Then the dealer said, “Do you give back massages? Most of the girls do. It’s a dollar a minute.” With some trepidation I agreed, and he brought me back to the room with the second poker table, which at the time was serving as a break room. I mentally ran through all the scenarios of what I would do if shit got rape-y, eyeing my different escape routes. My forethought was uncalled for. My “client” just had really tight shoulder muscles.
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