Blind massage parlor

My name is Hank. I’m just a construction contractor in New York, busting my ass every day for an honest buck.

That evening, over a few drinks at our neighborhood bar, my good buddy Ron was wearing a long face, complaining that he’d been taken for a ride.

Hearing that, I couldn't just sit still. I immediately pressed him for the whole story.

Ron seemed embarrassed, stammering for a good while before finally spilling the beans under my interrogation.

"I just wanted to get a massage, you know, loosen up my back. Who knew that girl was a pro at playing people? She cleaned out my wallet!"

I slammed my fist on the oak bar table, making the glasses rattle. "The hell with that! Come on, let's go straight to the precinct and file a report!"

But Ron stayed glued to his barstool, refusing to budge.

I looked at him, completely baffled. The idiot just let out an awkward chuckle and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Forget it, man. The kid's got it tough. Scammed is scammed, I'll let it slide."

There was even a glimmer of wistful hope in his eyes when he talked about her.

Seeing that look, alarm bells started ringing in my head. This was bad! Ron was clearly smitten with this scammer! At this rate, who knows how much more money she’d bleed out of him?

I decided right then and there that I had to save my buddy from himself.

Unfortunately, the more I tried to dig into the details, the tighter Ron’s lips got. Finally, he just shot me a GPS pin on my phone.

"I can't explain it properly. Just go see for yourself," he muttered, swallowing hard before adding, "Listen, Hank... she’s not simple. Watch yourself, or you'll lose your money too!"

I scoffed at his pathetic warning. I was going to see exactly what kind of mastermind massage therapist had stolen my buddy’s soul!

So, on my weekend off, I followed Ron’s GPS to a grimy, rundown alleyway in the old part of Brooklyn.

Looking up at the flickering, dilapidated neon sign, I started to doubt whether Ron had given me the right address. Was there really a parlor in this dump?

Just as I was hesitating, contemplating turning back to my truck, the wooden door creaked open, and a stunning figure stepped out.

"Are you here for a massage?"

I looked up and froze in my tracks, completely mesmerized by her.

Her eyes were vacant, as if covered by a thin layer of milky gauze. With flawless features, captivating blonde hair, and a simple white dress, she looked like every man's quintessential first love.

When I didn't answer, she tilted her head slightly and asked again, "Excuse me, do you have an appointment?"

Her voice was soft, laced with a faint accent. She reached her right hand out, feeling the air in front of her.

Seeing her blindly reaching out, my instinct took over and I grabbed her hand.

She jumped, clearly startled, her small hand trembling against mine.

It snapped me right out of my trance. I let go immediately, stammering an apology. "Oh, yep! Yes, I'm here for a massage. This is the place, right?"

I was talking entirely out of nervousness, but deep down, my mind was still lingering on the soft touch of her skin.

So pale, so soft... and she smelled faintly of vanilla.

Taking advantage of her blindness, I brought my fingers to my nose, inhaling that subtle, intoxicating scent.

When I realized what a creep I was being, I quickly dropped my hand, feeling the heat rise to my sun-baked, leathery face. What the hell is wrong with me? Taking advantage of a blind girl.

Oblivious to my inner turmoil, the girl held onto the door handle and offered a gentle, welcoming smile.

"Come on in, then. I'll get you relaxed."