Hollister The Corridor

“What you want with Xinjue? She no business of yours!” I could feel the cold tip of the knife pressing against my throat as I was forced against the rough brick of the alley wall. I was looking into the equally cold eyes of the man who had his left arm across my chest while his right held a knife to my neck. “Hey, I just heard that she was terrific, that’s all, and I wanted to get with her.” “You cop?” “No! I’m just a normal guy looking for a little relief, you know.” The irony of this statement is that, as a gay man, the last place you would expect to find me is inside an establishment that specializes in creating “happy endings” for straight guys. It’s colloquially known as a ‘Rub-and-Tug'. But I was following up on a lead and had chosen to investigate it first-hand rather than rely on the sketchy character who brought it to me. “I think you look like cop!” my assailant said as the pressure on both my chest and my throat increased. The whole situation seemed a little surreal to me. I’ve followed up on countless leads in my career. Most of them went nowhere. This was the first time I had encountered such a violent response, and so quickly after my initial questions. My evening started ‘happily’ enough inside the establishment next door, Serenity Touch Spa on Elliott Street in the northeast part of the city. My informant had expressed his concern that they might be trafficking in underage teens, based on the sudden disappearance of a girl after his recent visit. I thought it would lead nowhere but apparently, I’d hit a nerve. I arrived a little over an hour ago and casually asked the Ma-ma Sang when I approached the reception desk if I could be hooked up with Xinjue. She looked oddly at me and said, “We have lots of pretty girls here. Why you want Xinjue?” “Oh,” I said, trying on what I imagined to be a lecherous face, “I heard she was really good.” I said this in a wink-wink sort of way. “She no here, anymore. You take another girl. I give you Bai Ling. She very good. Very pretty. Bai Ling give you good massage.” That was consistent with what I had been told by my informant. The young girl was strictly out of reach. Either gone somewhere or out of the lineup. “Sure. I guess, but I was really hoping to see Xinjue.” I said while trying to look disappointed. “She no here. You take Bai Ling,” she repeated. I paid upfront, $100 for an hour session, and the Ma-ma-Sang called for Bai Ling. I thought she must have been waiting just behind the curtain to the right of the reception desk. She appeared instantly. Bai Ling was petite, around 5’ 4” and maybe a hundred pounds. Consequently, she didn’t look at all like the buff young man I habitually frequent on the rare occasions I need a massage. Therapeutic only, in case you are wondering. Bai Ling took me by the hand and led me through the curtain to one of the doors that opened off a central hallway. I could see two more like it and a couple of others marked “Private” further on. All the doors had those sliding signs that switch between “Free” and “In Use”. There appeared to be a stair leading to an upper floor at the end of the hallway. As we stepped into the room, Bail Ling slid the sign on the door over to “In Use”. In the room, she slipped off a silky scarlet robe to reveal a lacy bra and panties, also scarlet. An interesting way to begin. My massage therapist generally wears a little more than that while working. She took my overcoat when I removed it and placed it on a hook by the door. Then she reached over and started to unbutton my shirt. “You very handsome man,” she said. “I make you feel very relaxed.” I knew that this was part of her routine, because while I’m not ugly, I’m definitely not handsome. I’m pushing 60, my hair is thinning, and I carry ten -well, maybe fifteen- extra pounds around my middle. It’s what people in Canada like to call their “Molson Muscle”. But even for me, an out gay man, flattery helps and I really wanted to believe her when she said I was handsome. But I digress… As she continued to unbutton my shirt, I put my hands up and gently pushed hers away. I shook my head. “No, no. I’m not interested in that. I just want to talk for a while.” I really wanted to say that I needed to ask her some questions but hoped she might think I was one of those lonely older men who only crave conversation, especially when it comes packaged with a bit of intimacy. She looked surprised, then offended. “What? You no like Bai Ling? I not pretty enough for you?” “No, no,” I said, taking her small hands in mine again, “You are very pretty. I just prefer to talk. To get to know you.” That seemed to mollify her a little, so I went on. “Where are you from, Bai Ling? Where were you born?” “China,” she said. “But I Canadian now!” Although I had no way of verifying this, I somehow doubted it.