Massage Parlor

by Mark Rosenblum

Once we were finished, I peeled myself out of the leather dominatrix outfit he likes me to wear, put away the whip and blindfold, then untied him. He put on his shirt and pants then paid me. We made arrangements to meet again at the usual time. He put on his coat and was about to leave when I playfully asked him if he was forgetting something. He looked puzzled, then began to smile as I dangled handcuffs in front of me. He shook his head and laughed as he took the handcuffs and clipped them onto his belt next to his service revolver and vice unit badge.


Mark Rosenblum is a New York native who now lives in Southern California (where he misses the taste of real pizza and good deli food). He was awarded Honorable Mention in the 2006 Mindprints Flash Fiction Contest.