My wife’s name is Maria. She speaks with a slight accent, but not much; just enough to make her seem exotic. She was born in America, but she actually likes to let people think she is from somewhere else. She enjoys keeping people, especially men, guessing. Her skin is naturally a nice bronze color, and she doesn’t bother tanning at all. She thinks it’s funny that other women are always trying to get their skin to look like hers. She is 5 feet 1 inch tall, and weighs less than 100 pounds. She has long dark brown hair, down to her waist. She is strong for her size, with a very firm little butt, and her breasts are a wonderful mouthful. She used to just trim her pubic hair short, but a few years ago she began waxing it. She hates doing it, but the result is so nice and smooth she keeps it waxed now.
She trained as a masseuse when she was young, and started working professionally as a masseuse soon after she turned 19. It’s true these days she calls herself a massage therapist, but when she first started she called herself a masseuse. She thought the exotic sound of being a masseuse matched her exotic looks and speech, but, sadly, too many men assume masseuses are prostitutes, so she took up using the therapist title. So, her first job was working for a gym, giving massages to members. She did have to gently fend off a few advances in her first job. After all, she is beautiful and very sexy. But the place she worked was obviously not a front for prostitution, so men who were looking for sex for hire didn’t go there. They actually just wanted massages. There were several women who wanted massages, too, but Maria says most of her clients were men.
A few years later we moved to another city, and Maria found another job as a massage therapist. She went to the interview, then came home and said she needed to talk to me about the job. They offered her a job, but she said the place obviously wasn’t only about massages. She told me she had talked with the girl who interviewed her, who was named Nancy, and told Nancy she wouldn’t be doing anything but giving massages. Nancy told her that would be fine, but Maria would need to wear the costume they all wore, and turn out for the lineup each time a customer came in, unless she was giving a massage. To Maria and I this sounds very much like what we heard cat houses were like, and it certainly didn’t sound like legitimate massage therapy. In any case, Maria wanted to work, and thought it might be fun to try working in such a salon, even if she quit soon.
The reason she had to speak with me before taking the job was because Nancy said I had to see the uniform she would be wearing and tell Nancy it was OK for Maria to work in it before she would hire my wife. So I had to go in, and view the lineup for myself. It was rather fun. The girls knew I wasn’t a prospective customer, but lined up for a few seconds before going their own ways. For her last job Maria had worn a nurses outfit. The uniform these girls wore was similar, in that it consisted of a nurses uniform top, but they weren’t wearing the uniform pants. I was pretty sure I caught a glimpse of little pairs of panties under those tops.
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