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Tweet Things had been going downhill for quite a while, and I say this not just because of my age I was born inbut also because of a historical trend: back when I got started being active, way back in just before AIDS when Greenwich Village was still at its peak, there used to be great bars and the Great ,essage Baths; no one had heard about condoms; people like me would think nothing of finding ten partners a night. Angelss everyone is on an app called Grindr sending nude pictures to fifty potential partners a night in the hope of reeling in one of them.
Some people under thirty spend most of their lives on Grindr. And then one day I saw that the great Hollywood Spa had just shut down.
Business had been lousy and it was like a ghost-town. The crowd never moved anywhere except to oblivion. Yes, there was a camera, but after a while even the camera got old.
Even the chat rooms started losing business and we I started living life as a sort of Incel. And not the Midtowne Spa any night of the week, but only once a month when they turned the lights out—literally, and the males partied in the dark.
I could almost make believe it was again. Until I was assaulted.
Assault at the midtowne spa, los angeles; or, how sex history can end with a bang
It happened last Saturday. I was right.
There was no line, and I found parking safely in the structure next door. After a shower I walked through the dark just in my towel, just like I walked into the darkest room. I approached two men doing the deed of darkness in the dark and hoped to in by this time my eyes had adapted a bit so I could make out something.
One of the two seemed interested and motioned for me to. The other one pushed me away.
When I tried a second time, he pushed me away more forcefully, and in front measage everyone in the almost dark, I fell down a small set of stairs within the room. It was like a baseball bat hit me in the face, it was that hard, like bone-crushing strength.
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I just sat there shaken. I sat there dazed and the two abruptly left.
I never saw their faces. Later, I looked in a mirror.
No blood, no bruising—on the outside. I could feel it though, and I still messge it, like when I kiss my dog on the nose I still feel where the fist or bat or foot slammed into my face. For the first time in almost forty years I have nowhere to go.
Except maybe Barcelona… Or: an angel spoke? Related Post.