Bad News, everyone.

I Have Forman’s Condition

Have you heard of it?

Okay, so you caught me at a bad time.

I’m lying on this bed.

Well, not a bed exactly. Nobody sleeps here for God’s sake. I don’t think so anyway. It’s more of a platform. Let’s call it a massage platform, shall we? Cos yeah, this is one of those places. It’s one of those damn massage parlours where men go to get massaged routinely across their shoulders and a bit on their legs before the girl says something like,

Do you want me to finish you?

N yeah, it’s not the most romantic way to ask but most of the girls I’ve met in these places are in it square for the money. It’s not the kind of job where they would wake up in the morning and think,

Another fourteen wanks and I’m up for promotion.

So here I am.

We’re twenty-five minutes in. I’m done with the massage part and it was average as always. Now we’re at that humiliating part where she puts on a rubber glove like she’s a damn surgeon or something. Then she lubes up the fingers and starts wanking me off like she’s giving CPR to a dead worm.

It just won’t go hard today. The worm, I mean. But I’m old…