Here is a description of a Bangkok soapy massage, lifted from Quora.
Bangkok Soapy Massage
The cab wound its way through the crowded Bangkok streets, down a mind-numbing sequence of alley's and ended up in an open parking lot in front of a nondescript six-story building with a uniformed doorman out front. His outfit was a white marching-band type drum major's long sleeved uniform with white drum major’s dress hat, and a tasteful minimum of gold braids. He smartly opened the door of the car, and bowed me and my lady tour-guide / translator inside. It was the late 1980s.
Inside were more attendants in similar uniforms. The lobby had plush carpeting, subdued lighting, a bell-captains desk and two very large picture windows approximately 15 feet wide with a curved top, that came to a peak 8 feet high. Behind the glass were well lighted rooms with bleacher style risers, and several dozen beautiful Thai girls seated on the risers. All of the girls wore solid color floor length silk gowns, with deep scooped necklines, and long slits up above the tops of their thighs. Three fourths of the girls wore light blue gowns, the others, sitting off to the left wore gowns of varying colors. They all wore little buttons with two-digit numbers on them. Foolishly I asked what the difference in the gown colors was and was told that the girls in the varying colored gowns gave you a Thai massage, the others gave you a Thai massage them made love to you. For a few dollars more.
On cue, the girls began to primp, and smile and project, although given the lighting conditions I must have been only barely visible behind the picture window glass. I must have stared at the candy store window too long, for the attendant who had patiently explained the menu to me, suggested that number 52 was an energetic and enthusiastic young talent. Upon studying his recommendation, I decided to take his expert advice and selected number 52. It was an excellent choice. Number 52 was informed of her engagement and she emerged from a side entrance and bowed to me smiling broadly. She lead me to an adjacent elevator lobby, where the elevator was waiting, held by another uniformed attendant. She selected the 5th floor and smiled at me and adjusted my tie as we rode up.
Number 52 was petite and cute and very fit. Her eyes sparkled when she smiled at me with her wide mouth full of straight white teeth. She walked with an athletic girlish bounce, in America this young woman would surely have been a cheerleader or a champion gymnast. I could not begin to accurately guess her age, since age in Asian women is a guessing game for white guys, even if you ask (which would be very impolite). She could have been 25, she might have been 16.
On the 5th floor, she greeted the hall attendant, and lead me down a long hall with subdued lighting, past many numbered doors. There was a large industrial strength air-mattresses next to each door. Also next to each door was a five-peg clothing rack, with various articles of female clothing hanging from the pegs. I imagined that the workers slept in the rooms when they were not entertaining customers, but I had no Idea what the air mattresses were all about.
Our room was about 20 feet square and felt very much like a small efficiency apartment with five distinct areas: the entry, the dressing table, the tub, an open shower, and a round bed. The entry was tiled with racks and hangers for shoes and clothing, a seating bench where you could sit while putting on your shoes. The rest of the suite was a step up from the entry, emphasizing it's isolation from the rest of the room. To the right through a framework, was a round bed surrounded by a half-circle headboard that was low enough to set drinks on. On the semi-circular wall around the headboard, and on the ceiling above the bed were mirrors. At the opposite corner from the door, was a low, very feminine dressing table where my hostess would soon remove her eye makeup and splash on a delightful fragrance. A modern desk type telephone sat on the dressing table. Behind a wall obscuring immediate viewing at the northwest corner of the room was a very large, very deep porcelain bathtub, surrounded by ceramic tiles on 3-sides with a one-foot wide tiled shelf that ran all the way around the tub.
To the right of the tub on the Northern wall was a standard shower head on an flexible hose. The tiles around the tub continued onto the floor, and across the wall with the shower head and at least 10 feet past the shower head. The floor was tiled like a shower enclosure in a 10-foot quarter-circle from the shower head and floor drain. There was no shower enclosure. The tiled area of the tub and shower area was a half-step down from the raised carpeted area that lead to the round bed. One of those large air mattresses was leaning on the tiled wall, next to the shower hose.
A lovely Thai woman appeared at the door, wearing a silk dress of similar fabric and color to those worn by the other women on the display bleachers, girls but cut short like a cocktail waitress uniform. She carried a tray and asked if I wanted a drink. Not wanting to be at all impaired, I ordered coke which appeared almost immediately. The Coke was not included in the admission charge, it came to 50 Baht (US$ 2.00) and I paid double that as tip.
My Hostess bade me to me undress. Then after looking me up and down in an appraising way, she smiled like she approved of what she saw. Had to be customer courtesy, but I liked the gesture. She motioned for me sit on the bed while she filled the bathtub with warm water and scented bubble bath soap.
When the tub was filled, she invited me to sit in the tub, and lay back on an air pillow. I must admit to being feeling a little awkward in a new and interesting situation, and perhaps more than just a little bit shy. But the warm water relaxed me. My now nude hostess gracefully arranged the position of the towels and lotions and flowers, then with a smile stepped into the tub, with me. She gently lowered herself into the warm water kneeling between my legs, facing me. Smiling into my eyes, she poured and sloshed warm soapy water on my body. With sweet smelling liquid soap in her hands, she washed my chest, my stomach, my shoulders, my thighs, my feet, then my thighs and torso again
Mr Happy had a natural reaction to all this attention. She washed him as well, which only made him grow larger and harder. She rinsed off the soap playfully, then pausing to look deep into my eyes for an instant, she took me in her mouth, all the way down in a single motion. Sweet heaven. I reveled in the sensation, but knowing that I would enjoy the evening less if I were to climax now, I enjoyed the sensation for a few moments then tapped her on the shoulder, and bade her continue. She poured out some liquid soap, and rubbed it on her own stomach, arms, chest and breasts; a rather pretty sight that. She then began to slide her slippery, soapy body all over mine. Up and back, back and forth, side to side, around and around. Not only did this feel extraordinarily sensuous, I was getting a pretty good scrub. Her body was young and firm and strong, with wonderfully tight skin. She scrubbed me with her chest, she scrubbed me with her back. She scrubbed me with her buns — just to make sure I felt clean.
I was in a bit of a daze from all this stimulation. I remember her adjusting the temperature of the shower, then pulling me up out of the tub, and rinsing the soap off of my body with the hand-held shower head. She then took the air mattress which was leaning against the wall, and set it on the tiled floor of the shower area. She warmed it with the shower head, then directed me to lie face up on the air mattress. Pouring a new kind of soap with a new scent on her hands, she began to wash my body again. At first she used her hands, then her forearms, then her breasts. She spread more soap on herself, climbed on top of me, and started sliding her body all over mine in slow writhing movements which grew faster and faster until she collapsed panting for a short moment then she shifted to what my old my Physical Education teacher would call “The Crab Position” and began to draw figure eights and circles on my chest, stomach, and thighs; with her bottom. She must have touched every part of the front of my body with every part of hers, then bade me flip over on my stomach just to repeat this process.
Tingling with sensory overload, I was rinsed, dried and lead to the bed. As I was being seated on the bed, the phone on the dressing table rang one short ring. She picked it up and in chattered with someone in Thai. I couldn't understand a word, but the tones and rhythms gave me to believe that it was a safety check. If so she told her managers she was fine. Perhaps we were running long. Perhaps she reported being pleased with her client, and willing to run overtime.
She chatted for less than a minute, then shyly approached me on the bed. Unlike earlier, when she was totally in charge and doing everything quite skillfully, she now acted shy and demure. Unsure of what to do, perhaps? I knew what to do. My hands and tongue explored her tight, smooth body. Her bush, like most Asian women, was very lightly furred. When we connected she did not cry out theatrically, but only moaned softly and occasionally, like she was trying to maintain an aloofness and reserve, but some moaning would slip out. We finished with my sitting on the edge of the bed with her on the floor on her knees giving me a truly fabulous blow job. She didn't spill a drop. I was limp as a noodle.
I tipped her 20% of the $100 ticket price. As she lead me out to the elevator, we were greeted by smiling and giggling girls in hall, all seeming to share in the splendid success of another satisfied customer.
In the elevator, I met two other satisfied customers, an Aussie, and a Brit. It was just a little awkward, at first. But since we were all on the same elevator, and going the same direction we had all shared something. Not exactly male bonding, but what do you expect from an elevator ride? The conversation went:
“Nice night, eh?'”
“Absolutely marvelous night.”