Two Jindos:
Jake, Jake, Jake--what did go on in his mind? I’d slept on his couch countless times after nights of partying; and on occasion would leaf through his porn collection. Before the internet every guy had one under his bed; or in Jake’s case, just lying around anywhere. What’d he have to hide? He was fond of old, 1970’s Playboy’s where the girls still had those thick bushes; but he also had a penchant for a magazine called Over 50, which depicted women over 50 in highly graphic pictorials. Course if I felt I were breaking a confidentiality I’d never mention it here; but Jake was open ‘bout his fondness for the magazine within our social circle. What the hell it meant you’d have to ask a psychiatrist (neither of us was past our mid-30’s at the time). All I know is I opened one of ‘em, one time, and swore off pussy for a month.
In fairness, I have my own deviations. Not gonna try and hide that. In particular I’m kind of fond of massage parlors; which, say what you will, strike me as a relatively harmless bang for the buck. I’ve probably been to everyone of ‘em here in New York; and as such, can tell the difference between a respectable joint and a house of flat-out exploitation.
Back when Jake lived in Queens, there was a parlor right around his corner. We used to go all the time ‘til he began to date Ms. Lulu. Then it was just me, though Jake sometimes stopped by to chat-up the girls. As for myself, I frequented so often I could have had a room with my name on it; and once I even watched the place for an hour while two of the girls made a house-call (now there’s a future post for you!).
I recall a night--another fight night where I was going to meet Jake at his apartment. He was with Ms. Lulu by then, but of course I planned to visit the parlor before the telecast. Just a nice, civilized evening for Lodo.
“They’ve got a new girl over there,” Jake told me over the phone. “You should ask for her. Obviously I can’t, but..she’s real pretty.”
So when I went there later that evening, I was greeted by all the gals, and got to meet the new girl--Hana.
“Oh,” she said deferentially, “you are Mr. Lodo?”
“That’s me.”
“You are very special customer here! Everyone tells me about you,” she said as she gestured towards the other women with a smile. “Come, I give you very special massage.”
Hana led me to the room where I proceeded to disrobe. Normally the girls will leave the room as you get undressed, but Hana stayed where she was and even helped me remove my shirt.
She was a strange, exotic gal this Hana. Definitely pretty as Jake had said, though even my Asian girlfriends will tell you that there’s not much to differentiate one girl from the other. Or at least, not as much as other persuasions. She looked young enough to be under 30; and her long, black hair still had the sheen of youth. She was thin, but strong in a wiry way; and watched my movements with a deliberate, evaluative eye.
“You’re pretty,” I told her as I hung my jeans on a hook installed to the back of the room’s cheap door.
“Thank you,” she said with a shy smile as she patted the massage table to indicate I should lie down.
“Face down,” she said as she activated some soft mood music on a CD player and dimmed the lights.
“You wanna hard, medium, or soft?” she asked me.
Of course I wanted a hard massage.
Hana proceeded to rub my shoulders and neck; then squeezed her strong hands down the length of my arm and forearm ‘til my fingers curled into a baby’s claw. Soon she was working the length of my ugly, hairy back with long powerful strokes that squeezed the day and the world out my muscles like water from a sponge.
“You like?” she asked with a gentle whisper in my ear.
“Oh yeah, that’s really nice.”
After a time Hana placed a cupped hand on my back, then used the other to smack down on the cup, so that each contact produced a loud pop! She did this all along the length of my back as the muzak of the CD player could be heard juxtaposed in the background.
Love lifts us up where we belong,
where the eagle flies,
on a mountain high,
Except that there were no words. Just the strange, distant sound of eastern-stringed instruments that twanged away at the melody. Very relaxing. Hana’s hands were warm and strong. The smell of baby-oil hypnotizing. The muscles in my back slowly turned to mush as I let out a huge sigh of submission. Just ease back,..relax,...and dreammmm...
But for some odd reason Hana suddenly became talkative.
“What you do for work?” she asked.
“...I’m an investigator,” I answered tentatively, still face-down and lazy, “for insurance.”
“Oh, insurance,” she said, “I see. ...Insurance.”
Exactly how good Hana’s English was I couldn’t say. She seemed to contemplate the concept of insurance for quite awhile before inspired to ask a follow-up.
“...You married?” she asked after a time. A common question at places like these and usually code for You just want a handjob or something more? I rarely get more than a handjob, but that's subject matter for another post.
“No, I’m not married,” I told her, “how ‘bout you?”
“No,” she answered, “I just move here.”
“Let me guess--Flushing, right?”
Hana laughed. “Yes!--that’s right. We all of us live in Flushing.”
Again time passed without a word, which was fine by me. Until,
“...You like being alone?” Hana suddenly asked.
“...I suppose,” I answered lazily, not really in the mood to think. “I always have been so I must. How ‘bout you?”
“I’d like to be married one day,” she answered with distant hope in her voice, “but for now I have my dogs, so I’m not so lonely.”
“Oh, you have dogs? What kind?”
“I have two Jindo’s--you know them?”
“Jindo’s? No, I’ve never heard of those.”
“They’re from my country--Korea. They’re very hard to get here, but I have two.”
Hana sounded very proud of her Jindo’s; and in truth I was somewhat jealous of her in that regard. Still, I would have preferred to have fallen back to my dreamy stupor; but Hana had more to say.
“Jindo’s very smart dogs. They never bark and I train them very easy. When I first move to Flushing, I put them in the yard before work; and when I come home, I find them on the porch. I ask myself ‘What? How they be there?’ I know I lock the gate, so how they get away? But they no run in the street or bother neighbors. Nothing. They just sit there on the porch waiting. For me. Jindo’s very smart that way. They watch the house.”
“Um hmm,” I answered, starting to wish Hana would shut up or maybe get to jerking me off. ‘Course if you’re Willie Y or just paying attention you probably already see where this is going. But I was half asleep amidst the dimmed lights, the soft muzak; anesthetized by the smell of baby oil and the brief relief from my herniated discs. So my mind was only so focused.
Hana seemed to recognize my mindset, and silently resumed to work my trigger-points. But after some time she couldn’t contain herself.
“...Yep, they no even run away. I just find them on the porch waiting after all day; even though I locked the gate. They very smart.”
“Um hmm.”
“...I wonder, how they end up there if I locked the gate?"
"Right.”
"...I mean..."
And then it hit me. Like a bolt of lightning right up my brain-stem. Immediately I grabbed Hana’s wrist as I whipped round on the massage table. I stood up to confront her, still squeezing her forearm, in response to which she held her other hand up defensively, as though afraid I was ‘bout to strike.
“Hey!” I said to her with what must have been an excited, almost disturbed confusion. “Are you asking me who let the dogs out?!”
At which point I heard nothing less than a primitive howl of hilarity from immediately outside the room. I quickly threw a towel ’round my waist, kicked the open the door, and there was Jake with two of the massage gals, along with a big shit-eating grin on his face. Oh man! you want to talk about laughing ‘til you almost cry. But I could do that ten million times when I think about my man Jake. That was my best dog there.
* NOTE: None of the Asian girls depicted herein is named Hana; and none of the phone numbers listed will lead you to Lodo Grdzak. What they may lead to...I can't say; nor is it my responsibility.
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