Author's Note: It's been a couple of years since I posted a story on Lit. Most of my stories are inspired by true events, but are liberally embellished by my imagination. This story, however, is completely true – every word of it, to the best of my recollection. It starts out a bit slowly to develop the context, but if you'll stay with me, I think you'll see why I'm still haunted by this encounter after more than 17 years.
"LOVE AT THE BODY SHOPPE"
I'd been hooked for a while. No, not on cocaine, not on weed – not even on alcohol. On tanning salons.
Not the kind where you get that beach-ready look, or are in danger of the lobster look if you fall asleep in the bed. I'm talking about the mid-1990's Houston euphemism for live, one-on-one peep and stroke shows.
In other places, their more physically interactive counterparts are known as massage parlors. But in Houston in the mid-1990's, any form of paid physical sexual contact was illegal – and may still be. The "tanning salon" owners knew what they were doing, and they had no appetite for tangling with law enforcement. So they found ways to satisfy their customers without technically breaching the law.
I suppose anyone looking for a genuine tanning experience could rent the beds that they had on display and baste their way to Tropicana heaven. For those of us in the know, however – and it was likely a large majority of their client base – there was a much more erotic experience available from the lovely ladies who manned the welcome desks.
For a fee, you could pick your favorite girl and have her "model" some tanning swimwear in a room at the back. You'd be seated in a comfy recliner chair and asked to wait for her to "get ready."
She'd go off and change to wispy swimwear and then enter the room from another door. Once she pressed the "play" button on a boom box to start the modeling music track, she'd begin to disrobe and invite you to "get more comfortable."
To remove any doubt about expectations, there was always a box of Kleenex and a bottle of body lotion on a little table beside the comfy chair. You've got it – the "getting comfortable" suggestion was for you to get naked and give yourself a hand job while watching the girl dance naked. It was sort of one level better than watching girls at a strip joint. Here, you left happy instead of frustrated.
As for any further expectations, once you'd learned the ropes, you knew not to expect anything more. Each girl would remind you at the outset that there was to be no physical contact, as that was strictly forbidden and against the law. The more bitchy of the "models" would remind you that they were wearing spiked heels and knew how to use them if you got out of hand (no pun intended).
I first learned about the tanning salons shortly after I moved to Houston. My wife and kids had stayed behind in Atlanta to try and sell our house. I was in a new town, in a new job with a new company.
I had some lonely nights the first few weeks, first at a hotel and then in a temporary apartment provided by the company. I didn't want to complicate my life with an affair, but I needed some form of companionship and sexual release. I stayed away from the bars and took to watching porn and jerking off to ease my sexual frustration and loneliness. I still felt lonely with my video companions. I needed human companionship.
Soon after, as I was looking through the classified ads at the back of the newspaper, I noticed some ads for strip clubs. I had been to strip clubs a few times in Atlanta, but I didn't like the dirty feeling of ogling the same girls at the same time as all the other guys in the joint.
In the same section of the classified ads, I noticed ads for "tanning salons." It didn't take me long to figure out that these were essentially private strip clubs.
After my first visit (and a thorough schooling in the "rules"), I was hooked. I could feel a bit of human companionship while keeping my life uncomplicated. Since I was paying, there was no danger of developing a relationship. Since I wasn't technically having sex – or even physical contact – there was no need to feel guilty about cheating on my wife. At least that's what I kept telling myself.
It took nearly six months for our house in Atlanta to sell. After the first 3 months, the company no longer provided temporary housing, so I had to move into an apartment.
With the added expense and still carrying a mortgage, I carefully rationed my entertainment money out of each 2 weeks' paycheck. No ball games, no bar nights, no dance clubs – just "tanning." Of course, I made sure to pay cash each time so there was no paper trail through my credit cards – wouldn't want to rock the boat back in Atlanta.
I made it a point not to be seen too regularly at any one salon. I'd go once a week, but found different salons in different parts of the city, so it was a few months before I made a second visit to the same place.
By the time our house sold, I had just about made the rounds to each of the tanning salons a second time. However, after my wife and kids moved out to Houston, I cut dramatically down on my tanning salon visits. But I couldn't completely stop – I was addicted.
I cut down to once a month, but my guilty pleasure began affecting my job performance. I lost focus. But it wasn't just my addiction that was causing it. I discovered that my new company was involved in some unethical practices, and I wanted out.
With the help of a recruiter, I found out about a really good job opportunity in Arkansas. After a few interviews over the course of a month, I was hired and scheduled to start the following month. My Houston employer was disappointed that my tenure was ending so abruptly, but thankfully the situation never got messy, and I made plans to leave.
Besides dealing with my company situation, the impending move to Arkansas could help me in another way. There were no "tanning salons" in Arkansas, at least not to my knowledge (now, meth labs in Arkansas are different story for another day). I needed to break my tanning salon addiction, and the move would force me to go "cold turkey."
It was late May, and the kids had just finished their school year. We'd be moving the first week of June, and I decided that I would have one last "hurrah" at one of the tanning salons. I was feeling particularly horny, and my wife had become so busy with moving preparations that she claimed exhaustion and refused to join me in any sexual activities.
Departing from my past line of thinking, I decided I'd try to "get lucky" at a tanning salon. I stopped by a pharmacy and picked up a packet of condoms. My stomach fluttered with excitement and anticipation, though from experience I knew not to have high expectations. A pair of spiked heels could be waiting to crush the family jewels.
The first tanning salon on my agenda had the somewhat suggestive name of "The Body Shoppe." A very pretty, very young girl was seated at the front desk. She had auburn hair, pretty green eyes, pouty red lips and a beautiful set of white teeth. She wore a thick gown, much thicker than the outfits I'd seen other girls wear at these joints. It didn't give me much of a view of her figure, but her face was extremely pretty.
She had a shy demeanor and an air of innocence. I felt a pang of guilt at the condoms in my pants pocket.
"May I help you?" she asked.
"I don't know," I replied. I shrugged my shoulders and looked past her at the obligatory tanning bed past the counter.
"Need a tan?" she inquired.
"Um..." I stuttered.
She could tell I was flabbergasted. I think she believed I'd never been to a tanning salon and was trying to figure out how to ask for her services. In truth, I was embarrassed to be soliciting a sexual encounter – whether the usual peep show or something more – with such an apparent innocent.
She had to be barely legal, but I knew these shop owners were careful and would never hire someone under age. They would also never risk providing the full-on sexual encounter I had in mind, as it would surely lose them their license and incur them a hefty fine.
"What can I do for you?" she continued, looking at me with wide eyes and an air of hesitation.
I made a quick decision that would alter the course of my life. "Nothing, thanks," I said. I turned toward the door and left quickly.
In truth, I turned tail and ran. "Stupid, stupid," I said to myself as I climbed into my car.
