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Their location was inside a building on the sixth floor of faceless offices and anonymous suites.

Only their loyal customers knew what they were all about.  Their ad said, “In need of a trim?  Please visit Angel’s Spa.”  The customers would park outside the giant glass enclosed building, take the elevator up with a knowing bulge in their pants and see what awaited them.

They had a vast clientele.  Men from all walks of life and all backgrounds, from 20 to 65 years of age, would walk in.  Women would also have their needs attended to.

They’d walk down the hallway, get to the door, and finally arrive at 1765 Linwood St, Suite 656B.  The door had a window in the center, but it was blurred.  They had to be buzzed in one at a time.

Once inside, the customer would pass time in the waiting area.  Magazines were fanned out on the table, People, Celebrity Hairsyles, Vanity Fair.  The door leading to the inner chamber also had a purposely blurred window.

After 5 minutes, a lady would come out and invite the customer in.  All the ladies who worked there dressed in white.  They either had a nurse’s outfit on with a labcoat and a red scarf, or had a pinstripe blouse with the sleeves folded up just to the wrist with white slacks and a beige scarf.

The customer would be ordered to shower first.  Afterwards, a woman would give him a towel and lead him down the corridor. There were many rooms along the corridor, each containing a barber chair with a white pinstripe cape folded neatly on the arm.

The female barber would then tell the customer to sit.  She would drape the cape over his naked body, give him a scalp massage to get him more relaxed, then start cutting.  Frequently moans, scissors, clippers, and sucking sounds were heard in the hallway.

After the haircut, she would whip off the cape and step on a button on the floor so that the chair folded out into a massage table.  Usually the massages consisted of feather touch around the thighs, chest, neck, and genitals, ending in oral sex or full service.  Most of the customers requested oral, since that was the cheapest.  Throughout the session, the woman would never take off her clothes.

The experience was so intense, customers found they could hardly walk out of the office, their knees felt so weak.

The hours of the place were Monday to Saturday, 9 am to Midnight.

Eventually, Angel’s Spa was shutdown due to steady male traffic and a weasely little FBI informer.

I guess good things never last forever.  But I know they’re thinking of bringing it back.

Why?  Because I was a customer.  And, now, I bought the place.

It was once located in Virginia, but now it will reside in a small town in Nevada.  In another office building.  On the 6th floor.

Why?  Because it’s legal and regulated, and besides, the philosopher who said that good things never last forever forgot one other famous saying.

Never say never.

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