Hormones That Can't Be Hidden - Chapter 28

The first few days were purely about improving massage techniques.

Xu Jun had somehow acquired a model of the human meridians and acupoints detailed to a nearly horrifying degree along with various labeled essential oils, warm hot stones, and even cold jade scrapers. He required Dong Junhao not only to memorize the exact locations of the acupoints but also to understand the subtle differences brought about by different pressures, angles, and rhythms.

“VIPs aren’t looking for simple fatigue relief; they want enjoyment, they want it to be ‘worth the ticket price.’ Your hands,” Xu Jun pinched Dong Junhao’s wrist, his thumb pressing hard against the rough calluses on his palm, “have to understand the unspeakable aches, bloating, numbness, and… itchiness in their bodies better than a hundred-thousand-yuan massage chair at home.”

When he said that last word, he dragged out the tail end of the syllable, his gaze sweeping over Dong Junhao’s face.

Next came the cultivation of observation skills. Xu Jun had even scavenged some expired fashion magazines and financial journals, and found some videos of business banquets online for him to watch and study.

“Look at what they wear their watches, their shoes, the bags they carry. Listen to them talk casually about stocks, golf, or which international school their kids attend. Judge their net worth, their general temperament, their likely points of fatigue “

“Are they a boss whose liver has been ruined by the drinking table? Or a wealthy socialite who strained a ligament from over-exercising? Don’t say much, but make sure it’s on point. When it’s time to be a mute, even your breathing should be light; when it’s time to speak, a single word should make them feel comfortable all over.”

Then came the part that made Dong Junhao’s spine go stiff and his mind reel with discomfort, yet he had no choice but to grit his teeth and learn the art of communication and atmosphere-building that skirted the gray zones.

“Remember, in our VIP section, we don’t just sell skill; we sell an ‘experience,’ a ‘feeling’.” Xu Jun lit a cigarette, the scarlet ember flickering in the dimness. Through the haze of smoke, his words were as naked as a skinned snake.

“The legal bottom line must not be broken; physical transactions are absolutely forbidden. This is the iron rule of the bathhouse the red line! Whether it’s the guys downstairs who can’t hold their tongues and love crude jokes, or any of the seemingly flirtatious girls upstairs, everyone earns their living through massage skill. Clean and honest not a single one is in the flesh trade!”

His tone shifted abruptly, his eyes becoming shrewd and cold, like a strategist passing on secret survival tactics. “However, a ‘feeling’ can be manufactured. You have to make the guests feel that by coming here, not only is their body relaxed and their muscles comfortable, but their mood is inexplicably improved, and even…”

“That they find you pleasing to the eye, easy to be around as if they’ve received a bit of special, subtle attention, but attention that is just right and won’t become a burden. To put it bluntly,” Xu Jun blew a perfect smoke ring and watched it twist and dissipate, “it’s the art of ‘look but don’t touch.’ Your attitude must be professional and serious, but your smile can be one degree more sincere than for the guests downstairs one degree warmer. When massaging, be focused and serious, but when you occasionally follow a guest’s lead in conversation, you can show a bit of that unpolished shyness unique to young men, or a frankness that makes them smile. Your clothing must be neat and appropriate, but the fabric… can be a bit shorter, a bit thinner outlining your lines just enough to reveal a hint of the beauty of a young body.”

He paused, his gaze like a hook catching Dong Junhao’s reddening face. His voice dropped lower, every word clear as a chisel. “And if a guest… makes verbal passes or small physical moves? If you push them away coldly, they lose face and the business is ruined. If you submit? Then what do you become? What you need to learn is how to handle it smoothly, using their own momentum against them. Grasp that damn ‘degree’ so they find you pleasing and the service attentive leaving them with a vague good feeling that makes them want to return for that ‘special’ sensation, even willingly paying more in tips.”

“But you must never let the other party feel they can cross the line or buy your body with money. That would make you cheap. How to grasp this degree and make the service ‘high-end’ that is the most critical thing. You must release enough safe attraction to keep the clientele, while remaining as slippery as a loach to guard your own bottom line. This requires extremely high emotional intelligence and adaptability. To put it simply, it is the armor you wear to protect yourself. What you need to learn is how to wear this armor well while making the business thrive.”

Xu Jun crushed his cigarette, stood up, and cracked his neck. “Talk is cheap. Come, for now, I’m the guest. We’ll do some situational teaching while we work.” He pointed to the massage bed in the center of the room covered in white towels, his tone unquestionable.

The lights in the training room were dimmed several notches by Xu Jun hazy and ambiguous, just enough to see the movements while blurring too many details. In the air, the artificial fragrance of expensive essential oils intertwined with the acrid scent of cheap tobacco and the musky air of male hormones and old fabric. Dong Junhao’s throat felt dry as he stepped forward.

Xu Jun had already removed his jacket and trousers, wearing only a tight dark undershirt as he lay down. The fabric was taut, clearly outlining the well-maintained back muscles of a middle-aged man and… an unmasked, relaxed posture of one in control.

“Begin, ‘Master Dong’,” Xu Jun said with a trace of mockery.

Dong Junhao took a deep breath, poured the cold oil into his palm to warm it, and pressed his hands onto Xu Jun’s neck and shoulders. His technique still held the rustic strength of the main hall downstairs. Xu Jun corrected him immediately: “Too hard. This isn’t a scrub. The force has to penetrate, but the flesh must feel enjoyment, not torture. Yes… like that. Sink into it, slower… mm…” Xu Jun closed his eyes and let out a sigh of comfort.

But soon, the teaching entered the next stage.

“Now, assume I am a… male guest who is interested in you.” Xu Jun’s voice sounded in the dimness, flat yet making the muscles in Dong Junhao’s back snap tight. “I might have had a little to drink, I’m in a good mood, and I’m generous with my money.”

Xu Jun simulated the guest’s tone, his words carrying a light, probing inquiry. “Little handsome guy, your technique is quite good. Have you practiced? This hand strength… as expected of someone specifically meant to serve people?”

Dong Junhao’s fingers faltered almost imperceptibly. He answered mechanically, “The boss is too kind. As long as you… are satisfied.”

“Want me to be satisfied, eh?” Xu Jun chuckled, the sound like a feather scratching against an eardrum. “Just doing a couple of normal massages like this won’t do. A masculine man like you… working here must be a waste, right? Have you ever thought about… following someone reliable? Money is no object.”

As he spoke, the “guest” he was playing raised an arm seemingly by chance, his elbow pressing exactly against Dong Junhao’s firm, nearby abdomen, even rubbing lightly with a bit of pressure. It wasn’t a normal shift of a guest’s body; it was a suggestive probe intended to touch.

Every alarm in Dong Junhao’s body went off! He nearly jumped back as if electrocuted, but his remaining reason and Xu Jun’s prior “teaching” held him down. He could feel his cheeks burning and his heart thundering.

In the second or two of that ambiguous contact, Dong Junhao suddenly deepened the pressure on the acupoint on the inner side of the scapula. “This area is exceptionally tight; do you sit at a desk too long?” His voice was tight, yet he fought to keep it steady. Simultaneously, using the posture of applying force, he naturally turned his body sideways, breaking the contact. “Once this point is cleared, it’s good for your neck.”

The “guest” played by Xu Jun let out a grunt whether from pain or something else. “You certainly know where to find the spots.” His tone returned to something more normal. “Your reaction isn’t slow. Remember, use your professionalism to dissolve their lack of it. Make him feel that all your value is in your technique that anything else is just his own overthinking. But at the same time, your avoidance can’t be stiff. You have to make him feel you are simply too focused on your work, rather than rejecting him as a person. The difference between the two determines if he becomes enraged or if he finds you more intriguing more worth the investment of ‘taking it slow’.”

The simulations became increasingly excessive. When Dong Junhao leaned over to push and press Xu Jun’s lower back, Xu Jun would suddenly arch upward without warning, creating a brief yet full-contact friction between his back and Dong Junhao’s chest and abdomen. Sweat instantly soaked through the two thin layers of fabric.

“Oops, couldn’t help it. You hit my sorest spot,” Xu Jun would explain, though his voice held no real apology only a murky, triumphant chuckle.

Or, when Dong Junhao knelt by the bed to loosen the muscles on the back of his thighs, Xu Jun would suddenly bend a leg, his inner knee “accidentally” brushing against the side of Dong Junhao’s waist or even lower the pressure neither light nor heavy, but full of ambiguous probing. “Rub the base of the thigh for me too; I think I pulled it playing ball earlier,” he said as if it were a matter of course.

With every change of massage area, Dong Junhao felt as though he were walking on red-hot iron. Waves of nausea and vertigo hit him. He felt as though he were no longer a person, but an object being carefully touched, evaluated, and calibrated. Xu Jun’s hands, his body, and his gaze had become tools to reshape him.

He used all his control to ensure not a single tremor was visible. He learned to use more focused technical questions and faster transitions of body parts to build a defense and dissolve those encroaching probes. Sweat soon soaked his thin shirt, clinging tightly to his skin and outlining the clear lines of his young frame, which only made certain gazes even more brazen.

I can’t learn this. I can’t do this for a living. This thought hammered at him countless times. But his mother’s gaunt face, the long medical bills from the hospital, his brother’s panicked eyes, and that contract he could no longer turn back from… they were like cold chains locking him to this massage bed.

He could only grit his teeth and endure. To swallow that sickening “knowledge” along with the bitterness rising in his throat. To treat those touches, looks, and words as a poisonous miasma he had to adapt to. To break his pride the pride of once earning a living purely through raw strength and mix it with these sycophantic skills, trying to reshape it into something distorted that could stand on the edge of a cliff.

Sweat slid from his forehead and dripped into his eyes, stinging. His nostrils were filled with a mix of scents Xu Jun’s tobacco, essential oils, and that… predatory, unfamiliar scent of an adult male that was everywhere. He felt nauseous and dizzy. In countless moments, he wanted to drop everything and bolt out the door. He felt like an object being reground and painted with an alluring glaze; his soul was screaming, yet his body had to obey.

The sky outside had long since turned pitch black, but the city’s neon lights clearly couldn’t reach this enclosed training room. Under the dim yellow light, Xu Jun’s “teaching” continued, his voice sometimes harsh like a drill sergeant’s, sometimes carrying a playful evaluation of his prey’s reaction. His fingers would occasionally slide along the lines of Dong Junhao’s arm muscles as they tensed, seemingly pointing out the way to apply force; his ankle would occasionally “unintentionally” hook around Dong Junhao’s calf as he knelt.

In this long ordeal called “special training,” Dong Junhao clearly felt that some things within him were being crudely erased, while other strange, cold things were being injected, strand by strand, with no choice but to accept. The process was silent, yet as painful as a slow execution.