I was in Shanghai on business last week and had a number of pals pointing me in the direction of the Red Rope Lounge. At first I was keen, but as the week wore on, caught up in the ennui of another biz event and savage heat/pollution that turned simple strolls into ordeals, my ardor waned. I often have SNAFUs with mainland gals in any case, due to my poor language skills and their seemingly innate conviction that, as my pal T put it, “we ‘foreign-devils’ all have a redwood between our legs.”
Fortunately, all the devotees of this place ganged up on me. An SMS from Gordo, head-instigator of the Red Rope Revolution, simply read: “Rope. Rope. Rope.” I had no choice.
I’ll tell you exactly where it is: on the second floor of the Shanghai Hotel, in Shanghai, claro si claro no? It looks like any other sauna, but the sign has Japanese explication as well. My pal Doctor Salsa, who led me to the place, speaks to the manager in Putonghua (Mandarin), explains what package the gwailo wants, manager asks me if I can speak Chinese. Alas, no. He then says something in English, but I interject in Japanese that I can function in that language.
The manager busts into a grin and explodes in a torrent of fluent Japanese, nothing of substance is established except that he’s sorry my friend can’t join in the fun, I reiterate the sentiment, and as The Good Doctor bids adieu, I’m ushered into the sauna/massage area.
Even though I live in Hong Kong, I’ve never done the sauna/massage thing there. Those places are local, likely cramped for space, expensive, and no doubt smoky as hell. This place: lots of space, clean. I should note here that at places of this nature, which means that from beginning to end there will be a routine, just as there is a course-of-action in a Thai soapy. It’s not same-same Thailand freelancer/go-go girl where you can experiment and adapt. This is a service-establishment. Buy the ticket, take the ride.
I strip off and stick all my clothes (plus camera and condoms) in a locker and get a numbered wristband. Then, wearing nothing except a towel and plastic slippers, in we go. Life is made for new experiences, I remind myself, as a bunch of naked Chinese and Japanese guys stare at a naked tattooed foreign devil.
Shower station #1: sit down on a low round fixed-marble stool and lather up, hose down with a handheld. Then some guy who seems to be my minder leads me to a table and delivers a full-body mild-abrasive scrub. It’s kind of nice, and removes the layers of Shanghai pollution and sweat on my skin, but in light of later events, it wasn’t necessary.
After the scrub it’s Shower #2, standing up this time at a different station. I’m squeaky clean.
They have shorts and a top that fit and I’m shown into the recliner-chair room and offered a free drink. Can’t communicate with the drink-server but the guy in the next chair translates, turns out to speak good English and I end up conversing with him quite a bit. Mr Liu, an ex-English teacher, now works for a chemical firm and is on his way to the Turkish embassy the next day for a visa, he’s off to Istanbul on biz. Says he likes the buzz of the biz world after working in the Chinese school system. Makes sense.
Here comes the pedicure guy. I like pedicures, saves me bending over with nail-clippers chopping away. Chinese pedicurists don’t clip: they have razor-sharp implements and literally shave your excess-toenailage off laterally. I’m always fascinated by that. It’s seamless: if you didn’t look, you wouldn’t notice. They also shave your heel calluses. The TV is playing some stupid soap opera but fortunately I have Mr Liu to converse with. I’m enjoying this.
Some ladies come in to chat up what I assume are previous customers. I’m wondering what follows next.
What follows is the pedicure guy setting up for a manicure, no dude, I can handle that. Let’s move on to the massage part.
I’m led down a long, well decorated corridor to the massage area and the lineup appears. We’re talking quality here, gents, on a random Wednesday evening in Shanghai. If you’ve never seen a lineup of quality Chinese working girls (mainland cities and Macau are good venues for this), and if you like Asian women and Chinese phenotypes, this is something you should see. I do love Southeast Asian women, especially Thai and Vietnamese, but this is not that. This is this. This is very, very nice.
I ask who speaks English, one curly-haired dame with star-spangle tattoos on her right breast peeking from a decolletage gown answers, no one else says a word. I ask her where she’s from but don’t understand her answer, ask the one next to her, another Chinese-province-name-I-don’t get.
A gal, amusingly numbered #69, appears in a low-cut gown. Amazing rack. A guy standing slightly behind and to the left of me zooms past and disappears with Miss 69: she’d obviously been brought out for him. I appreciate a man who knows what he likes.
“Nihongo de wa?” (“How about Japanese?”), I inquire. Dead silence. I repeat, this time in English.
Spangled, somewhat piqued, says: “Chinese girls speak Chinese.” I like her attitude and I wanna see that tattoo, so I say, OK, let’s go.
And she says NO.
Fair enough. So I turn to my left and stare straight into the eyes of #63, a lithe 171 cm stunner and say, OK let’s go, and she’s delighted. Bingo. She throws her long arms around me with…a wide smile as she…leads me to a spacious room with side-mirror and top-mirrors fronted by chromed parallel bars.
Uh-huh, parallel bars bolted to the ceiling. You can see where this is going. Or can you?
Out of all the Asian gals I’ve toyed with, in terms of pure looks, this one was Top Ten, easy. Wish I had a photo but I don’t know how you could sneak a camera in, and at a place like this, you’d have to become a regular before even suggesting a snapshot.
GORgeous. From somewhere up north. Classic 100% Chinese look-standard phenotypes. Maybe 19 or 20. Twitch-perfect.
All clothing is removed and I lie face-down as she applies some sort of unguent/lubricant but not same-same Thai soapy. She rubs her pert nubile breasts and luscious firm ass in sequence and I can distinctly feel every body part without looking-it’s body-to-body and I glance into the side-mirror from time to time. What a transcendent ass this woman has, not to mention the entire package. Whatever benevolent deity made this creature is either a horndog-male like myself, or a lesbian. Yum.
She towels off the whatever-stuff, squeegees on something else and THEN gives me a full-body mouth-suction massage. That’s as close as I can describe it: mouthfuls of my flesh slurped in as she moves her mouth rippling up my body. Constant stimulation.
It occurs to me that if I were absurdly wealthy I would just have a staff of women who’d do this on a regular basis. How would some stupid car or yacht or fancy watch compare with a sensation like this? And, what could top it?
How about THIS: she then takes a mouthful of hot water and, repeating the pattern, gargles the mouthful against my delighted flesh. Again, I can’t really describe what this feels like. She has to stop periodically to replenish the heat, as she ripples the heated gargling girl-mouth all over my back.
After that it’s a more standard tongue bath. I have yet to turn over, but she’s fabulous at this also. I can’t help wonder what’s next.
“Piga,” she says, or something that sounds like that. She has to demonstrate, but it’s basically elbows-down/butt-up. She cleanses my bung with some disinfectant wipe (I’ve only had two showers in the last hour after all) and then, what? Something’s happening…then she’s up and reaching for something, but there’s this unmistakable sensation.
You guessed it: Miss Liu Chun has inserted an ice cube in my ass. Let me think, a first for me?…that would be…affirmative.
But the Fire and Ice routine dictates that she promptly return with a mouthful of hot water for an intense rim-job. My sensory-descriptive processes have completely broken down by now-you’ll just have to use your imagination.
Ice cube #2, however, was a no-go. I guess that despite the added warmth, there’s a limit to how much ice can be crammed up my ass. She politely soothes me with more hot-water rimming.
Finally, it’s time to flip over. Carefully measuring my rather attentive penis, she indicates minor concern but no melodrama-this is good. Then she produces a red sash and carefully ties it to the parallel bars, measuring distances mentally. This is going to be interesting.
It starts with nipple-sucking (I love that part, smelling her hair, nuzzling her long neck), then a blowjob, then the ice, then the fire (the correct order IMHO, discuss among yourselves).
Then, I’m not gonna diagram it, but you will have to imagine how a naked Chinese princess can hang suspended from the ceiling by nothing but a 20-centimeter red sash and blow you. There are two basic positions and both knots and balance are critical. It’s the most acrobatic sex I’ve ever had. The sight in the side-mirror is unforgettable. This is a service, don’t try this at home! (Doctor Flan, another pal who used to travel to Shanghai, says his friends used to refer to this practice as “Suck de Soleil” due to its circus-like nature).
She puts a rolled condom in her mouth and puts it on that way: fortunately, it fits well, another plus for the Red Rope-a-torium. She says, you get on top, but I’m very comfy and I say no no, YOU get on top, she complies with no drama. I like this gal.
It’s a great fuck, but after all that foreplay, I can’t say I lasted as long as I might have liked. However, staring into those perfect almond eyes as my orgasm thundered all over my corpus delicti…NO complaints. Unique.
Total was RMB70 for the scrub, RMB70 for the pedicure, and RMB750 for the rest, grand total of RMB890, about US$120.
Worth every last portrait of Mao I handed the clerk, who promptly put in the money-counting machine. This place does good business. They deserve it.
Jack the Bat
August 2, 2007
NOTES: although the term “rope” is used, it actually is a sash. If the women used a single rope they would fall and break their necks. However, “rope” allows for more puns like “getting roped in” and “rope burns.”
If you’ve seen any Hong Kong softcore films like SEX AND ZEN, you’ve seen these sashes deployed in sexual situations. I’m sure there are traditions that date back centuries. But, I don’t care. I’d like to fly back to Shanghai and have at #63 again.