Don't Get Stuck Swabbing The Skipper's Deck

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Hilarious article in yesterday’s Page Six Magazine about the supposedly newly thriving business of massage-cum-hand job. You probably didn’t see it because some of you live outside of New York (the free glossy insert, not available online, is only distributed regionally) and most of the local DealBreaker readers fancy themselves too good for the Post. That might be a fair assessment but in this particular case all the key elements (lunch breaks, bankers, money, HJs and a guy named Skip) are triggering the "too good to pass up" reflex. Plus, we could all use a good laugh at the expense of at least one married dude who laments the fact that the masseuses don’t hold him and ask him how his day was after he’s done. He’s starting to get the feeling it’s all about the money or something with these chicks!


Steven is a 28 year old “financial analyst” whose firm specializes in hedge funds (make no mistake, Steve works at Bear). Even though he went to Princeton, lives on the Upper East Side, “summers” in the Hamptons, and is described as attractive, Steven gets massages at places where they jerk you off! Is that not stunning? Were you not under the impression that these establishments were patronized exclusively by the unattractive, non-WASP state school grads of the city? I certainly was. Anyway, I’m thinking it’s going to be okay, because the way Stevie explains it, the reason his frequent user card has so many stamps of late is because of the combination of his busy schedule at Bear and the credit crunch, and in less stressful times, he wouldn’t be paying for this kind of stuff. Right now, though, he doesn’t have time for “traditional romance and courtship rituals” but what he does have a few hours for is his regularly scheduled weekly appointment, during lunch on Fridays, at his favorite Fulton Street parlor with “the cute Asian girls who giggle a lot.” Steve’s usual includes “a soapy table shower,�� followed by a massage, followed by the grand finale. Obviously you’re asking yourselves, who among us can take off that much time in the middle of the day? There are two possible answers here: either he manages all that in 25 minutes (entirely possible, given what Carney’s told us about Bear bankers—“None of them have any control!”) or Steven’s a senior risk officer at BSC and has plenty of time on his hands at all hours of the day. Actually, that position fits perfectly with his attention for meaningless detail. The ads claim "Japanese models," but Steve points out "90 percent of them are run by Koreans." No word yet on the plan to develop a "certified Japanese massage therapist" branding.
Kevin is a 29 year old NYSE trader/trend spotter who claims “massage parlors are the new strip clubs…where you go and just get frustrated.” To prove his point, just last week Kevin and a bunch of colleagues went to a MP for a bachelor party (must have been the ATA bankruptcy that kept the broheims from Vegas). “[We were] in separate rooms, of course!!!” he makes sure to add. Completely unrelated, just my mind wandering for a second: do you think Kevin is one of those guys who always insists that sex with a guy wouldn't be gay if it were about dominance, just, you know, to keep his options open in case getting drunk and accidentally blowing his best friend once a month starts to get old? Just asking. No need to get defensive or anything, we can drop it if you want. In fact, let’s do just that, because it’s time to talk about Skip, the most hilarious of the bunch.
Skip is a 36 year old lawyer specializing in “investments,” who’s married and has two kids. (We were relieved to discover that the magazine changed nary an identifying detail so as to protect the innocent, i.e., Skip is this guy’s real (nick)name, which sounds about right.) The Skipper’s been sailing in and out of massage parlors for two years and has become something of a regular, which means “you can get whatever you want.” Once in port, The Skipper spends money like a drunken sailor. For $100 in cash (The Skipper, who sounds really smart, would pay on a credit card but that “eats up five minutes” and that's not how The Skipper rolls pilots) you are stripped down, showered, and massaged for twenty minutes (just like prison). While you’re “getting a handy,” The Skipper says (and, btw, I deserve a medal for being able to type that line without peeing my pants in laughter), you can touch the girl free of charge, though you have to pay another 50 for oral and 50 on top of that for sex. Okay, moment of truth time: sometimes The Skipper leaves feeling a little sad. Don’t get him wrong, The Skipper thinks massage parlors are great, but, I don’t know, lately he’s just been feeling like the masseurs don’t care about him at all. “The only thing I hate about these places," and I don't know about you, but here I picture a wistful, misty Skipper, perhaps even with a tear forming in his eye, "is that when you’re done the girls shuffle you out real fast, like, ‘Next!'"
Page Six notes that the most popular parlors (frequented by the article’s subjects) are Oriental Bliss, Paradise on the Table, and Happy Ending Palace. They might do good work but the bottom line is that we simply won't allow our readers to patronize any establishment that hosts the likes of Steven, Kevin or The Skipper. So, please, take a few moments and put your reviews of alternative MPs in comments or send them to tips at dealbreaker dot com. Only you can prevent Skipper encounters. If you aren't careful, before you know it that guy you hear in the other room moaning and crying at the same time is you. We’ll put the results in an easy to use spreadsheet later on and send it out to anyone interested. Work e-mails only, please.

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