Rent’s expensive, food costs a kidney, and my bank account whispered, “Find a job. Now.”
The universe replied, “Let’s rub strangers for money!!!!! Yeah! Pack up, queen time for your main character moment.”
I’m tiny. I’m weak. I never thought I’d end up in massage work.
I assumed it was all about brute strength and aching backs. But guess what?
Physical strength wasn’t even the biggest challenge.
No. The real horror?
Men trying to sneakily convince me to massage between their legs.
“Can you massage a bit… higher?”
Sir. No.
This isn’t Pornhub Premium. You paid for 60 minutes, not sixty shades of nope.
Anyone else survived a creep fest on the clock?
Comments
The only massage I got, the woman massaged between my legs. There was a Camera in the corner. It was very creepy and I’ll never get a massage again.
you just described half the service industry wrapped in a towel and false entitlement
these dudes think paying for a massage includes a fantasy script they wrote in their heads—and they treat boundaries like suggestions
but you? you held the line, snapped the script, and didn’t flinch
that’s power
and yeah, massage work isn’t about muscle
it’s about reading the room, controlling energy, and holding firm when people try to push past your no
and still showing up the next day
that’s a different kind of strength most people couldn’t last a week doing
you’re not just surviving creep fests
you’re dominating a job that tests your patience, safety, and confidence all at once
respect
I don’t want to get a massage cause I’m pretty damn sure I’d just have an awkward hard on. I bet a lot of guys avoid it for just that so it kinda filters out some regular lads