The Search for a Happy Ending!
Featured article on ZUG. The first of a three part adventure
Part IV: A New Hope
After much curiosity and excitement, I wanted to see what the Asian Massage Parlor (AMP) scene was like here in NYC. So I kissed my wife, had her sign a permission slip, and took this experiment to the street to see what the lore and legend of the Happy Ending service is all about. I have cataloged my experience, similar to the Dateline investigations with Chris Hanson, except I come armed with $150, a photographic memory, and a childish giggle. My quest is for the holy grail: A Happy Ending!
There are many Asian Massage Parlors in New York, which run the gamut in terms of service and experience; the Rub-N-Tug, Mouthful of the Orient, or the Eliot Spitzer (with and without socks), to name a few. But, for the purposes of this experiment (and to maintain my marriage), I headed to a place known for specializing in the legitimate Kung Fu-Grip (Rub-N-Tug), which I prefer not to mention in an effort to maintain the integrity of this hidden gem (cough, cough, cough, West Garden Spa).
My journey begins at the doorway of a building. Double-frosted glass doors, dragon sign and an unmarked buzzer. I am buzzed into what appears to be a legitimate spa, with the fragrant smell of lavender and broken dreams. As I approach the front desk, I am greeted by the Mamasan, who immediately looks like she knows me and quickly calls out, “Nannnnaaaa”. My confusion begins, as I look all around, not sure if this is a typical Korean greeting and if I am supposed to reply to her.
My initial thought is to scream back “Haaaannnd Jooooobbb?”, but tact and a little bit of patience quickly clear up the miscommunication. As luck would have it, the answer comes quickly in the form of a short skirted, tube topped Korean who appears almost out of thin air. I start to see that the mythology and lore of these places, which must be based on the fact that Asian possess magical powers.
The Mamasan smiles and says to the woman “This A numba one customer, you take care of he. A#1, A1! She take gooood care of you.” Now I realize they have me confused with every other young, white, business guy coming into this establishment after work, but I take this as a good sign, since repeat customers usually get the royal treatment, as far as I know. And, at the very least, I know I am getting treatment befitting of the steak sauce which bears the same name. I fucking love A-1!
I hand mamma the $100 and the masseuse grabs my hand and walks me down a long hallway, saying, “It been so long, I miss you, Nana Miss you. Why you no come long time.” I mentally freeze up. Not because of the situation, or the fact that she is speaking broken English, but more importantly that this woman shares the same name as my 97 year old grandma in Boca Raton (instant wood killer). This is going to be a very awkward exchange if she continually addresses herself in the third person and as my grandmother, but I shake it off and follow her into the locker room.
She sits me down and asks me, “Shower”? I realize this broken English exchange is going to be the norm for the session, so try and follow along, but I have to pretend like I have done this before, else I may jeopardize the ending. She hands me a towel and walks out of the locker room. Instinct tells me to get naked, as a regular would be confident and comfortable to be out there and loving it, so I figured let’s see how this plays out. I drop trou, hang up my clothes and dangle my manliness for all to see.
She comes back to the room and to her shock she mutters something in Korean. Now I am not sure what the word for bigfoot or hairy beast is in Korean, but I don’t need an interpreter to know when she is talking about my hairy bitch tits. Still, she had a big kimchi-eating grin on her face, gave me the friendly wax on wax off of my man boobs (tweaked them a little), giggled to herself and playfully grabbed my hand to escort me to the shower room.
I should take a moment to caveat the body hair. I have tassels around the nips, and a happy trail that could launch an invasion on Mordor. King Kong ain’t got shit on me! But I digress. It was time to begin the journey…
Stay tuned for Part V: Nana Strikes Back.
Part IV: A New Hope
After much curiosity and excitement, I wanted to see what the Asian Massage Parlor (AMP) scene was like here in NYC. So I kissed my wife, had her sign a permission slip, and took this experiment to the street to see what the lore and legend of the Happy Ending service is all about. I have cataloged my experience, similar to the Dateline investigations with Chris Hanson, except I come armed with $150, a photographic memory, and a childish giggle. My quest is for the holy grail: A Happy Ending!
There are many Asian Massage Parlors in New York, which run the gamut in terms of service and experience; the Rub-N-Tug, Mouthful of the Orient, or the Eliot Spitzer (with and without socks), to name a few. But, for the purposes of this experiment (and to maintain my marriage), I headed to a place known for specializing in the legitimate Kung Fu-Grip (Rub-N-Tug), which I prefer not to mention in an effort to maintain the integrity of this hidden gem (cough, cough, cough, West Garden Spa).
My journey begins at the doorway of a building. Double-frosted glass doors, dragon sign and an unmarked buzzer. I am buzzed into what appears to be a legitimate spa, with the fragrant smell of lavender and broken dreams. As I approach the front desk, I am greeted by the Mamasan, who immediately looks like she knows me and quickly calls out, “Nannnnaaaa”. My confusion begins, as I look all around, not sure if this is a typical Korean greeting and if I am supposed to reply to her.
My initial thought is to scream back “Haaaannnd Jooooobbb?”, but tact and a little bit of patience quickly clear up the miscommunication. As luck would have it, the answer comes quickly in the form of a short skirted, tube topped Korean who appears almost out of thin air. I start to see that the mythology and lore of these places, which must be based on the fact that Asian possess magical powers.
The Mamasan smiles and says to the woman “This A numba one customer, you take care of he. A#1, A1! She take gooood care of you.” Now I realize they have me confused with every other young, white, business guy coming into this establishment after work, but I take this as a good sign, since repeat customers usually get the royal treatment, as far as I know. And, at the very least, I know I am getting treatment befitting of the steak sauce which bears the same name. I fucking love A-1!
I hand mamma the $100 and the masseuse grabs my hand and walks me down a long hallway, saying, “It been so long, I miss you, Nana Miss you. Why you no come long time.” I mentally freeze up. Not because of the situation, or the fact that she is speaking broken English, but more importantly that this woman shares the same name as my 97 year old grandma in Boca Raton (instant wood killer). This is going to be a very awkward exchange if she continually addresses herself in the third person and as my grandmother, but I shake it off and follow her into the locker room.
She sits me down and asks me, “Shower”? I realize this broken English exchange is going to be the norm for the session, so try and follow along, but I have to pretend like I have done this before, else I may jeopardize the ending. She hands me a towel and walks out of the locker room. Instinct tells me to get naked, as a regular would be confident and comfortable to be out there and loving it, so I figured let’s see how this plays out. I drop trou, hang up my clothes and dangle my manliness for all to see.
She comes back to the room and to her shock she mutters something in Korean. Now I am not sure what the word for bigfoot or hairy beast is in Korean, but I don’t need an interpreter to know when she is talking about my hairy bitch tits. Still, she had a big kimchi-eating grin on her face, gave me the friendly wax on wax off of my man boobs (tweaked them a little), giggled to herself and playfully grabbed my hand to escort me to the shower room.
I should take a moment to caveat the body hair. I have tassels around the nips, and a happy trail that could launch an invasion on Mordor. King Kong ain’t got shit on me! But I digress. It was time to begin the journey…
Stay tuned for Part V: Nana Strikes Back.
posted by Mung Champ at 10:22 PM
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