Drill Bill

Someone’s Getting Fucked…

Let me start off by saying something.

The vast majority of the gentlemen who walk through the doors of these studios are exactly that…

Gentlemen.

They’re kind.

Respectful.

Polite.

Some are lonely.

Some are grieving.

Some just need someone to talk to for an hour.

Then…

There are the others.

The ones that end up in stories like this.

So this particular day started like any other day at the studio.

A gentleman walks in asking about services.

Nothing weird.

Nothing alarming.

Just your average client asking about massages.

Or so I thought.

He must’ve asked a hundred questions.

How long is this?

What’s included?

Can I use the Jacuzzi?

Can I do this?

Can I do that?

Eventually he decides he wants a Jacuzzi massage with me.

Perfect.

Off we go.

I walk him into the Jacuzzi room and start filling the tub.

He hands me the money.

I count it.

Then count it again.

There was about two hundred dollars too much.

So I looked at him and said,

“Hey… there’s too much money here.”

He slowly looked up at me…

Smiled…

And in the creepiest voice imaginable whispered,

“I’d fuck me.”

…

Great.

Just fucking great.

I’m about to spend an hour in a Jacuzzi room with Buffalo Bill.

“It puts the lotion in the basket…”

Forget the basket.

Where’s the hose?

Yep.

It was going to be one of those massages.

So I left the room to heat up my oil.

And while I’m standing there waiting, I’m giving myself a little motivational speech.

“He’s weird…”

“But you’ve dealt with weird before.”

“You got this.”

Deep breath.

Game face.

I walk back into the room fully expecting to find him putting on lipstick or dancing with his skin suit.

Instead…

He’s just lying there on the massage table.

Perfectly normal.

Well…

As normal as Buffalo Bill can possibly look.

I start the massage.

You know…

The usual small talk.

“So… are you from around here?”

Nothing.

“What do you do for fun?”

Nothing.

Not even a nod.

“Alright…”

“Guess he’s the quiet type.”

Nope.

Then I hear him mumble something.

“Sorry?”

He mumbles again.

Still can’t understand him.

So I change the subject.

“Would you like to massage me or would you rather get into the Jacuzzi?”

He says,

“Massage me.”

Perfect.

He gets off the table.

I climb on.

And that’s when he says it again.

Only this time…

I hear him.

Clear as day.

“Someone’s going to get fucked.”

…

Excuse me?

A few moments later…

Again.

“Someone’s going to get fucked.”

And again.

“Someone’s going to get fucked.”

Over…

And over…

And over.

For the next twenty minutes.

The longest twenty minutes of my life.

All while I’m trying to gracefully peel this human octopus off of me.

Normally?

I can laugh this stuff off.

Redirect it.

Turn it into a joke.

Stay playful.

Stay sexy.

Defuse the situation.

This time?

Nope.

Buffalo Bill finally broke me.

Now…

Before your imagination gets ahead of itself…

No.

I didn’t punch him.

I’d already used that move in another story.

Here’s what actually happened.

I politely asked,

“Do you mind if I step out for just a moment?”

He nodded.

I walked into the hallway.

Opened my locker.

And immediately started throwing everything onto the floor.

One of the other girls hears the commotion and walks over.

She just stands there watching me silently empty my locker while I keep muttering,

“Someone’s getting fucked…”

“Someone’s getting fucked…”

Then…

I found it.

The Holy Grail.

Literally.

And figuratively.

My giant fluorescent pink strap-on.

There I was…

Standing completely naked…

In the middle of the hallway…

Strapping on a fluorescent pink dick.

Go ahead.

Picture it.

I’ll wait.

I told you…

I was having a bad day.

I turned around…

Marched straight back to the Jacuzzi room…

Swung the door open…

Stood proudly in the doorway…

Looked him dead in the eyes…

And loudly announced,

“SOMEONE’S GOING TO GET FUCKED!”

The transformation on this man’s face…

Instant.

Pure.

Absolute.

Terror.

Turns out…

Buffalo Bill was not a submissive.

Not even a little.

This six-foot woman standing naked in a doorway wearing an eight-inch fluorescent pink strap-on was apparently not the fantasy he’d been picturing.

He backed himself so far up that massage table I swear his ass cheeks nearly merged with the wall.

It looked like his butthole was trying to file a restraining order.

Meanwhile…

The two girls standing behind me in the hallway are laughing so hard they’re crying.

Yep.

Tasha had officially lost her fucking mind.

With every muscle in his body visibly clenched, he finally managed to squeak out,

“No… that’s not what I meant.”

To which I replied,

“Perfect.”

“Then can we stop with the ‘someone’s getting fucked’ shit?”

“Because if someone’s getting fucked…”

“It’s not gonna be me.”

He nodded.

Immediately.

I stepped out of the strap-on…

Dropped it beside my locker…

Walked back into the room…

Closed the door…

And we finished the rest of the massage in complete silence.

Not one word.

Honestly…

It was probably the most peaceful twenty minutes of the entire appointment.

Now…

I’m not saying that’s the proper way to handle every awkward client.

It’s definitely not.

But respect goes both ways.

And sometimes…

People need a reminder where the line is.

The funny part?

Good old Buffalo Bill stayed a client for years afterward.

He never booked with me again…

Can’t imagine why…

But to this day I’ve never heard another girl complain that he was disrespectful.

Apparently one giant fluorescent pink strap-on was all the customer service training he ever needed.