I left Michigan with Annie, my little sister, the day after I graduated high school in June 1987. After crossing the Michigan/Indiana border, I swore I’d never return. With the exception of layovers at Detroit Metro Airport, it was a promise I kept to myself, at least until Gary Mertz died. Once I saw that a bunch of my old classmates, including Kimberly Crane, were going to be attending the funeral, I decided to break my promise to myself and make the trip.
I didn’t leave because I hated Michigan. I left because the stains of my dad’s crimes haunted me, and the deaths of my mom and grandma were too much for Annie and me to bear. We had nothing left in Michigan, except for Laurie, our older sister. She was so busy with her classes that we didn’t want to burden her. So after turning eighteen, Annie and I decided to move out to California.
After waking up at six in the morning on my second day in Michigan, I went to the hotel’s gym and worked out for an hour. I then ordered a light breakfast from room service. Took a selfie with the attendant who delivered my food. After finishing my egg whites and toast, I grabbed a shower before heading out to revisit some of my old haunts.
My first visit was to the Classic Movie and Comic Center at Seven Mile and Middlebelt. Back in the day, Andrew and I would ride our bikes there every Saturday and pick up comic books. My favorites back then were “Uncanny X-Men,” “New Teen Titans,” Micronauts,” and “Infinity Inc.” The two of us would peruse the racks, looking for covers that would jump out at us. And with five dollars in our pockets, we'd buy as many comics as possible. Sadly, the store is no longer there. Where superheroes once came to life, a Planet Fitness now stands in its place. I snapped a picture of it and sent it to Andrew. He immediately replied by saying, “That’s ironic. A store filled with workers who never went to the gym was replaced by a gym.
Across Seven Mile, where the once-mighty Livonia Mall used to stand, was a Walmart, a bunch of other stores, and a now-closed Sears. Seeing that depressed me. That mall was one of my favorite places to go. Since it had a dollar movie theater inside, my mom took me and my sisters to the movies when dad wasn’t home. I especially loved “The Little Rascals” and “Three Stooges” marathons. With the exception of The New Beverly and a few other theaters in Los Angeles, not too many places do that kind of programming anymore.
I spent the rest of my morning driving from place to place, only to find all the vestiges of my childhood had become nothing more than faded memories. When you’re a kid, you don’t think about change because, for the most part, everything remains the same. Then you get older and notice things change constantly, and it never stops until you die.
Around lunch, I drove into Ferndale. Back in 1985, this Detroit suburb was one of the sleaziest cities in Oakland County. The city boasted Studio North, an X-rated movie theater, and a massage parlor known as The Loving Touch. It was a two-story building that stood on the corner of Woodward and East Troy Street. The upper level was a ballet school, while the lower level was home to a house of ill repute. As I drove past it, I noticed it had been turned into the Woodward Avenue Brewers, aka the WAB.
I was sad to see it gone and replaced by another microbrewery. In my opinion, every time one of those establishments opens, the area suddenly becomes trendy, and everything that made it cool disappears. Ferndale was now full of hipster restaurants, clubs, and chic stores. The Magic Bag, a concert venue, had taken the place of Studio North. The Loving Touch signage is now used on a pool hall and concert venue. Basically, the only things that remained were the White Castle and John King Books.
After parking behind the WAB, I walked to its doors, only to find them closed. I thought to myself, “Why is it only open on Thursday through Saturday from 5 to 12?” I walked across East Troy Street and entered the Emory for lunch. A young lady named Johanna walked me to my table. As she sat me down, she asked, “Are you Tommy Rodz?”
“Yes I am,” I replied as she handed me the menu.
“I watch your videos all the time,” she said, giggling. “I wish my boyfriend had your stamina.”
“It takes years of practice,” I replied as she handed me the menu.
“Anything look good?” she asked as I studied it.
“I’ll have the turkey sliders and a house salad with vinegar dressing,” I replied.
“Anything to drink?” she asked as I handed her the menu.
“Just ice water,” I replied.
“Coming right up,” she said before walking away.
I then stared out the window at the former Loving Touch and started daydreaming about my first time there.
In early December 1985, I finally got a car. After my Nana decided to sell her house and move into a retirement home, she gave me her 1978 Buick Lesabre. While my younger sister referred to it as a grandma mobile, I didn’t care; I was ecstatic to finally own a car, especially one that only had less than ten thousand miles on it. Since she barely drove, it was brand new to me. I suddenly had the freedom to go anywhere I wanted to go, and one of those places was the Loving Touch Massage Parlor.
Shortly after I turned sixteen, Asian massage parlors were all over the news. Stories about raids on numerous Asian massage parlors as fronts for prostitution dominated the news for a week or two. My mind was blown. I had no idea hookers worked in the suburbs. I thought they walked the streets of downtown; at least that’s what movies and TV had me believing. When I was a virgin, the idea of visiting a place like that excited me. Even after losing my virginity to Ms. Stalling and having an active sex life, the idea of paying to fuck someone anonymously got me extremely horny.
The only reason I knew that place existed was that it was close to where my Nana used to live, and for a short time, my mom took Annie, my younger sister, to the ballet school above it for a few weeks until she decided to find one in a more reputable location. After I turned sixteen and saw the stories on the news, I finally understood what she meant.
I decided to go on Tuesday, December 10th, after school for several reasons. One was that I didn’t have to work, and Jane did. If neither of us were working, she’d come over, and we’d fuck before my mom came home. The second was that Kimberly had cheer practice until six. If she didn’t have practice and I wasn’t working, we’d be fucking at her until around six thirty, which was thirty minutes before her parents got home. Third, if all three of us were free, we’d be at Jane’s until her mom and stepdad stumbled home drunk. Fourth, if Jane and Kimberly were at practice and work, I’d be at Ms. Stalling’s for “tutoring.” But after class, I lied when I told her that I had to cancel because I had to do something for my mom.
As I was driving there, I was nervously shaking. Part of me was worried the place would be raided as I was getting a blowjob, and I would be all over the news. Another part of me was worried that I might get robbed. That the girl would pull a knife on me and take the $500 Nana gave me to use for gas when she gave me her car. I could only imagine what she would think of me if she knew what I was really using the money for.
Forty-five minutes after leaving school, I arrived and parked in the lot behind the building. I sat in my car for several minutes as my rational side tried to convince me to go home. In the end, horniness won out. I was going to march in there and have a sexual experience I was never going to forget.
The door to the establishment was in the back, and to get it to open I had to press a doorbell. Seconds after it buzzed, a large, bald black man wearing sunglasses opened the door. He looked me up and down before asking, “Are you eighteen?”
As the words, "No, I’m sixteen,” started to come out of my mouth, he once again asked, “Are you eighteen?”
“Yes,” I replied with a nervous stutter.
“Welcome to the Loving Touch,” he said as he held the door open for me.
We then walked down a short hallway to another door. He pressed the doorbell, and a plump, middle-aged woman, introducing herself as Sue, immediately opened the door. The room was painted in a gauche combination of red and pink. There were oil paintings of nude women and burlesque dancers. There was an L-shaped, raggedy-looking couch a few feet away from a VCR and TV playing an adult film starring Tom Byron and Ginger Lynn. On a small table in front of the couch, there were candles burning that gave the room a scent of vanilla.
“You look like a baby,” she said as she hugged me. “What’s your name, sweetie?”
“Richie,” I replied with a lie.
“Richie, have you ever been in a massage parlor before?” she asked as she held my hand.
“No,” I replied as my face turned slightly red.
“Let me tell you how it works,” she said. “You pay me for the massage, and once you’re in the room with the girl you work things out between yourselves. Understand?”
“I think so,” I replied. “How much is a massage?”
“Twenty-five for a half hour, fifty for one hour, half and half for thirty minutes is seventy-five dollars, and half and half for one hour is an even $100,” she replied.
“What does half and half mean?” I asked.
“It means she massages you for half the appointment, and you massage her for the other half,” she replied.
I handed her a hundred-dollar bill. As she saw the wad of cash I pulled from my pocket, she said, “Someone came here to party.”
As she walked me to a small room, she told me, “I’m going to introduce me to Lexi, one of the sexiest girls who works here. She’s breathtaking. She boasts long, light brown hair and beautiful brown eyes. She’s 5’7, 114lbs, and has a hot 36D-25-36 figure. How does that sound to you?”
“Incredible,” I replied.
“Why don’t you go take a shower so you can be nice and fresh for Lexie?” she asked.
“Sounds good,” I replied. “By the way, where should I put all my stuff?”
“You can leave them in here,” she said before closing the door so I could slip out of my clothes.
As I started getting undressed, I looked around the small room. There was a massage table in the center. Right next to it was a cart filled with massage oils. To the left of it, there was a chair full of towels. On the wall, there were more oil paintings of nudes. There was also a small table with candles and a clock radio that played WNIC, Detroit's soft rock station.
I was still worried that they’d rob me of the remaining four hundred dollars in my wallet. I was also worried that if it looked like I didn’t trust them, I’d only get a massage. And I didn’t drive down Eight Mile just for a massage. So I picked up my clothes from the floor, folded them up, and placed them on the chair before grabbing a towel and wrapping it around my privates. I then opened the door to find Sue still standing outside. She then had me follow her to the showers.
I was thankful that they had individual showers. Each one had a curtain that ensured privacy. They also had plenty of soap, shampoo, and conditioner choices. As soon as I finished soaping my body, I could feel my cock preparing to explode. So I wrapped my hands around my thirteen-inch monster and started stroking away, fantasizing about the debauchery that was about to happen in that room. One stroke. Two strokes. Three strokes. Four strokes. As I was midway through the fifth, semen shot from dick and onto one of the walls and floor of the shower. I then finished my shower by washing every inch of my body before drying myself off.
Sue was still sitting on the couch as I exited the shower area. She smiled as she said, “Lexi’s in there waiting for you. Have fun.”
“I will,” I said with excitement as I walked towards the door.
My heart rate increased as I reached for the doorknob. My right hand started shaking as I turned it. There was no turning back. This was going to be the first time I was going to fuck a complete stranger, and I couldn’t be more excited. But as soon as I entered the room and closed the door behind me, that excitement turned into disgust as soon as I saw that the bikini-clad Lexi laying on the massage table on her side was really Laurie, my nineteen-year-old sister.
Laurie Mitchell was a little over two years older than me. When we were little kids, she would endlessly torment me. When we were in elementary school, she protected me. And for the time we were in high school together, she pretended that she didn’t know me. I thought she was the coolest big sister in the world. At home, we’d hang out all the time in her room, listening to records and talking. She expanded my musical tastes by introducing me to cool bands like Joy Division, Bauhaus, Throbbing Gristle, The Replacements, and the Plimsouls.
Part of me was really jealous of her. I think it was because she seemed to make everything look easy. She never had a problem making friends. She got good grades without even trying. For her sixteenth birthday, my dad bought her a brand new Pontiac Fiero, and shortly after that, she started dating Steve Gibbons, at least for the next week. After that, it was a string of boys until she started dating Alex Monroe, her twenty-one-year-old manager at Harmony House. That one sparked numerous arguments between her and mom. In the end, she wore my mom down with her debate skills, convincing her that Alex was more mature than any of the boys in her class.
Laurie was also really smart. She graduated third in her class, was accepted, and got a scholarship to the University of Michigan, the only school my dad wanted her to attend. He really wanted all of his kids to become lawyers like him. While he was proud that she graduated, he didn’t have the money to pay for the school of his choice. She chose it because she had a full-ride scholarship that included housing. The other schools didn't provide her with that. For that reason, and only for that reason, my dad cut her off emotionally and stopped talking to her.
We were both in shock as we stared at each other. She broke the uncomfortable silence with a hushed "Tommy Mitchell, what are you doing here?"
I replied, “What are you doing here? Are you a hooker?”
She then got off the table, walked over to me, and slapped me as she said, “I’m a masseuse. Seriously, what are you doing here?”
“I came for a massage,” I replied. “Does mom know you work here?”
She gave me a “fuck you” look as she asked, “Does mommy know you’re here for a naughty massage?”
“No,” I said with a whimper. “She’d kill me.”
“She’d kill me and disown me if she knew I was working here,” Laurie replied.
We both started laughing, which heavily reduced the tension in the room. The conversation turned from mom to small talk about school and life. After we ran out of inconsequential things to talk about, the tension once again started to rise. Before it could reach another boiling point, she looked at me and said, “You came here for a massage; do you still want one?”
“I guess,” I replied.
“Just don’t be creepy,” she adamantly stated.
She then turned around after telling me to get on the table, lay on my stomach, and make sure that the towel was covering my butt.
As I made the short walk to the massage table, all I could think about was how fucked up this situation was. It was fucked up that she worked here, but it was even more fucked up that I thought it was hot. When I saw Laurie lying on the table in her bikini, I was obviously in shock, but I was also aroused. I had seen her wearing bikinis before, but this was the first time I noticed how sexy she looked wearing one. This was the first time I ever thought about how hot it would be to fuck my sister.
Months later, Laurie told me what was going through her mind when she first saw me standing in the room. Her first thought was that seeing someone she knew as a client was bound to happen sooner than later. She figured it would be a teacher, one of her friends’ dads, or a friend of our parents, but in the six months she’d been working there, that had not happened. However, never in a million years did she expect to see me walk through the Loving Touch's door or know that it even existed. As the shock wore off, the idea of seeing me there began to intrigue and excite her, but not in the same way it excited me. She intended to make the most of our time together by teasing me and...
