Dr Manhattan
11-17-21, 01:39
It's always nice to have a "What Happened To" thread regardless of the city. I spent some in Colorado Springs back in 2000 and this definitely fires up my way-back machine...
Unless it was a fever dream, I distinctly remember a lower-level massage studio, tucked into a Super 8 or Quality Inn off Hwy 25. With its wall-to-wall shag carpeting and dangling beads in the entryway, it already looked like it was frozen in time. When you crept inside, the male owner would seat you in the lobby with what were literally polaroid binders full of women laid out on the coffee table. His little superstar seemed to be a fresh-faced, nicely dimpled blond with a hair-gelled pixie cut. She was cordial, foxy, and did the finger touch body rub in a black cocktail dress. In the closet size massage rooms, 8-5 x11 printouts were taped onto all four walls of the dark and windowless, faux wood paneling walls, imploring the customers to not haggle the girls for favors. I was a good soldier and since I was only visiting, I didn't want to push any boundaries. After my session, the suave and businesslike manager told me he'd welcome any positive reviews about "his girls." It's two decades later, so that review is very late coming.
Long reminisce short, what exactly happened to that sexy little hobbit hole hidden in an off-ramp hotel basement office? Anything beyond the teen tease that somehow lodged itself into my memory a generation later?
Unless it was a fever dream, I distinctly remember a lower-level massage studio, tucked into a Super 8 or Quality Inn off Hwy 25. With its wall-to-wall shag carpeting and dangling beads in the entryway, it already looked like it was frozen in time. When you crept inside, the male owner would seat you in the lobby with what were literally polaroid binders full of women laid out on the coffee table. His little superstar seemed to be a fresh-faced, nicely dimpled blond with a hair-gelled pixie cut. She was cordial, foxy, and did the finger touch body rub in a black cocktail dress. In the closet size massage rooms, 8-5 x11 printouts were taped onto all four walls of the dark and windowless, faux wood paneling walls, imploring the customers to not haggle the girls for favors. I was a good soldier and since I was only visiting, I didn't want to push any boundaries. After my session, the suave and businesslike manager told me he'd welcome any positive reviews about "his girls." It's two decades later, so that review is very late coming.
Long reminisce short, what exactly happened to that sexy little hobbit hole hidden in an off-ramp hotel basement office? Anything beyond the teen tease that somehow lodged itself into my memory a generation later?