No matter where I seem to live in New York City, my neighbor is always a “handy shack,” aka a massage parlor that doles out happy endings. Currently, I live next to a place with a basement entrance, a neon red light, and middle-aged masseuses who wait for customers behind veiled curtains. It purports itself to be a Chinese Healing Center — hey, as we all know, there are many benefits to sexual healing. The handwritten sign in the window advertises a deal for “61 minutes.” My best friend thinks that extra minute is all the time their clients need to prematurely ejaculate, but I think it really says 69 illegibly.

We see men go and come there, and I even have a married friend who frequents it. It’s always hilarious when I catch him with a big smile on his way out. Parlors like that are a dime a dozen in the city, but nothing tops where I lived fresh out of college. The infamous Russian Turkish Bath House of the East Village was the building in my backyard. I recommend taking a gander at their video to get a sense of the experience. I myself spent many a night watching the free porn that went on in their outdoor pool, so, I was not surprised to read that they are…how should I put it… a full-service operation. Keep reading »