Good Samaritans Finish Last

I had the feeling she was there for the right young man. How many naive men ended up marrying these massage girls? Maybe I was one of them?

I asked her where she was from. "China" and she named some city I'd never heard of.

"Near Beijing?"

"Yes."

"Have you been in America for a long time?"

"Four year."

"Where do you live?"

"Chinatown."

By this point, I realized that her English skills were rudimentary and thought it best to lie back, relax, and enjoy the massage.

I left after an hour feeling like I was flying above the sidewalk. Her hands were light and delicate, the way I like it. Some prefer a strong muscle massage that leaves you weak and exhausted. I do not. I admit, as I lay face down, she frequently excited me when she brushed past my balls. Towards the end of the hour, she told me to turn over. I made no attempt to hide my erection.

"You bad boy," she said.

"I know."

I took her hand and placed them on my swollen cock. She pulled away, pushing my hands onto my dick.

I had the impression that once she knew me better, that would be the best part of the hour."

I looked unhappy, "Good Tip," I said.

But she failed to act on my suggestion.

Then she smiled, "Next time if you want."

I didn't argue, but I had no intention of jerking myself off in front of her. I laid back. She took my hand and pulled each finger till they snapped, she twisted my ears and massaged my hair. Then she patted me on my shoulder signifying that too quickly the hour was over. She bowed.

I got the message and quickly dressed. I took out an extra twenty. As I exited she was standing there beside Sam holding a cold bottle of water.

"Thank you," I said, with a quick reciprocal bow and I pressed the folded bill into her hand.

"You come back," said Sam. I nodded and left.

Having an idea of Joe's hours, I scheduled my massages for an hour that would not throw us into contact, usually late in the afternoon. I made sure Sam did not mention me, a twenty-dollar bill seemed to seal his lips.

Afterward, I'd walk up to the bar and have a small sandwich and a beer or two. I usually found myself talking about Mick and the old times. Joe was a good listener and if you were having any personal problems and needed advice his responses were thoughtful. Having lost my wife, he knew I was going through emotional distress. I wasn't fully aware of this until later. I'd enjoyed living with Goria. We had a lot of fun together, eating out, shopping, weekends away and great sex.

I continued to go for massages every few weeks, when time would allow. After a few massages and generous tips, my fine-fingered angel acquiesced and her hands would grasp my erection and with a soothing lubricant oil she would give me a happy ending. Ju-Ju's hand job was far superior to having intercourse with most women. If you think beating your own meat is a substitute, you are sadly mistaken. The last time I went to get my massage Sam looked quite upset.

"What's the matter, Sam?"

"Your friend, he ruined me."

"What are you talking about?"

"I don't understand."

"He took 'Ju-Ju,' my big money maker."

"He took her where?"

"She want to go to school, learn English, make bookkeeper. He gives her money, go school. Now she quit, is studying. What should I do? I lose big dough."

I eventually was able to piece the story together. It seems Joe gifted her the tuition for a language school and promised to support her studies and give her a weekly allowance to take care of herself. She no longer had to handle other guy's erections, including my own.

How far or how long this went I never enquired. For me, it was an answer to the question, "Who was Joe, and what kind of man was he?"

The girls who work as massage girls, with few exceptions, do not arrive there by choice. It is the need to support their families, or husbands, and children or to pay off the costs of travel, and immigration to those who finance them. To rescue a young girl from a Chinese flesh prison was a very noble thing to do, don't you think so?"

-----00000-----

Oh yeah, then there is the zinger. I've saved it for last. A few months after 'Ju-Ju' disappeared from the massage parlor, I stopped by to talk to Sam. All he could talk about was the new girl he hired. Her name was 'Cu-Cu' and she did seem a little crazy.

"Try her my friend, if you no like I give you free."

The new girl wasn't any 'Ju-Ju' but she was acceptable, although I had a hard time when she got to the happy ending. Maybe I'm getting too old for this stuff? Non-the-less I finally cranked out some love juice. From the look on Cu-Cu's face, I think I surprised her with how little there was. That chore completed, I tipped her a twenty and headed uptown to Spillane's.

Joe greeted me warmly. He took my hand in his and held onto it for a while.

"Kid," he always called me kid.

"Kid, I'm hoping to retire soon and there is one thing I should do before I take leave of this place. It has to do with something that Mick wanted you to have when the time was right."

"What could that be?"

"Have a seat Kid, this might knock you off the stool."

I sat down while Joe disappeared for a while. When he returned, he had a brown paper bag.

"What's in the bag? One of Mick's guns or several of his signed paperbacks?"

"No," said Joe, "Nothing so mundane.Take a look, but don't take it out of the bag."

"I opened the top of the bag and peered into it, there was a jar with a rusting metal cap."

"What the fuck is this?"

"Does it look familiar?"

I rolled down the side of the bag and swirling around in a clear liquid was Alonzo's cock. I almost passed out.

"It's a big'un," said Joe.

"Yeah it still is. It was that fucker's badge of honor."

"Well, I don't want any of the new guys to find it when I'm gone. It's yours."

"I don't want it, Joe."

"That's OK, just get it the fuck out of here. You can leave it in the trash basket in the subway or walk over the river and let it float away. I don't care what you do, but it is yours and when you leave here it goes with you. Hold on, I've got a special bottle of Irish to share with you."

Joe took two small wine goblets out and placed them on the bar between us. He took out an unlabelled bottle and poured a marvelous yellow nectar into each glass.

"Drink up kid, that's the last bottle of the good stuff."

Joe smiled at me, and I smiled back. We both drank up the whiskey. I picked up the paper bag.

"Thank you, Joe, for all you've done for me through the years."

A tear filled my eye, and I turned and left the bar for the last time. I walked out the door without looking back.

-----00000-----

That was all a while ago. They are all dead. Joe, Mick, Margie, my Brazilian wife Gloria, the gangsters and just about every relative or friend I ever had. They say we come into this world alone and leave the same way. Growing old we leave a lot of people behind.

As for me, I'm of advanced age and hoping to meet with Mick and Joe in some bar in the hereafter. I only wished I believed in such fables. I still have have an occasional moment when the only relief is sex, sometimes with a tiny dose of Viagra, sometimes not. I guess a lot has to do with who my partner is and how badly I don't want to disappoint. I've avoided long-term commitments. At my age, who'd want me?