Skin Deep

Goo Lagoon's welcome cap got me rethinking my preferences.

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“Massage?” the small, wiry woman rasped. The air in the "Dragon's Pearl Parlor" was thick with incense, something herbal and ancient that clung to the back of Jessica’s throat. She wrinkled her nose. The whole place was a tourist cliché: cheap red silk hangings, a fat jade Buddha by the door, and the lingering aroma of MSG from the noodle shop next door. Still, her shoulders were killing her after that twelve-hour flight, and the sign outside had promised "Authentic Deep Tissue" for a price that was practically a steal.

“Yes. DEEP TI-SSUE,” Jessica said, enunciating each word. She dropped her oversized handbag on a worn chair. “I’m VERY… TE-NSE.” The woman simply nodded, a flicker of annoyance in her eyes maybe? Nah, their eyes are just like that. The old lady gestured towards a massage room. Jessica stripped down to her panties and lay face-down on the table, the vinyl cool against her skin. Let’s get this over with, she thought as she closed he eyes.

The woman’s dry hands landed on her back. No oil, really? Using only just pressure, the woman’s thumbs found the knots along Jessica’s spine with an unnerving precision. She started kneading them, then she began to pulverize them. It was a invasive pressure that bordered on pain, but underneath the pain, a different kind of knot started twisting inside her. “Nnnnnnhhh,” Jessica moaned, despite herself, feeling the pain tickle her in inappropriate way.

The hands moved up to her neck and scalp. The wrinkled, callused fingers dug into her roots, pulling at her fine brown hair with a roughness that should have been unpleasant. Instead, each tug sent bolts of wet pleasure straight to Jessica’s cunt. She felt a tingling heat spread across her scalp, as if her very follicles were being rewired. When a strand of her own hair fell across her cheek, she saw with a detached wonder that it was no longer brown, but a straight, glossy thread of pure black silk.

“What…” she started to say, but the woman’s hands were already on her face. Her thumbs pressed into the sockets of Jessica’s wide, blue eyes, pushing inwards and pulling outwards “NNNNnnnnyyeesssss,” Jessica cried out as a mounting orgasm heralded the shifting of her skull. The woman molded Jessica’s nose like clay, reshaping the cartilage, flattening the bridge, squeezing the bulbous tip till it was slightly upturned. Jessica felt her high cheekbones remolded, pushed lower till it looked rounder, more girlish. The skin around her eyes tightened, the opening getting narrower, her eyelids folding into the skin of her forehead.

With every bone-deep adjustment, Jessica’s body became more pliant, and her moans more desperate. “P-puhlease... sssstoooop,” she slurred, still lost in the euphoria of the change and the massage. Unheeding, the masseuse’s hands moved down her body. Her full, saggy breasts were cupped and compressed, the heat shrinking them until they were firm, pert globes, her nipples hardening into tight little buds. “Nooooo.... not my tiiiiits...” Her waist was cinched, her hips narrowed and refined, her fleshy, American curves planed away into something more petite, more… efficient. Jessica groaned as she watched her big-boned frame disassembled and rebuilt into something new.

Then, the woman poured a hot, thick oil over her newly shaped body. It smelled of ginseng and ginger, and as she began to rub it in, the last vestiges of Jessica’s whiteness leached away. The oil polished her skin, tanning it from a dusty pale white to a creamy ivory with golden undertones.

“Oh god, oh god, yesss yessss I’m so close!” As the brass-colored skin reached her, her mind fractured. The English words that formed her thoughts suddenly felt clunky and foreign, ugly sounds from a past life. Her name, Jessica, felt wrong, sounded wrong. The pressure in her cunt mounted, and a new name surfaced from the wreckage, a name that felt sleek, clean, and right.

Jing. “Ohhhh haoooooooo!” Jing moaned, her bovine English forgotten, replaced by Mandarin. She came again and again, her hips rising off the massage table in wild bursts. When the shaking subsided, the masseuse leaned over her, her work complete. She spoke for the first time since the start of the session.

“Jing.”

Jing pushed herself up, her slender body moving with effortless poise. She caught her reflection in the small mirror on the wall: a beautiful Chinese woman gazed back, her long black hair tousled, almond eyes dark, lips still slightly swollen from earlier. The white tourist who had stumbled in an hour ago was already a distant memory, a clumsy goat. She exhaled, trailing a hand down her own waist, fingertips skimming the curve of her hip. Work, she reminded herself.

But the room still smelled like sweat, and her skin still tingled. Maybe one more touch--just to be sure. Just to feel.