Awakened rudely by the blaring electronic ring of my phone, I cover my ears, hoping they only feel like theyโre on fire and aren't actually in flames. My head feels like the inside of a loudspeaker, which is where I left it the night before. I white-knuckle it and the ringing stops. The grey fog in my vision won't let up but then the ringing starts again, the way it always does, and I know the only answer is to pick up the phone.
"King Otis," I croak "Hand Job Detective."
"Otis" the voice on the other end barks, "It's me, Jackie Hand." Hand is a friend from way back but also a good customer. He has two things I love in a client: a large inheritance and remorseless sex addiction. "I heard a rumor there's a place on Grand Street where the massages are good and the hand jobs are even better" he says.
The fog clears quickly at the promise of a paying gig and the prospect of sampling the wares at another happy ending emporium. I sit up quickly, regret it, and lay back down. "OK, Hand. I can take your case."
"The name of the place is 'Thousand Hands'. Lady named Lily" Hand says. "Now get your sorry ass out of Brooklyn, I need results!" He slams the phone down and my ears burst into flames again. Time for a shower.
An hour later my two tone shoes hit the sidewalk at Grand and Essex, mentally clocking the places I know that might fit the bill. Good Luck Accupressure...not a chance. A decent rub and tug spot but grandmas ain't Jackie's speed. Chinatown Grand...no, he said this place gives a "good" massage and handy, not a shitty massage and blow job. Grand Spa...no way, Jackie wouldn't be caught dead in a place with a table shower.
I pass my favorite Grand Street joint. The place is a hair salon with a sign out front that reads "Relaxing Spa Palace". I darken their door at least once a week - they have achieved a level of consistent quality that is rare in this grimy business. It's almost like a paramilitary operation, with a hierarchical chain of command that would make General Patton blush.
You walk in the door and the army of Chinese women presents arms. The 200 pound mamasan in charge has the kind of permanent scowl that leaves lines on her face and bruises on your soul. I remember one night as I was leaving she was getting out of the shower and I almost collided with her, dripping, wearing only her towel. Without a trace of embarrassment or concern she continued barking out orders I couldn't understand, cutting a glance in my direction that instantly reduced me to the size of a bug as I hustled my ass out of there.
Through a door at the back of the salon is a little "spa" area with four or five massage stalls, 2 showers and some lockers. Guys who obsess about privacy steer clear of this kind of joint. You can hear what's going on in the other stalls, and it would only take a small error in timing to wind up face to face with another rub junkie.
The floors are so clean they sparkle like a newly minted dime. The showers are hot and clean. Walking away from less well-appointed Chinatown places with an oily cock in my pants I've been tempted to stop in here and just ask if I can pay to use their shower.
There is majesty and mystery in this place. The girls are numbered just like the lockers. Ask your girl her name, she might give you her "professional" name or her number. Amy / #2...Coco / #12...you get the idea.
As far as service is concerned, what you get here is always a superb massage followed by an excellent handjob. You can get your hands on the girls' tits, shirts pulled up, bras open...you can generally grab their asses...that's about as far as it goes, but that's all you'll need...these ladies are exceptionally well trained. The depth of talent and consistency is incomparable.
Week after week I walk in and an hour later I walk out smiling. Standing on Grand, some moments come to mind...
A hot August afternoon. Chasing a tip from a fellow rub junkie, I walk right past the storefront thinking it's just a hair salon before I stop and do a double take. No hair salon has so many beautiful women sitting and waiting for customers...
I head to the back with Coco (#12), a pretty young Malaysian girl in her early 20's. The hard massage surprises me. She's not a big girl but her hands are strong and she knows how to use them. She dims the lights and massages my ass, then she reaches under and strokes my growing cock. Her breath is short and hard and with her other hand against my ass she starts to stroke and I have to stop her...I've had hundreds of rubs, it takes work to finish me. But the intensity of her breathing and the sweetness in her face have me ready to pop after five minutes.
I flip over and I see that she knows exactly what she's doing. Her nipples are poking through her tight t-shirt and I touch them lightly and she builds her rhythm again, brings me within seconds of coming...and then eases off...before starting again...and easing off.
This kid has some biceps, I think, as she finally lets me have what I came for and she keeps stroking away until I explode and slowly melt into a puddle on the table.
A cool Sunday night in September. I spend an hour (the first of several to come) with Amy (#2) a pretty spinner in her late 20's with an absolutely perfect heart-shaped ass. She walks all over my back with her tiny feet, making expert use of her incredibly powerful legs. As the hour ticks away I begin to worry that she won't finish the job, but before I have time to think it through, her shirt is up, her bra is open and I've got her beautiful A cups with their pencil-eraser nipples in my paws and I'm erupting.
Then there was my time with Jenny (#8) a slow-eyed beauty. The bad disc in my neck was acting up and I needed help. She kept me on the table for 90 minutes, running her hands over every inch of my body, finding pressure points and knotted muscles I didn't even know were there and working them out. I was ready to jump off the table and do push ups by the end, but then the hand job began and 15 minutes later I almost had to be wheeled out of there, I was so relaxed.
And then there's Wendy (#5), thicker and older than the others with a commanding presence and piercing eyes. After a hard, fast moving rub including the best foot massage I have ever experienced she dimmed the lights and whispered that I could "be her husband for an hour" before pulling up her shirt and pulling down her shorts. She ran her fluttering tongue over my chest, then my balls, then my cock, which responded as expected. Wendy stuck one breast in my mouth before grabbing my left hand and planting it on her other breast and then pulling my right hand onto her moist pussy.
Naturally, that was enough to make me come with very little further ado.
Afterwards, Wendy handed me a card on which she'd written her cell number and "Wendy #5." I was very careful to hold onto it and to call ahead for her special level of service when needed.
Great memories. Great place. Each time out the price tag was $45 for the house and 40 for the girl...50 for Wendy and her magic tongue...and an extra 20 to the house for the 90 minute session with Jenny.
The click of my heels on the sidewalk echoes like a nightstick tapping a wall. Thousand Hands...Lily...what could it mean? I've been up and down Grand Street a thousand times. I've been oiled more than the squeaky wheel on a baby carriage. And I've never met a "Lily" on Grand or been anywhere near anything called "Thousand Hands."
Pacing westward I let myself wander as I ponder the pieces of my puzzle. Peripherally, I clock the word "Thousand" on a sign and turn. Thousand year egg. Shit. What looks familiar about the sign? My head is swimming with echoes and vague whispers. I remember something a rub junkie who calls himself Tiger told me...the girls at Relaxing Spa used to be another place. Fortuna, it was called...the favorite there was a girl with big D cups named...Lily.
I turn on my heels and double-time it back to Grand. "Thousand" yeah, that was it. The awning over "Relaxing Spa" had characters I didn't understand. Thousand year egg... same first character. ๅ Thousand.
Lily...Fortuna. Tiger had told me Lily's phone number. I shuffled the cards in my head...where was it?
I find myself across the street from Relaxing Spa in front of Good Luck Accupressure, and I pick up their flyer. The word "hand" jumps out at me from the text and there is the matching character. Putting one plus one together...thousand hands... ๅๆ โฆ The awning over my favorite place. There it is.
Then it all clicks. Lily's phone number...same as Wendy's. Thousand hands...same as Relaxing Palace.
I pull out my phone to call Jackie Hand but I stop myself...and I cross the street and walk in the door. I'll call Jackie soon enough...he can have his rub after I finish mine.
212-965-1906