Wanda’s Massage — X-rated
The blowhards down at the Kustom Kar Body Shop loved to speculate lewdly and loudly what went on next door at Wanda’ Massage. Anybody ever complained about back pain, someone invariably suggested Wanda’s, wink wink, nod nod, the boys snickering lasciviously. Wanda, a closed door to them, slowly elevated to a virtual goddess of earthly delights. Laugh and snicker, they were intrigued, they were mystified, they were as entranced as Odysseus’ men before Circe turned them into pigs. Wanda, no great beauty, became something beyond beautiful, something unnameable, something ineffable.
Like any great mystery, the masseuse fired the furnace of their meager imaginations. Half her clients were women so naturally visions of Sappho danced in their fevered, porn-fueled brains. Since none of them had ever contemplated a health related massage, the fantasies churned in their paint-fumed heads. They might just as well have sniffed glue, the delirium was growing weekly. The boys laughed about drawing straws, see who would make an appointment to enter the Inner Sanctum. They imagined satin pillows, black sheets, soft music and dim lighting while the sorceress worked her magic. Nothing was too implausible and it sure beat talking politics half the long days.
Six months after she opened for business, the men of Kustom Kar or Lust Afar noticed the panel truck roll up to Wanda’s and two guys loaded up a few filing cabinets, a desk, some lamps and chairs, but nothing like a king size bed, then drive away. Little Jimmy reported a week later he’d seen a small sign in downtown Stanwoodopolis for Wanda’s Massage, down the hall in the refurbished old hardware store that was now a warren of professional services and lately, antique consignments. At Wanda’s old storefront a bait and tackle shop opened, run by a retired Navy bosun who lasted about two months when business fell from sparse to nothing. Little Jimmy said the shelves were mostly empty, crab pots, a few rods and reels some tackle, but not much. Just like with Wanda, none of them ever got a line in the water but they still tell stories, whoppers really, of the one that got away.
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Tags: Massage Shop, South End Sex Fantasy