I think I'm the only person in the world who has "accidentally" visited a brothel. I appreciate how ridiculous that sounds, but this is all true. I am that stupid.

It started innocently enough; I'd noticed a new Chinese massage place had opened near my bank. I'd just had my nails done. I felt a bit low, I figured I deserved a treat. I went to go see if it had a price list, and to see if I had to pre-book. I like massages. 

I think it's a point in my favour that they had some printed price lists next to the door. What brothel has a price list? (Well, maybe all of them, I'm hardly an enthusiast.) I skimmed it, didn't really understand it, so went inside. I remember thinking they had unusual opening hours, because one handwritten sign said "OPEN LATE" and the printed price list said 10pm. How handy, I thought.

I got inside. There was a clean, simple waiting area with a young male receptionist. He looked up at me and seemed panicked. 

"Hello!" I said. "Do I need to make an appointment, or can I just walk in? I don't mind waiting."

"You... You want massage?" His English wasn't incredible. He was younger than me. I smiled at him, trying to make him feel at ease.

"Yes please!"

"You... You want massage here? In waiting room? Or, or, private massage. In room. On bed?"

I take a better look at the price list. There's a list of prices for "chair" massages, which I presume are the ones in the waiting area, then there was a list of prices for "private" massages. Then a further list of prices for "VIP private" massages. The price jumped up significantly.

I didn't twig.

"Yes, on a bed!" I pointed at the price for 20minutes. "That one."

He seemed flustered, and went into a back room. He returned with a smirking elderly woman with wiry arms, who ushered me into another room. It was pretty bare; a massage table on either side, and a sink in the corner. 

There was a language barrier. I couldn't really understand her. She pointed at the sink, and told me to "wash myself." She pointed at one bed and said something about my clothes, then she left.

It was then that I realised this might not be the quaint, family owned therapeutic massage business I'd originally envisioned. I am not ashamed to say I panicked.

I kept my clothes on. I... I didn't wash myself, because I honestly didn't know where she wanted me to wash. I laid down and tried to figure out how to politely decline sex with a woman I'd already paid, and couldn't. In the most British moment of my entire existence, I decided I'd have to sleep with her, because I couldn't figure out how to get out of it politely. 

The woman came back. My heart was beating so fast. Was I in a brothel? Was she about to do something sexy? What if she wasn't, but I presumed she was, and really offended her? Does this happen to massage therapists all the time?Then she climbed on my back, straddled me, and started jabbing me with her elbows. Hard. I had no idea what to do, so I was a good masochist, gritted my teeth and concentrated on surviving.

At was at this point that my assailant put her mouth next to my ear, and in a very loud, slightly gleeful voice, decided to make conversation.


"It's ok," I said, my voice breaking slightly as she started using her bony knees to assault the small of my back. "Maybe... Maybe a bit softer? Please?"

I think at this point she took pity on me. She climbed off me, and used slightly less of her elbows. "I have special treat for you," she said gleefully. "Extra 10 minutes!"

And so, I endured a full half hour of her bony abuse. Thankfully, she didn't try and touch my underwear parts at all. I was very relieved about this, and almost relaxed towards the end, until she mounted me one final time, and put her lips next to my ear.

"I AM LINDA," she announced.

"Erm, hello Linda."

"What is your name? My name is Linda," she said.


"Hello Vickie. My name is Linda." She pushes her knee into my spine. "Next time you come Vickie, you will have one hour session. With Linda. Ask for Linda. A whole hour."

A murmur something I hope sounds positive. She slaps my arse, then leaves. I throw on my clothes, and run. Then tell my friends, and they laugh. And laugh. And laugh.

Since that distressing day, I have done a little research on that business. It would appear that yes, I did go to a rub-and-tug shop. Yes, a "VIP Private Massage" is exactly what I presumed. Yes, Linda probably had a good laugh at me.

My shoulders did feel incredible afterwards though, so I'll give her that.

1 Response to "How I accidentally visited a rub-and-tug shop"

  1. Anonymous Says:

    HAHAHA! Girl, you kerazeeeeee! You're soooo, kooky, only you, eh?!

    More contrived bollocks from the world's biggest narcissist. Twat.

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