Star Jones and Yes I’m Serious/Client Stories

PIGI am beyond proud to admit that I had no idea who Star Jones was when it was announced she was getting services at the spa in Trump Tower.  I mean I knew the name but it wasn’t attached to anything and in hindsight, I wish it weren’t.

I could start by telling you that she was an asshole shitpig but you may want to learn something new here today.  So here it is.

After undressing in the room (and we being grateful for that small gift), the therapist entered to find all of her clothes strewn carelessly on the floor while there was a perfectly capable chair and wall hooks for such things.
However, compared to the highlight of this story, this is minor and you and your mom are gonna wish I ended here.  As if…

She was getting a mani/pedi obviously overjoyed at the appreciation of finally being able to see her own feet.  She had recently gotten gastric bypass surgery and had lost some weight.  I know little about this procedure but here’s where common sense would kick in if any were owned.

If I had to guess, I would think you need to monitor how much food you eat after such a procedure.
Guess who didn’t share that theory?
The person who ate too much, threw up in her plate, and handed it to the spa attendant to take care of.

This. happened.




FB & The Not Really Dead Girl/Client Stories


I put many people to sleep during their massages. It’s actually one of the biggest compliments to accomplish that.

This however was different.

I finished the massage, placed my hand on her shoulder and said “Ok, so and so, you’re all set.”
No movement.
I gently shook her under the assumption that she’d fallen asleep.
No movement.
I started to panic.
I ran into the next room and asked the other therapist what to do. She thought she would add to my panic by telling me the client could have gone into diabetic shock which can lead to coma or death.
Great – there goes my tip.

I remembered that she came in with a friend who I was really hoping wasn’t dead too because I needed some help here.
She was in the sauna and I calmly walked in and told her that I was having trouble waking her friend up.
She laughed and said “Oh it’s fine, she took a Xanax before the massage.”
I asked her if she could please go and get her jackass friend off my table (said the person who once took a sleeping pill before a meditation class and let the instructor believe she was that good.)

Idiots. The lot of us.


FB & the Jolly Rancher/Client Stories


Last night’s, last minute, 8pm booking (we close at 9 and usually prepare to get ready to leave at 4 so these clients are way at the top of the list of most wanted dead).
It was a female request/deep tissue massage (second on that very same list).

My contempt and I went to pick up Lucas for his session;
a stocky, tattooed, demanding fellow.

“Lucas, what would you like me to concentrate on?”

Upper Back
Lower Back
Just all over…

“Lucas, I need you to let me know what needs the most work; we only have an hour.”

He replies –

Upper Back
Lower back
All over
in other words Lucas was a complete jackass.

Oh and go as deep as possible. I can take it. I’ll let you know if you are hurting me.
Me: “Ok, wait, let me go home and get my All-Clad frying pan and smash you in the face with it and you let me know when I’m hurting you.”

His back feels like set concrete.
I decided to just beat the shit out of him, throwing any safe new deep-tissue techniques I just learned, in the garbage for the hour.
I was going so deep, the table was crying…

Then there was silence. Thank god, the beast fell asleep.
I turned him over. Winter had ended and hibernation was close to a finish.

He asked me if I’ve ever tried using a tincture of cannibis.
I couldn’t understand him, so I went up to his head and asked him what he was talking about.

It was then, I smelled, what, I could only imagine, was 2 bottles of  long gone whiskey.

He began talking about putting liquid cannibis into candy. Making cannibis Jolly Ranchers.
He then, put his clasped hands behind his head and started talking, in depth, about hard drugs and different ways of using them, etc.
I didn’t know whether to finish the massage or ask him for a Jolly Rancher.
I went through the motions of working on his legs, while he chatted about every type of drug on the planet (all the while I was trying to conjure up a magic spell
to cause him to spontaneously burst into flames along with the spa).

Thank god, the other therapist, who was lucky enough to have his ‘friend’ (a thin, weird, sparkly eye make-up wearing girl, who could have been a stand in for ‘Columbia’ in the “Rocky Horror Picture Show”) shook my curtain, letting me know the dread was over and I said, “Oh, it seems like your girlfriend is done, our session is over.”

When I went up to the front desk to alert them of my client’s state, the receptionist said, “Oh yeah, he was totally jacked-up.”

I guess they didn’t feel as if  I would have benefited from that information.

Eating Pussy & the 90 Minute Deep Tissue Massage/Client Stories


I found the most wonderful old email that I sent to MJ and can’t believe I’ve waited this long to share it.

My first client’s name was Ivan.

I massaged him last week and he returned for a 90 minute session to help with his tennis elbow. Seemed like a really nice guy.
I start working on him and he ‘gently’ asks if he can ask me a personal question.
I tell him the more personal, the better.
Well, as I was knee deep into a detailed conversation on my views on eating pussy and
how repulsive I found the idea of it, he reminded me that if I ever had a threesome or even
an experience with a girl, chances were that I would be put (literally) in a position to eat some pussy.
That was the tame part of the 90 minute sex therapy session.
He told me that he’s only gotten off 4 times during blow jobs because he is so well endowed that a girl can barely get her mouth around it without using her teeth (ears perk up).
His ex-wife was a virgin and has never even masturbated. The only way he could
loosen her up to have good sex was to stick his chin in her ass while in the 69 position.
If I could repeat that last line a hundred thousand times, I would.
All of a sudden it seemed as if his tennis elbow was cured or he completely forgot that
he’s ever played tennis in his life.
He likes older women because they are more comfortable & confident about their
bodies and are more open to trying new things.
He asked me what gives me pleasure, and as I was giving him explicit details of my
sexual preferences I asked him if he was a secret shopper and was going to report me to the spa director.
We talked about herpes and why some women smell like fish (if they’ve had sex with another
man and his sperm is still inside her the chemicals (or whatever) from the sperm create a fishy
And you didn’t think you would learn something new here today.
We talked about fetishes and how one girl wanted him to rape her. He declined. He knew that
there was always that chance that she would report him to the police.
We talked about squirters and I told him about the vomit inducing video you sent me. He said
he’s had a squirter and some girls can make themselves squirt but he doesn’t care for it either.
I’m going to stop typing squirter now.
He said that he could masturbate without watching porn if he thought about any girl, even a girl
he saw standing on line at Starbucks.
He asked me if I liked when men talked to me during sex. I have intentionally deleted part of this conversation.
It’s nice to leave some things to the imagination.
He is loaded. I mean filthy rich but does not feel successful because he is not married with kids and
really wants that.
He held my hand after the session and told me that if I didn’t have a boyfriend he would love to take me out.
I paused (no I didn’t).
I noticed that he was intentionally trying to leap off the table naked while i was leaving the room. No doubt to show me his much talked about tremendous cock.
the end.
(yes, he gave me his email address)
(yes, i looked him up and he does make a shit load of money in the mining business)
MJ’s response : “So, when will you be the guest speaker during the ethics class at our massage school?”

FB & the Stupid Big Fat Tits/Client Stories


I’m fairly competent at problem solving.  I think it’s a mom thing.  You always have to be ‘on’ because you never know what’s around the corner.  That’s why moms have pocketbooks that would challenge Monty Hall.  I carry Starbuck’s instant coffee, raw brown sugar, ginger tea, Emergen-C, xanax, tylenol, hand sanitizer, tissues and band-aids. That’s just in one pocket.  The other pockets hold weapons and clean underwear.

Point please.

I had a client last night who took me to my last nerve.  I honestly didn’t know what to do.  Pretending to be deaf and/or claiming English as my second language were options considered.

Lots of fucking idiots come in soon after they get breast implants and explain that it hurts to lay face down on the table knowing more than damn well they will, at some point, be asked to lay face down on the table.
Yes, I can work on them side-lying.  Yes, I can work on them face-up; however, this girl wanted me to go really deep on her back without pressing on her back.
She knew what she was asking and even after witnessing the confusion on my face showed no concern at all.  It was clear it would be my fault if this wasn’t achieved somehow.  It was like asking someone to bake a cake without ingredients. Or a pan.

So I baked the shit out of that cake.  While she had the drape over her eyes, I ran out of the room and asked someone to grab me a medium towel that I could roll up and place under her shoulders so she could lie face down taking pressure off of her stupid big fat tits and I elbowed the fucking fuck out of her lower back.  Anger unleashed.

I actually owned pride for about 2 minutes.  I was almost finished with the massage when she said – again – could you work on my upper back deep without pressing hard on my back?

Good luck finding her body.

My absolute favorite client story ever: MJ and the Red Hot Faggot (not what you think)


I wish to god this was my story but sadly another therapist got the pleasure of experiencing this holy shit…

A few weeks ago I took part in a couple’s massage on an annoying young male gay couple (I’m mentioning this just so you can picture the scene. I’ve worked on PLENTY of annoying straight couples). I knew I was in trouble even before the massage started when I was in the changing room taking a leak and I spied a tall, skinny, long-haired, 20-something tattooed white guy in there singing loudly to himself while he brushed his gorgeous locks away from his face. I just knew, KNEW this guy would be one half of the couple. Unfortunately, I was right. For the massage, my client was a smaller Filipino guy and a total stress case. He was the yin to the other’s yang. Short-haired, uptight and in charge. The other therapist had the “free spirit”. They were saying the usual annoying couple’s shit to each other during the massage like, “How are you doing, babe? Good, babe. And you?” and “I love you, baby! I love you, too, baby.” And they discussed work constantly. I’m pretty sure they were caterers from LA based on their conversation. They were talking shit about everyone. But, whatever. When you hear this drivel you usually just roll your eyes at the other therapist and move on. However halfway through the massage, after the other therapist had the long haired client turn over onto his back, I noticed out of the corner of my eye a red glow coming from his direction. I looked over to see what the hell it was and almost stopped my massage in shock. He was smoking a cigarette. In over five years of massage I’ve seen some pretty freaky shit, but this blew my mind. I was going to say something after I calmed down, but when I didn’t smell any smoke I soon realized it was an e-cigarette. Since it wasn’t annoying to ME and there was no apparent fire hazard, I let it pass and we finished the massage, during which he took a few more puffs. Of course, after they left, the other therapist and I immediately started cracking up. She said that he was also smoking while he was face down. She could see the red glow coming from underneath the face cradle. She freaked out before she realized what it was. We couldn’t believe the guy wasn’t able to stop smoking for a FUCKING HOUR.

The YELP Cruise and the Hate Convoy.


I honestly believed this was going to be a fun event to work, simply because it was on a boat.
I am now learning that when the manager uses the term ‘great opportunity’ and/or ‘fun’, it is code for ‘no one else wants to work these events so I’m going to make them seem appealing to the suckers that are new to this company.’

That. Would be. Me.

It would be similar to working at Six Flags Great Adventure.  Cleaning up vomit on The Runaway Train doesn’t make it a better job just because you’re working in an amusement park.

Yelpers are the thoroughly sad community of people with no respect for proper grammar or spelling, looking for a platform to voice their ‘nobody gives a shit about’ opinions but not brave or talented enough to go anywhere else with it.

So it was a boat full of those people with an open bar and free food.  And I had to touch them – for hours and hours. One creepy guy gave me a $3 tip but I was afraid he took the money from his mom’s sock. That she was wearing. After he brutally raped and murdered her. Twice.

I wanted to cry but my tears were too tired, angry and resentful to fall.  So instead I worked non-stop without food or a bathroom break and waited until I was done and standing with my stupid chair hailing a cab in the unbelievably freezing cold on the West Side Highway to smoke as many cigarettes as it took to feel lung cancer set in.


The cab driver took away some of the pain when he told me I looked like I was in my thirties.
So I blew him. A lot.

FB & the god damn bells/Client Stories


My shift was awesome; which gently translates to ‘it sucked ass through a straw’.

4 clients:

1- sick & coughing and thought it was amusing.

2- 14 years old; wasn’t legally supposed to be on my table without pubic hair but of course was.

3-  one who waited till the last two minutes to tell me I can go deeper (because there wasn’t enough opportunity in the 58 minutes prior).

4- read below.

so score.

You gotta know where the session is going if, when picking up your clients in the lounge, they are already miserable. It’s a pretty sure tell.

It was a couple’s massage and I was initially thrilled that I got the female because her husband was pretty massive (and not in a way that would have benefited me in any way).
She was one of those small, uptight city girls who works out a lot and definitely doesn’t swallow.
30 minutes into the massage, after I had already worked on her back and one leg (and placed a warm, scented pillow on her neck), she sits up abruptly like a character in a Japanese horror movie and says “Stop. I can’t do this. I’m too anxious and I can’t relax”.   I gave her a robe and she left the room.  Of course her husband didn’t flinch because I am sure he was used to this erratic behavior and was probably thrilled that she was gone.
Outside the room I asked if she was ok. She said the music was too weird and the bells were freaking her out. I brought to her attention the fact that she could have mentioned it and I would have turned the music off. But then she would have had nothing to bitch about and that’s what this was all about.

She was so upset after her ‘traumatizing’ experience with the ‘weird’ music that she couldn’t even wait upstairs in the spa for her husband to finish his massage.
Upon checking out her husband asked the receptionist if his shrew (my word but he was thinking it) had left me a tip.  He was ready to leave me $20 on his credit card but anticipated the verbal bashing he would no doubt receive. He went downstairs to both retrieve his balls and a $5 tip from her purse; because it was my fault that she didn’t like the locker rooms and I was the friggin’ musical coordinator for the spa.

God damn bells owe me $15.

FB & Liv’s Mom/Client Stories


Wouldn’t have known her from a cedar chest in my grandma’s attic.
Her name on my work schedule read like a new character in the most boring story ever told.
She could have easily answered to ‘the bitch who’s about to fuck my day into slabs of shit’.

Here’s what happens when you come late to your appointment, on a weekend, when the spa is booked rock-hard.
I know it seems awfully likely that the spa was built that day just for you.  And anyone else in your vicinity was put there merely to serve you.
You’d be wrong.

This was your treatment schedule:
4:00-5:00 – massage
5:15-6:15- facial

Arriving at 4:40 and demanding your entire massage time…doesn’t really work. For anyfuckingone.
I had another client at 5:15.
And the esthetician had another facial at 6:30.
Should we have pushed the entire spa schedule back 50 minutes and fucked everyone in the eye just to accommodate you?

But as nasty a puss as you were, this was what kicked me in the teeth the hardest:
Clients blow their noses all the time during massages. It’s normal.
What’s not normal is throwing the used tissues on the floor during and after the massage.
Were you ‘raised’ in a box on the street?
Was your mother a beaver or some kind of farm animal?

I’m sorry you’re not hot anymore. And sweet jesus, you were.  Sucks for you.
No reason to treat me like shit because of it.  I had nothing to do with it.

I originally wrote that celebrities make the worst clients, but that would be flattering in some way when the truth is:
there aren’t many places Steven Tyler’s dick hasn’t been. Congrats on that huge achievement, Bebe. Hold on to it.  Tight.


Careful with that thing – you’re gonna poke someone’s eye out/Client stories


someone peed in the spa sauna today.

they did.

i don’t know why.

i want to be more surprised because that would mean it was rare and unusual behavior but when i worked at Barnes & Noble, a guy peed on the floor in the Antiques & Collectibles section.

please stop it or you’re gonna leave me no choice but to take them away from you.