The last place I lived at had half a dozen massage parlours within walking distance from it. While this seemed normal to me, one of my regulars from a bigger city pointed out they usually aren’t so visible on the second main road artery! I didn’t care, such establishments weren’t for me or the circle I hung around with. Or so I thought…

***

I was living with Bryon and my friend Mark, who was down on luck at the time. Like Bryon and I he worked in the bar industry and liked his liquor. However, he had also just lost his job and suffered from major health issues. But while Mark received some money from disability it was barely enough so we let him stay with us to help him out. 

Despite his problems Mark wasn’t an inconvenience. Instead, he was a lot of fun, cleaned, and had no lack of great stories and jokes. Given Bryon and I at the time were often miserable from our jobs this was a major bonus. We would all play Halo and Call of Duty, drink until the early hours of the morning, and prank each other. Those were great days. 

However, Mark had a fatal flaw… he had a weakness for the ladies. While I have a similar issue the difference is they had to at least be attractive for me to pursue them. Because Mark would chase every girl under the sun. Didn’t matter how mean they were, how dumb they were, or if they weighed liked Moby Dick. 

In practice, this meant at least once a week a new girl would show up at the house. Usually they were nice enough but it still cramped our style unless they were really cool or brought along a cute friend. Unsurprisingly, this was seldom the case. When I asked Mark how he met so many women (of often dubious value) he said “Plenty of Fish” without shame. This was before Tinder destroyed the pretence of respectable dating in modern times and I remember wasting many pointless hours on POF myself.

Needless to say my experience was as positive as most men’s. While I’m above average in looks I’m not in the top 10% that gets most matches and since I don’t find most women on dating apps attractive I got no where. The best I’d get were classic “hey” messages from girls with no other content. Yet women complain about how men can’t hold conversations on dating apps!

***

Anyway, one day I came home from a long, miserable day shift and wanted to pound back a few beers. Bryon was working late and I noticed Mark hadn’t gotten up yet. So I turned on the TV and cracked open a beer. As if on cue I heard “HOLY” from Mark’s room. That was his catchphrase whenever someone opened a beer can so I knew he’d be out shortly. As he came left his room I could tell he was noticeably drunk.

Apparently, his latest woman had dumped him and Mark was going on a bender to drown the pain. When I asked him how many drinks he had Mark unleashed the mother of all belches, which sent me to the floor cackling. He had polished off most of a mickey of whiskey and six beers, and was hobbling around like Quasimodo. 

Wanting to be a good friend I asked him if he wanted to talk about what happened, as I often had to given how many women he cycled through. I expected it would be another evening of “there, there,” “you’re too good for her,” and “there are plenty of fish left in the sea,” but thankfully he wasn’t up for it. Instead his response caught me off guard.

“Take me to the masseuse” he said. Taken aback I merely said “huh… which one?” again realizing there were six places within stumbling distance from our front door. “I don’t give a fuck,” Mark said without any sense of decorum, “as long as I got my dick”… I’m sure you get the idea.

Silence descended upon the room for a moment. I really didn’t want to drive Mark to get a rub and tug and amassed a list of excuses to barrage him with. 

I pointed out I had just cracked a beer and it wouldn’t be smart for me to drink and drive. He noted I had just taken a few sips and could easily drive him there within three minutes. “Damn it,” I thought. I told him he could walk there himself but given his health issues and heartbreak he told me to take pity on him. “Aww shit,” I remember thinking. I suggested he didn’t have alot of money and shouldn’t spend it on rub and tugs… reminding him it was free to watch Pornhub. Mark told me he had just gotten money back from his taxes and could afford a few leisurely expenses.

“For crying out loud, this fucker has an answer for everything,” I thought.

But I didn’t give up so easily. “You realize most of the masseuses around here are old, raggedy Asian grannies,” I offered. Whether or not that was true I don’t know, but I thought it would deter him. “I don’t give a fuck man, I just want my dick”… I had to cut him off as I forgot who I was talking to. So I got to the main point of attack: “Mark, you’re drunk as fuck… they won’t let you in anyway… you’ll be kicked out right away.”

I was right of course but instead of victory it led to a back and forth of “no they won’t” and “yes they will” until I pounded my beer out of frustration. Having just wasted the last 5 minutes of my life and wanting nothing more to do with this I finally said “I just don’t want to drive you, okay?” 

Silence filled the room once more. The colour left Mark’s face and he gave me the puppy dog look. “C’mon,” he said at last. I sighed, put my head in one hand, and said “why not!”

***

It took 110-130 seconds to drive my horn dog friend to the closest massage parlour (far less time than the dumb debate preceding it). Before leaving I told Mark to chew half a pack of gum, gargle mouthwash, and put on deodorant to give him decent odds of admittance. Whether he did this or not I don’t know as I went downstairs to chug another beer to reset after our conversation.

As I pulled up to the establishment I cautioned Mark to be calm and not do anything stupid. Because a few pieces of gum doesn’t cover up an afternoon of hard drinking. Before he left the car I made sure to shake his hand and told him I’d wait for his call and would be back soon. Taken aback he said “what do you mean?”

“…I’ll wait for your call,” I said as he got out and walked to the front door.

***

I didn’t bother taking off my shoes when I got home and entered the living room. I even debated keeping the car running as I knew what was coming. Instead, I poured a double Jack on the rocks and played the waiting game. It didn’t take long as within three minutes I got a call from Mark. “Big shock,” I thought as I downed my drink in a few heartbeats.

“Hey…” he started. “Yaa?” I said without trying to sound like I told you so. “Can you come and get me?” Mark said without any apparent shame. “I’ll be there right away,” I remarked without emotion.

“He came, he saw, he got whiskey dick,” was all I could think of during the drive over.

Mark was waiting sheepishly as I pulled up. He got in and we drove away without incident. I’ll never forgot the cold silence until I finally said “so… what happened?” With some regret he said “I was too drunk… she wouldn’t touch me.” After some more silence I asked “okay…. and?”

After some hesitation Mark told me what occurred. “The owner came in, said ‘you’re too drunk, you drink coffee then come back’ and told me to leave. I’m glad the drive home was short because as I pulled up to the house I shut off the car, fell against the dashboard, and roared with laughter. “You disgrace,” I said to Mark, “what did you expect would happen?”

As we entered the living room Bryon was there sipping on a pint glass of wine. “Where the hell were you two?” He asked. I gave a quick chuckle and said “yaa Mark, where were we?” It’s been over a decade since but I clearly remember clearly his response. “… You don’t want to know,” he said in the most dead pan manner.  

We never spoke of it again.