INTERIOR - OTIS MANOR - EVENING
We see the vaguely foppish yet manly Lord Otis, a man of average height and stature who carries himself like royalty. He is absorbed in the process of stunting the further growth of a tiny bonsai gingko tree, but we hear his voice, clear as a bell but nowhere near as concise. As he speaks, the story unfolds in silence behind his words.
OTIS (Voice Over)
The fever took me suddenly and completely. I had just finished a light Sunday repast and repaired to my study. I chose a volume of erotica from my library and sat in my reading chair and then the chills overtook me with such force that my hands began to shake. The tome in my lap vibrated with such intensity that I initially thought that perhaps Kiki of Montparnasse had been taken to two different masquerade balls but alas, I found that I had merely read each word twice because of the uncontrollable shaking.
I rang for my man-servant who, as always, arrived on bended knee, ready to cater to my requirements, and then he saw my ashen face and immediately hastened me to my bed. Beneath an impressive array of blankets and quilts, I shivered heartily and drifted into a dream state...
EXTERIOR - 33RD STREET
Otis dreams in black and white, and so do we, because the film stock is significantly cheaper. The barren street is dotted by the shadows of furtive men in overcoats who dart to and fro, looking for neon lights and sandwich boards offering cheap and dirty massages.
Otis appears. His overcoat and diamond crown hat glisten with the mist that coats this dirty city from dusk till dawn. He pauses to light a Lucky Strike and then just as quickly he tosses it aside and grinds it out with the toe of his Italian patent leather two-tone wingtip. Again we hear his voice atop the action.
OTIS (Voice Over)
I found this place in the summer, flying so far under the radar it might as well have been a submarine. The clues were all in a thread but you had to go find it yourself...no phone number but you had to be blind to miss it. The descriptions were impressive and irresistible - filthy, tiny, cramped, vile, disgusting, horrible...I was powerless to resist its siren song.
INTERIOR - 33RD STREET
OTIS (Voice Over)
I entered a storefront on 33rd Street, lured, as always, by the promise of a cheap massage and blowjob. I’ve been to some pretty dark places in my time but this was something even stranger than my usual diet of glorified coatrooms, dank basements and back rooms of barber shops. Crammed into one storefront there was a phone store, an internet café and…a massage parlor. Most of these places try to make the entrance discreet. This one had a sandwich board on the sidewalk listing their massage prices. I stepped past the phone place and opened the door to the massage place. There, in an overstuffed leatherette chair, sat a middle aged Asian woman, watching Chinese soap operas.
She smiled a yellow-toothed smile and stood up, revealing what I can only describe as a blocky physique, masterfully accentuated by the mom-ass denim shorts she had chosen to wear to her job entertaining horny men. Clearly I had come to the right place. She said her name was Hannah and she took me to a massage stall so small I had to inhale to get around the table. She told me to be careful not to bang my head on the exposed pipes and walked out.
I thought for a second about some of the nice places I’ve gone to – places with clean floors, high ceilings (and walls that actually reach them,) and hot young women. I gave a withering sigh and worried for a second that I might blow the walls over if I exhaled too hard…I took my pants off, put 30 bucks for the house to the side and got on the table.
Hannah gave a semi-professional charade of a massage and I turned over. She went right for the cock and oiled it up. Her hand felt nice. I put my hand on her big ass and felt the stonewashed outlet store denim, which was not unlike fondling one of those pillows people used to make out of their old jeans. I reached up and touched her big breasts, which were…imprisoned in some sort of medieval contraption designed to entrap and contain vicious livestock, apparently. I tried to slip my hand under it and jabbed myself on an underwire or a barbed wire or a mousetrap or something.
I was plenty hard, and her hand was doing a little magic on me. I looked up at her face and her eyes. She was working hard; I could see little beads of sweat on her forehead. I could feel her shirt clinging to her torso. I felt her breasts through her bra and scanned her face for signs of life. She smiled a thin little smile. Her hand was rocketing up and down my hard cock. I weighed my options. I could let this handjob continue to a conclusion, hand her a tip and be on my way, or I could start negotiating for a blowjob.
I looked at the exposed pipes and the curtain where the door should be. I looked at the vaguely exasperated expression on Hannah’s face as she encountered the bicep-workout of an Otis handjob for the first time. I decided to keep it simple and get the job done. Hannah kept pumping away and I closed my eyes and finally gave way to a minor eruption.
I am rarely filled with remorse after quick, dirty, cheap relief. I do feel remorse if I have overpaid or if I have done something regrettable but very rarely do I lie back on that table and wish I hadn’t darkened their door. This time I felt no pleasant afterglow. The table felt cold under my naked ass and all I wanted to do was leave. I had been told there was a shower in the place but, having no desire to bring home athlete’s foot, I took the hot towel cleanup, put my pants on, handed Hannah 40 bucks and bolted without even accepting the obligatory cup of cold water.
With a beginning so auspicious, it was bound to happen again.
INTERIOR - OTIS MANOR - EVENING
Lord Otis, drenched in sweat, moans and writhes as the Doctor and the Man-Servant stand nearby.
OTIS
Chi Na. Chi Na. Don't go to China, Chi Na.
DOCTOR
What's he saying? Something about China?
Man-Servant shrugs and rolls his eyes. The Doctor produces a tin cup of water and shakes Otis gently, holding the water to his lips. Otis' eyes open and he takes a small sip before collapsing back onto the bed, where reality again evaporates into dreams.
EXTERIOR - 33RD STREET
As always, Otis dreams on cheap film stock. The afternoon heat rises from the moist pavement in sticky plumes of steam that smell like wet dog after a Summer rain. Otis approaches the storefront in his shirtsleeves, unafraid and unabashed at the vulgarity of his intended destination.
OTIS (Voice Over)
If you ever need proof that man is a vulgar, selfish creature, look no further than 33rd Street.
I can't say what drew me back to the place. A romantic attachment to anything both strange and dirty? Maybe a little bit. A semi-pathological need to push the envelope? Not really. The ability to satisfy the demands of my addiction on the spur of the moment at a low cost? Yeah, that fits.
INTERIOR - 33RD STREET
Otis pushes through the door and stops short. Three middle-aged Chinese women in various states of repose are before him.
OTIS (Voice Over)
If I hadn’t been sweating already I would have started then. It was like a Chinese soccer mom convention in the place that day. I looked away from Hannah. The other two had kind faces but otherwise were no better or worse than Hannah. One was a little thinner than the other – she had on a tank top and terrycloth shorts. She had a pleasant moon face that reminded me of the lady who worked in the bakery on 8th Avenue in Brooklyn where I used to buy pork buns and almond cookies. She said her name was Chi Na.
She took me into the biggest stall in the place…which was still no bigger than one of those electric cars they make you drive these days even though everybody prefers warmer weather and deeper oceans anyway. I gave her the 30 for the house and she gave me a pathetic little perfunctory 15 minute rub before asking me to turn over. She wasted no time taking my soft cock into her hand and making it grow. Then she looked down at me, I looked her in the eyes. It felt kind of like a tender but lustful moment. She whispered something I didn’t understand. I asked her to repeat it. She leaned over and got close to my ear. Softly she said the words of love: “how much for me?”
I felt myself getting harder, and those lovely words helped. I looked into her eyes and replied sweetly. “That depends…” I gave her 80 for a blowjob. I could have knocked it down by another 20 but it felt shitty enough as it was.
(Continued…)