doc 2007

E Tickets in Whoreland

I noticed it as soon as I walked in. Something was missing. Something small, inconsequential, yet, terribly important, was gone.

It was the shampoo.

My first night entering the FengYuan, and off I went to the hair salon, which also in the past ten years, doubled as a legitimate massage parlor. Wooden tables were kept in the back rooms where massages, of varying qualities, could be had for about ten bucks. But what I was more interested in, was whether or not my old Chinese girlfriend, Purlple Snow, was still working there. Her sister ran the place as the manager, and she had kept one hell of a tight ship. It had taken me a good year or two before I could get Purple Snow to stay with me in my room upstairs at the FengYuan; any massages in the hotel rooms had to be done with a matronly older bitch as an accompaniment, in some occasions. Rarely, I could get a girl upstairs for a massage, and a massage only. The whores inhabited the sixth floor karaoke area, and even then, it was all a very hush hush, and relatively dangerous deal, especially for foreigners.

Back then, getting whores was a risky proposition. For the working girls in the karaoke bar upstairs, were in cahoots with the local police. In fact, some of the larger, and very legitimate massage places in Dengfeng, were in reality, nondescript and secretive whore houses, all owned and run by the local police. Well, the girls in the karaoke bar upstairs occasionally "worked" with the men of the law, such that, after bringing a foreigner down to his hotel room, after about a half hour of activity, a knock would be heard on the door. The police would have been notified, and of course, would show up to "arrest" the poor unfortunate individual. A bribe of a thousand dollars would be paid to the police, and they would return your passport and let you go. The girl not only made her fee, but took a cut from the local police for setting it all up. Back then, China was one big whore house, that essentially lived behind a wall of smoke and mirrors. It was there, it could be found, but it was risky. For me, maneuvering my little massage girl, Purple Snow, years ago, into the official doc girlfriend, was the easy way to avoid the entire issue.

My trip back to the FengYuan hair salon was full of memories, memories of Purple Snow, of ten or so massage girls, of people getting their hair and nails down, of foot and body massages being given in the back rooms. The memories vanished as I entered the place, to be greeted by two things that really struck me.

No shampoo. Not a hair item to be seen.

And, three young, and fairly attractive Chinese girls, all, quite comically, gazing at themselves in the mirror, fixing every little bit of hair and clothing. I think they call it primping. Birds do it. Whores do it.

It kind of took me by surprise, but I continued with my quest. Purple Snow was nowhere to be seen, and as I had discovered later, she had in the past, retreated to her home village, unmarried, doing whatever girls of that age do when they're alone. There were no clients, no paraphenalia of any sort that made any sort of reference to hair styling or anything associated with that activity, and no massage girls. Just three, kind of cute and harsh looking 19 year old Chinese girls.

In my horrible Mandarin, I asked if massages were still being offered there. The response was quick, direct, and to the point: massage or special service? Massage was 100 Yuan, for one hour, in your room, special service was 300 Yuan for 45 minutes, also, of course, in your room.

I was amazed. And, a bit taken aback. Getting a whore was now a shopping event with a meter attached. Now I had been told by a Chinese girlfriend in Beijing that Chinese men are kind of direct when it comes to that sort of thing, with lovemaking not really involving any sort of foreplay, and the entire event lasting about two minutes. It was kind of like a Disney E ticket ride; pay your price, jump on, ride, get off, get on your way to the next one. And, as I was to observe with Jin Jin the following night, that was exactly what happened.

Jin Jin was this rather cute little 19 year old, who, upon our first meeting, told me that she would love me forever, if I would love and take care of her. Well, that was direct; you usually don't get that sort of communication with American girls. But I knew from the start that she was not the 100 Y massage girl; she was of the 300 Y variety, which, essentially caused me to ignore her. I was there that night for a massage and nothing else. But she played those girlfriend eyes of showing real genuine loving interest, which I knew, would end at the 46th minute. I found the event quite comical, and one night, as I sat in the business center working through the forum on a very slow Chinese computer, I watched Jin Jin walk by, on her way to a room upstairs.

She was back within a half hour. Poor bastard must have gotten his ticket, enjoyed the ride, and left the park without even getting a kiss.

And then, five minutes later, there she was, again, walking by on her way to the hotel rooms upstairs. This time, she was back down within 35 minutes, totally nonplussed, without any sort of expression or personality showing. A half hour later, up she went, yet again.

The whore kingdom was in full swing. The machine was working, moving along with nary a snag, as women went by, up to the rooms, back down to the shampoo less hair salon base. Talk about overt. Just completely out in the open and readily available.

I had to learn more. So a return trip to the hair salon found me face to face with the previous owner, Purple Snow's sister, who used to manage the hair styling part of the hotel. She was now managing a tribe of women, some of whom, the 100 Y girls, who only gave massages, and some of whom, the 300 Y girls, who only did special services. Getting a 300 Y girl to do a massage was just as impossible as getting a 100 Y girl to give you a goodnight kiss. Her tribe consisted of about twenty or thirty girls, which she spread out over two hotels, the FengYuan, and the Shaolin International, who I later discovered was managed by my old manager friend of previous FengYuan times. The girls would run back and forth, depending upon the demand placed by either hotel. Gone were the days of the whores hiding in the shadows of the karaoke bars; gone were the days of singing for a while, drinking, getting to know each other, talking, negotiating, and banging. Now, you got on a phone, called in your request, and a few minutes later, a knock appeared on your door. ****ing becomes big business.

Impressive.

Purple Snow's sister was just a local manager of a small tribe of girls however. There was a big boss, some sort of mafia type guy, who ran a whole slew of these women managers, each of whom managed about twenty to forty girls. The big boss was in cahoots with the local police, and everyone made money. Dengfeng was a happy, profitable, efficient place. The girls were the ones that did all the work; each 300 Y girl gave out about ten E tickets for rides each day, her day starting at 1 PM and ending at 1 AM. She, as well as the 100 Y girl, kept only thirty percent of what she made, the other seventy percent being shared between the woman manager, the big boss, and the police.

Dengfeng. The Happiest Place on Earth.