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Massage and SPA services in Kuala Lumpur Malaysia

Susan and Tracy massage services

Susan and Tracy massage services

My reverie is broken by two massage ladies entering, whom Charles introduces as Susan and Tracy. Susan, in her late twenties, sports short hair that accentuates her oval face. She is togged up in a sleeveless top and a knee-length flared skirt, and wears mascara and cherry-red lipstick. Her waist is as slim as a wasp’s and her butt resembles that of a duck’s. No wonder Charles is her regular client. They engage in pleasantries for a while.

I smile at Susan. ‘What’re your unforgettable experiences working here?’

‘There was one man – I could not massage his body,’ she says, leaning back on the leather settee. ‘Every time I touched his chest, he would laugh hysterically, saying it was ticklish. When I tried to massage his thighs, he laughed until tears came. In the end I only massaged his arms, neck and head.

‘Then there was a Japanese man who was so lecherous. He touched my buttocks. Even tried to slip his hand under my skirt. When he repeated it a few times, I told the captain. He came in and told him that if he wanted sex, we would book a girl from a brothel outside for him. The Japanese man apologized and later gave me a tip.

‘Another bad experience was with a Saudi Arabian man. He popped in after midnight when we were about to close. I think he sneaked out of the hotel room after his wife had fallen asleep. He was wearing hotel-room slippers. Know what happened? During the massage, he ejaculated.’

‘That’s disgusting.’

‘Not disgusting, disappointing.’

‘Oh? How?’

‘No opportunity to earn handjob money already.’ Susan chuckles and covers her mouth with both hands.


Tracy escort story

Tracy escort story

Wearing a short skirt with pockets, Tracy, a twenty-three-year-old Sabahan, packs a 36-24-36 figure. A fair complexion, dimples and breasts as big as pomelos make it easy to see why men are tempted to sleep with her.

‘Tell me your interesting stories,’ I say, glancing at her.

Interesting clients of sex services.

She flips her long hair back. ‘My funniest customer was this young Indian guy wearing thick spectacles. I think that was his first time in a massage centre. When I came in, he was sitting on the bed. While I was spreading a sheet on the bed, he took off his shirt, singlet and pants. Then he wore our shorts over his briefs. He lay on the massage table, wearing his spectacles, until I told him to take them off. He was very shy and kept quiet during the massage.

‘I’ll never forget a white-haired Chinese man who could barely walk. He came in with a walking stick. Sixty-nine years old. With stroke already, he told me later. He took each step slowly as if each step was hurting him. Walks like this.’

She demonstrates by shuffling on the carpet, gimping along with one foot. ‘His ribs were visible. He’s so fragile, I thought. But after massaging him for a while, he was having an erection and asked me for sex. Must’ve taken Viagra already.’

‘Is sex available here?’

‘No, the management doesn’t allow any hanky-panky.’

The supervisor, wearing a bowtie with a sleek tuxedo vest, appears and engages banters briefly with Charles. ‘Hey, have a look around,’ Charles says to me. ‘Tony, my captain friend will give you a tour.’


Sauna girls services in Kuala Lumpur

Sauna girls services in Kuala Lumpur

The captain takes me to the locker area, which resembles the safe deposit section of a bank. A towel warmer cabinet with UV sterilizer stands in a strategic corner, bragging the high, hygienic standards practised. In the hot and cold jacuzzis, bubbling calming spritz makes ‘taking a bath’ a whole new experience. The gymnasium is outfitted with an elliptical trainer, back fly station, leg press station, abdominal crunch station, barbells and dumbbells. A cafe offers a spread of fried bee hoon, fried rice, porridge, curry mee, tea, coffee and Chinese tea. The dry sauna, a twenty-by thirty-foot oblong with a wooden interior, can accommodate eight customers.

‘The dry sauna dries up the moistures in your nose, mouth and throat. Not many people can sit in it for long,’ the supervisor says.

We pass the steam bath, another oblong structure with a tile interior, and proceed to a mini theatre, a facial room and massage rooms. The mini theatre has five rows of armchairs with headrests, while massage rooms are actually sections in a common hall separated by thick curtains. According to the captain, a customer pays RM70 to use the facilities, excluding message and facials, and can consume unlimited food and drinks.

After my tour, Charles and I head uptown to a health centre in a two-star hotel. On the way, he pops a pill into his mouth, pulls out a bottle of mineral water wedged between the front seats and drinks a mouthful. He wipes his lips with his handkerchief.

‘What’s that?’

Charles grins. ‘Prigily. Sex stimulant to enhance performance. Will last longer.’

The set-up of the health centre is simple: only massage rooms and no other facilities. The captain, a young man wearing an ear-ring, ushers us to a waiting room filled with the stink of cigarette smoke. A matronly woman enters and serves us Chinese tea. ‘Tiger beer,’ Charles says, pushing the glass of Chinese tea aside.


Full-service girls for englishman Charles

Full-service girls for englishman Charles

‘You want massage ladies or full-service girls?’ the captain asks.

‘Let’s see your full-service girls,’ Charles says.

Five masseuses troop in and stand in a row. The fair-skinned girl, garbed in a tight top, sucks in her stomach, sticks out her bottom and crosses her arms to squeeze her breasts together so they look bigger. A petite girl with bronzed skin and blond hair strikes a pose, looking over her shoulder and pouting. A tall lass, wearing a chunky necklace, puts one foot in front of the other, tilts her head, allowing her long hair to flow on one side, and her left hand daintily clutches her right upper arm. Two other girls stand straight and put their hands beside their body.

‘First girl from China, second girl is Indonesian, the rest are Thais.’

‘Price?’ I ask.

‘China girl, two hundred ringgit; Indonesian and Thai girls all same price, one hundred and sixty ringgit. Forty-five minutes is the time limit.’

‘Who’re your red numbers?’ Charles asks.

‘Our red numbers are working.’ The captain fishes out his mobile phone to display a photo of a busty woman with wavy hair and bee-stung lips. He thrusts the cell phone to us and says: ‘This is Abby, Malay girl, number five. Still got three more clients.’ He jabs a button and an image of a Chinese girl appears. Her large eyes with double eyelids and high nose are heart-stealers. ‘Number two, Karen. Very good service. But booked for the next four hours.’

Charles punches his fist into his left hand. ‘Bad luck.’ His face is red from the effects of the stimulant.

‘Actually, these five girls’re also good. No customers have complained.’

Again Charles inspects the girls who are getting restless. ‘Indonesian,’ he says, pointing to the petite girl with an upward jerk of his chin. He gets up and follows her.


Massage and SPA services in Kuala Lumpur Malaysia
Massage and SPA services in Kuala Lumpur Malaysia
Massage and SPA services in Kuala Lumpur Malaysia
Massage and SPA services in Kuala Lumpur Malaysia


My reverie is broken by two massage ladies entering, whom Charles introduces as Susan and Tracy. Susan, in her late twenties, sports short hair that accentuates her oval face. She is togged up in a sleeveless top and a knee-length flared skirt, and wears mascara and cherry-red lipstick.


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