Just once, one fucking time, I'd like a client to come right out and ask me for a happy ending. So that I could have the satisfaction of giving him the thorough, verbal smack-down he so richly deserves and could legitimately and with full justification end the massage right then and there.
Instead, I get the slimy, sneaky ones. The clients who hint and allude and tease. The ones I'd like to punch right in the face. Or the groin.
And there's nothing I can do about it. Because if I say anything, they'll protest their innocence and make me out to be some kind of paranoid prima donna.
Bastards, albeit clever ones.