she said that she found a new place specializing in strokes. She thought it would help me since I had my stroke this past spring.”

I sigh and put my hands on my hips. I force my lips into a straight line. I don’t dare smile or laugh when this happens because that’s a sure way to set them off. “I’m sure The Happy Stroke Club name would be something a woman without knowledge of rub and tugs would think is a rehabilitation facility for stroke victims.”

“It’s not? What kind of place is this?” he asks, swinging his legs off the table and still looking at me with wide eyes.

“It’s the other kind of stroke club.” He looks at me blankly, and I pinch my nose. Some innocent folks are slower on the uptake. “Sir, we stroke dicks here.”

His mouth drops open and he looks around the room as if noticing that he’s in a massage parlor for the first time. He eyes the bottle of cleaner on the table and the box of rubber gloves by the sink. Slowly, he slinks off the table and looks back at it with a grimace, probably wondering if he should go home and wash his pants.

I keep my room as clean as possible, but he should probably run the pants through the hot cycle.

His hands shake, and I’m mildly worried he’ll have another stroke on my floor. I pat his arm. “Let me take you back up front and Linda One will refund the money for your wife’s gift card.”

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