Chapter 5

Around the beginning of February, I was frankly getting horny again, and decided that another visit to my friendly Asian masseuse, Pearl, was in order.

Just the anticipation of getting another blow-job was putting a smile on my face and a spring in my step. Even Martha noticed,

"My, oh my, Mark. You're awfully chipper this morning," she commented at breakfast, "What's going on?"

I looked at her, for a moment wondering if she knew or had guessed that I was taking her admonition to heart and getting my animal urges taken care of somewhere else. But nothing that would indicate such knowledge showed on her face. And to be honest, I didn't think that she was enough of an actress to fool me.

"Nothing special," I said, thinking that doing something for the third time probably reduced it from being 'something special' to just mundane and routine.

"A lovely day," I posited, and smiled.

Martha took another sip of her coffee.

"How is your class going? I don't remember; did you say what are you taking, and I just missed it?" she suddenly seemed to be trying to take an interest.

"Oh, it's fine, just fine," I said, avoiding her second question.

I was saved by the bell, so to speak.

Martha looked at the clock, and stood up, gathering her purse and keys, and heading out to her car in the garage.

"Got to go! I didn't realize how late it was," she air kissed at me, as if that were a substitute for the real thing, as she departed.

With Martha gone, I sat there for awhile thinking, finishing my cup of coffee and the onion bagel and cream-cheese that I ate most mornings for breakfast.

I had started going online and reading stories about cheating spouses, and one of the points that a number of authors made had to do with how the cheating spouse received a certain satisfaction out of 'putting one over' on the other. I guess that at that point, I was feeling that special 'I've got a secret and you don't know about it' smugness.

Because I would go by the massage place first and then directly to school, I packed everything I would need for the day and for my dancing class that evening in the car. It took me two trips, and five minutes later I was pulling my car out of the garage and hitting the road.

I turned that radio on to one of the 'oldies' stations and was happily humming along as I drove on the city streets.

As I approached the storefront that housed the massage parlor, I almost pulled into the driveway, when I realized that there were police cars with lights flashing behind the building, and a number of what could only be unmarked cars congregated blocking any exit from the front doors.

Fortunately, I noticed in time and just drove on past the building without slowing anymore than the normal 'rubber necker' would, seeing what was obviously a police raid.

My heartbeat was racing, so I pulled over into a shopping mall across the street, where I could see the massage parlor. I was shaking all over, as I sat there in the car. After a minute, I recalled that I kept an inexpensive set of binoculars in the car for emergencies. This wasn't precisely an emergency, but I pulled them out nonetheless.

From my vantage point, I could see the cops bringing out the woman from the front desk in hand cuffs, and placing her in the back of one of the unmarked cars. Then came a small group of Asian women, including Pearl, also handcuffed, who were also distributed into the back seats of the plain Crown Vic's.

I continued to watch, and a couple of minutes later, a step-van type vehicle pulled up to the front. Then the door opened, and I could see about five men, a couple in suits, others in t-shirts and jeans, but all handcuffed, being put into what I now recognized as a prisoner transport.

It struck me right then: If I'd finished my breakfast just a couple of minutes earlier this morning, I would have been one of the 'johns' snared in this raid. It would have been MY name in the paper as having been arrested for soliciting for prostitution, or whatever the charges were.

What were my emotions right then? First, I was so relieved that I hadn't been caught. Then the thought crossed my mind — was I on a list of clients anywhere? I tried to remember. I was fairly sure that I never used my full name (and they hadn't cared) and I always paid in cash, so there wouldn't be any credit card transactions. Were there security cameras, I wondered? I didn't remember any, and would it make any sense for a place like that to be taking videos of their customers?

Sitting around there in the parking lot wasn't doing me any good, so I finally got myself together and drove to school, where I sort of hid in my office until class. I got through my classes that day, and even went through the motions at dance class that evening, but it was obvious that I was preoccupied.

During the break during class that evening, Stephanie pulled me aside.

"Are you alright, Mark? You aren't yourself this evening. Is everything alright?" she demanded.

"Thanks, Steph, but everything is fine," I smiled as I tried to gloss over my inner fear. "Just a little tired, and worried, but nothing terribly important."

Stephanie came up close to me, and took my arm. She looked up at me, with caring eyes.

"You know that if there is anything you need, that I can do to help you, don't hesitate to let me know," she said, in one of those voices that left you with the feeling that she was not just going through the motions, but with a tone that told me she really meant it. I really appreciated that, although how she could help with this, I don't know.

I returned home that night still a bundle of nerves.

For the next couple of days I kept an eye out, as if I were expecting the police to come up to me in class and put handcuffs on me, leading me out while reading my Miranda rights.

I kept envisioning it:

"You are under arrest, Mark McDonald, for getting whacked-off and receiving oral sex. Come with us peaceably or we'll have to use force," was how it went in my nightmares.

There was a small blurb in the paper about the raid, about a paragraph long, calling the woman behind the desk, Madame Li, but revealing her real name as Judy Wong. She owned and operated the massage parlor and was charged with operating a house of prostitution and procurement.

It mentioned that there were five women arrested for prostitution, but their names weren't even listed individually, and as for the 'johns' — they were booked for solicitation and released on their own recognizance.

In the end, it didn't seem as if anyone was too concerned about shutting down my little local massage parlor. I was relieved that it appeared that there weren't going to be any repercussions for me.

But it focused my mind on the risks that I had been taking for sexual relief. Would it have been better for me to exchange the private humiliation of having my wife deny me intimacy and sex, for the public humiliation of being arrested? I should have known that if it was so easy for me to find out about the availability of sex there, it would be just as easy for the police.

It made me despair.

You know, it's amazing how life goes on.

After what I regarded as my close call, missing being arrested at the massage parlor by minutes, I got over the fright and back into the normal rhythm of my life.

These days though, my dance class had become something of the high-point of my life. We had finished with the "East Coast Swing' and were moving on to the 'Foxtrot', and Bob hoped that we would get through the 'Waltz' and maybe one additional dance step by the end of the semester.

For me, the pleasure of spending a couple of hours a week with Stephanie was providing at least some of the kind of intimacy that I used to share with Martha. It didn't bother me to have all of the young women in the class lined up to dance with me either.

Stephanie took me aside during our break one evening.

"Mark," she told me laughing, "you know that all of these young coeds in our class, when they are waiting for their turns to dance with the men? They sit there admiring your wide shoulders and your tight little buns! They say things like 'not bad for a professor.'"

"And how do you know? Why are they telling you?" I asked her, thinking that she was pulling my leg.

"Because I tell them that I completely agree with them!" was her response, laughing even more herself.

How that woman does make me blush. Thankfully we were standing outside, where the lights were fairly dim.

One of the reasons that the dance class was such a pleasure was our instructor, Bob Williamson.

Bob was patient and encouraging, and let everyone work at their own pace, which helped. We learned our basis steps first without music, as well, so that we weren't struggling to 'keep up' with the music until we had the step well in hand. And it was still tough then, the first couple of times that we tried to dance to the music. I guess we guys were lucky in a way — because of ratio of men to women; we were dancing virtually all of the time. The extra woman could dance as well, but they would have to either do the steps solo, or with other women, which created problems as you can imagine.

Once before class, I ran into Bob at one of the local restaurants, and he asked me to join him. It gave me a chance to get to know him a little.

"Bob, how did you get into ballroom dancing? When I was growing up, I wasn't even aware that anyone was still doing it. It was as if it had disappeared along with old Fred Astaire movies," I mentioned.

"My mother and dad both did ballroom dancing, so I started when I was pretty young. My dad actually worked as a High School teacher, but my mom had a studio where she taught dancing. We could never have lived on her earnings, but it let her bring in some money while being home according to her own schedule," he began.

"I danced and didn't think anything of it, until I was about 11-years old. I thought that everyone's parents spent the weekends at clubs or social events. It wasn't until later that I realized that my parents were there because they were being paid to provide good dancing partners for the men and women who wanted to dance, but didn't have a dance partner of their own," he laughed.