The Buck (i.e. the young service man) walks me around the Bathhouse and to a drying area. It looks like a giant walk-in-closet with mirrors plated on each side of the wall; there's no escaping mirrors here.
"Should I go to the locker to get my clothes?" I ask the Buck.
"Oh, no not at all," says the Buck. He's young, about the age of you select-GM's, if I had to take a guess. I'm just realizing how young this man is as he speaks to me.
"What am I supposed to wear?" I ask, shyly. I only have a towel wrapped around me.
"I've got your robes right here," says the Buck, as he turns away for a moment to grab some golden cloths. It consists of a pair of long shorts and an oversized shirt, all golden.
 |
| Not exactly like this, but you get the picture. |
"Oh," I say, as I contemplate what Sir Fucking Randy would look like wearing golden robes. I am an authority figure, after all, so I am no stranger to being in formal dress, but gold is something I've never really worn before. I'm more accustomed to crisp white shirts and navy blazers, but a golden robe? This was going to be a new look, fo' shizzle.
I wait a moment, wondering what will come next.
"Please, dry yourself off in front of the mirrors," says the Buck.
"Alright," I say, with slight hesitation. This Buck is literally just standing upright, feet together, with his left arm resting at 90 degrees along his rib cage. I turn to the mirrors and begin drying myself off; I can feel my hair is still heavy from the shower and the rest of my body is damp. Suddenly, a set of five lights from above turn on and I'm temporarily blinded by light; the Buck has turned on these five spotlights for me and I'm completely naked in front of all these mirrors. There is no hiding anything.
"You have a great body," says the Buck.
"... Thank you!" I say, trying to make light of the situation.
At this point, I decide to give zero fucks. I mean, seriously, this Bathhouse requires a $40,000 CDN annual membership, so it's likely the most legit Bathhouse I"ll ever visit. Everyone here takes nakedness for what it is, and for fuck's sake I just had my balls craned by a Buddha. I've been exposed to the maximum already, so what's another few minutes of nakedness in front of a young serviceman? I drop my towel from my waist completely, bending over and drying my feet, shins and thighs, before bringing the towel to my hair and giving my head a thorough scrub. My naked bottom half is exposed to the spotlights, without a care in the world.
"Alright, I'm dry," I say to the Buck.
"Fantastic. Let's get you dressed."
I step forward in an attempt to grab the golden robes from him, but he pulls back.
"Oh no, Sir, please, let me dress you," he says.
Dress me? What do you mean, son?!
The Buck takes the golden pair of shorts by the waistline, stretches them out and places them gently in front of my feet. He bows his head down, waiting for me to tip toe one foot at a time into the shorts. I pause momentarily, somewhat shocked at the treatment. But with zero fucks given, I oblige and step into the shorts. Once both feet are in, he glides the shorts up until they sit on my waistline.
"Very good," he says. "Now the shirt..."
He actions for me to put my hands up and I do. He then pulls the shirt over my arms, head and it drapes down onto my body.
"Very good. Are you hungry?" he asks.
"Um... now that you mention it, yes I am," I reply.
"The businessman said he had scheduled a dinner for you both. I can take you to him," says the Buck.
He leads me again through a maze of marble, mirrors and taps before bringing me out to a lobby area. It's filled with comfortable sofas and golden robed individuals. Somehow the Buck had my glasses in his hand and gave them to me. I thank him, putting them on and spot my friend, the businessman. He's sitting ever so effortlessly at a round table, a lit cigarette in his left hand and a half consumed fruit drink in the other.
"Have a nice time?" he asks me, rhetorically.
"Oh, you have no idea," I respond.
"Hungry?"
"Yes."
He orders me a drink and we chat a bit longer. We laugh about my experience, and he tells me that everything the service people did was normal. A few minutes pass before a hostess brings us to our dinner. The remainder of the evening comprised of a good meal and a full body massage that was out of this world. No foul play, despite what you readers may be thinking; just an intense massage that made me understand what money can buy in this world. Sir Fucking Randy likes a damn good deep massage, so the masseuse even got up on her legs and did a body weight back massage for a portion of it.
I may never get such a massage again (pity), but I can now see why the super rich splurge on shit like that.
"Ain't you part of the super rich?" asked Burgundy.
Well, yes, I am. It's a byproduct of being a multi-Pulitzer Prize winner.
"Then why don't you splurge on it once in a while?" asked Tree Bone.
Oh, I have more important things to attend to. I was not born to consume things; I was born to write things.
"Wise words, Commissioner," said Dick Burns.
Thank you, Dick. Anyway, this concludes the ROA series. Hope you had fun reading.
Cordially,
Morpheus (ball-handled) Randy
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