I
“Hey dude, you ready?” Parker smiled at me from the driver’s seat as I opened the passenger door and slid into the car. The air was blasting, ice cold to fight off the warm summer day, the leather seat still hot on my thighs. An energetic pop song rang out from the speakers, perfect for a summer day, though barely noticeable over the roar of the air conditioning.
“Ready as I can be,” I replied with an air of nonchalance. The truth was I didn’t really know what to expect, and that always made me anxious. When Parker first mentioned going to his favorite Korean spa over the weekend, I hadn’t really known what he was talking about. We’d been at Happy Hour at our usual spot, a sports bar just a few minutes down the road from the office, a weekly Wednesday night tradition we’d begun a couple months ago, and I confessed to him that I had no idea what a Korean Spa was.
“Really??” he’d replied with undiluted shock. “Dude, it’s amazing. You have to come check it out sometime!” And so, after a brief and relatively unhelpful explanation, Parker had suggested – or rather insisted – I come with him, and thus plans were made.
It was nearly noon and already well above ninety degrees. The forecast showed a high soaring into the triple digits, which was unfortunately common for Dallas in the middle of June. One of the main reasons I accepted Parker’s invitation – besides the fact I didn’t want to be rude – was that I knew it would be too hot to get out and do much else, and I hadn’t been thrilled at the prospect of spending another Saturday in my apartment alone. So here I was, being whisked off to a place Parker had described as something between a nail salon and a full-blown resort.
“So how did you find this place?” I asked as we pulled out of my apartment complex.
“Oh man, I’ve been going forever,” he said. “I used to go with my brother and my dad, like, all the time when I was younger.”
“Oh, really?”
“Well, I don’t know about all the time, but I remember going a lot,” he clarified as he turned onto the highway entrance ramp and hit the accelerator.
“That’s cool. Makes sense, I guess,” I teased.
“Yeah dude, Koreans love a good bathhouse,” he smirked.
Parker was Korean. His Dad had been born in Seattle to first generation immigrant parents, and his mom had been born in Seoul. She immigrated to the states when she was a young girl and met his dad in college. They’d married young and moved to Dallas for his dad’s job shortly before Parker and his older brother came along. Parker told me he’d been to Korea nearly a dozen times to visit extended family and that they often tacked on additional stops to their travels, exciting places like Singapore, Thailand, and Japan. He had fascinating stories to tell about hiking the slopes of Mount Fuji or being served seafood so fresh the tentacles were still contracting. I liked listening eagerly to these stories when we hung out; they always transported me far away from the familiarity of home.
I was from a small town about half an hour south of Dallas where my life had been overwhelmingly white, rural, and Baptist. Growing up, the only interesting place I’d traveled to was Washington DC as part of a program I did through school, and though Dallas had plenty of exciting things to offer, my family rarely made the drive into town. My parents were conservative and strict, and spoke often of the perils of city life. As a result, my upbringing had been small, safe, predictable, and – compared to Parker’s – incredibly boring.
Things got a little better as I got older. I went to college in Dallas, but lived at home and commuted to class due to financial constraints. At the time I hadn't minded; it was simply what needed to be done, and I was happy to make things easier for my family. I knew it came with a trade-off, that there were experiences I was missing out on by staying at home, but I just put my head down, studied hard, and tried not to let those negative thoughts linger. (It wasn't until later, after I moved to Dallas for work and found myself tasked with trying to be a normal, socialized twenty-two-year-old that I realized how steep the cost had been.)
But that was one of the things I liked most about getting to know Parker. He was so much more interesting and exciting than anyone I'd met in my hometown. He was effortlessly cool - he had impeccable style and a nose ring; he went to concerts for obscure bands playing in even more obscure dive bars and underground venues around town; he snowboarded and met his college friends for weekends in Las Vegas; he was genuinely interesting, but he never lorded it over me or made me feel inferior, and I liked feeling like his travels and knowledge and worldliness somehow might rub off on me.
We met at work. He’s an account executive for the software company where I’m an engineer. Our personalities align with our jobs about how anyone might expect – where I am pretty quiet and methodical and reserved, Parker is outgoing and friendly and energetic. He struck up a conversation with me in the breakroom one afternoon when we were refilling our coffee – I always go in for my afternoon cup around 2:30 – and then I started to run into him nearly every day after that. Those breakroom encounters made up the majority of our interactions for a while, until one day he asked if I wanted to join him and a few other guys for happy hour at a sports bar after work. I’d accepted, not wanting to be rude, though I never would have sought out that kind of thing for myself.
But it had been fun.
Only Parker, me, and one other account exec had gone, and the third guy left shortly after our first drink, leaving Parker and I alone together waiting for our food. Much to my surprise, though, we had a lot to talk about - we watched a lot of the same shows, liked the same anime, and had a penchant for playing Age of Empires that regularly threatened our sleep schedules; we liked to work out and went to different locations of the same gym; we were big podcasters, though I favored history and he binged true crime; and we were both adjusting to being single, twenty-four-year-old guys living on our own in a major city. Over the course of those Happy Hours, we discovered that, somehow, we just clicked.
After a twenty-minute drive, we pulled into the parking lot of an enormous concrete building that looked like a converted warehouse or some big box retail store. A large sign hung over the front door, its big, block letters read: “BLISS SPA”.
“Dang,” I marveled as we parked and stepped out of the car. “This is…not what I expected.”
Parker laughed and grabbed a small, drawstring back out of the back seat. “What were you expecting?” he asked.
“No idea,” I admitted.
We walked into the building and entered a small, stylish lobby. A fountain bubbled to our left and an attractive woman greeted us from behind a clean, slate counter. Parker returned her greeting in Korean, which took me a bit by surprise, so I stepped to the side and let him negotiate the check-in process. As they chatted, the woman reached under the counter and produced a stack of items – two towels, two coiled keychain bracelets, and two pale blue cotton uniforms. The woman nodded in my direction, saying something I couldn’t understand, and Parker’s response made both of them laugh heartily. My cheeks grew warm instantly. With a final smile, Parker grabbed one stack of the items and handed it to me, chuckling at the bewildered look on my face.
“Not gonna lie,” I whispered as we left the front desk and made our way toward the men’s locker room, “when you said ‘Spa Day’ I was kinda picturing, like, a pedicure chair with a fountain in the corner.”
“Nah, man, that’s some shitty white people spa,” he joked. “This place is the real deal.”
It was a short walk down the main hallway to the locker rooms, but already the peace and quiet of the place was noticeable. The air was cool and refreshing compared to the temperature outside, and peaceful music drifted through the air from carefully camouflaged speakers. It also had a distinct smell that I couldn’t quite place but found very pleasant, cool and clean like wet stone after a rainstorm. It felt purifying and calm.
We entered the locker room, and I followed Parker over to a bank of deep blue lockers on the far-left side of the room, crossing the sandstone-colored tiles in silence and trying my best to ignore the half-dozen or so men in various states of undress as we passed by them. Parker had given me the basic spiel about the dress code – the cotton uniform that was required on the main spa floor and in the various treatment rooms, and the bathhouse area located through the men’s locker room where clothing was prohibited. At the time I’d passed this off as a minor thing, a nonissue, but being here, holding the uniform in my hands and trying not to stare at the smattering of half-naked bodies throughout the room, I was realizing I might have downplayed this detail in my head.
It’s not that I wasn’t used to a locker room. I worked out most days and often made a stop in the locker room on my way in or out of the gym, so I was used to seeing people changing, heading to and from the showers and the steam room. It never made me too uncomfortable to be around others in these spaces; granted, I usually put my head down and averted my gaze, but I still knew they were there. The main difference was that I just never partook in either of these amenities for myself. I’d grown up in a house where modesty was considered to be one of the highest virtues, so much so that I had barely seen myself naked until I moved out after college. (This was an exaggeration, but only slightly.) Even living on my own, I rarely had on less than shorts and a t-shirt.
It’s not that I wasn’t happy with my body. I’d bulked up a lot in the last two years and was proud of the results. I'd gone from a frail, pasty engineering student to a strong, muscular guy who could fill out a t-shirt in all the right places - I had a nice chest and big arms; I had a little bit of a belly leftover from bulking season, but I was working on getting rid of it; I'd grown my hair out a bit and went to my apartment pool frequently to get a decent tan. I knew I was objectively handsome, and whenever I did look at myself in the mirror, I was happy with what I saw…I just wasn’t used to anyone else seeing it.
We found our lockers, which were located next to each other about halfway down one of the narrow aisles and began to stow our belongings. Parker pulled off his shirt without hesitation and hung it on one of the hooks. I was a little startled; somehow I’d been expecting a changing stall or somewhere with a bit more privacy, but I could tell he was used to this environment, and a part of me envied the way he wore his body with such comfortable ease. I, on the other hand, felt a slight blush return to my cheeks, and for a moment, I just stood there, staring at the light blue fabric in my hands.
“So, uh, do I at least keep my underwear on with these things?” I finally asked.
“Nope,” Parker grinned mischievously. “Everything must go.”
With that he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts and dropped them to the floor. I reflexively averted my gaze – though he certainly wasn’t trying to hide anything – and pulled my t-shirt off over my head. I undressed hurriedly, angling myself away from Parker in an effort to preserve some modesty (only to find myself looking into a large mirror hung on the wall at the end of the aisle, my pale torse contrasting starkly against the dark blue lockers). In the reflection, I saw Parker untangling his uniform shorts, flashes of his bare skin peeking out from behind me. I turned back to face the locker, not wanting to watch myself, not liking the feeling I was somehow spying on Parker, and dropped my shorts.
“Well, how do they feel?” Parker asked once we were both changed. We grabbed our towels and began to walk towards the locker room entrance.
“You know, they're pretty comfortable,” I acknowledged. “Softer than I expected, so that’s nice. But, not gonna lie, I don't ever freeball like this. I feel like my junk is fully on display right now.”
“Yeah, that part takes some getting used to,” Parker laughed, shaking his hips playfully. “If it’s any consolation, you aren’t bulging too bad right now.”
As we made our way into the main part of the spa, I was struck by its enormity. The building had one central corridor featuring a few sitting areas, some massage chairs, and a few obligatory water features. Off of the main corridor, were several alcoves that contained all the different treatment rooms, each of which had a different theme capitalizing on the “healing properties” of one various element or another. There were rooms centered around crystals – like a jade room, an amethyst room, a Himalayan salt room; there was a pine room and cypress room; there was an infrared room and a cooler room and rooms with different levels of heat.
We floated from room to room, taking about ten or fifteen minutes in each, letting ourselves really settle in and rest. Most of them were quiet or had some sort of soothing music drifting out from a speaker, so talking was generally frowned upon. That was fine by me, as I generally preferred some quiet to never-ending small talk, and it allowed me the chance to get comfortable and truly relax into all the different spaces. At first, I’d laughed a little bit about the different rooms, dismissing almost all of them as a placebo effect, but actually being in them, taking intentional time to be quiet and restful, I was honestly feeling…something.
After about an hour of exploring the various crystal rooms, Parker said it was time to turn up the heat. The first room we entered was definitely warm, though not uncomfortable, and had an assortment of hot stones you could use on yourself to soothe sore muscles. I liked this the best out of what we’d visited so far, and I was even on the verge of falling asleep when Parker stirred next to me and said we should move on.
This room was hotter, for sure. I estimated it had to be around 110 or more, and it reminded me of the heatwaves we often get in July and August, those long, hot stretches of summer when it’s too hot to go outside. I only lasted a few minutes in this room and was starting to sweat profusely.
“Alright, the next two are a bit of doozy,” Parker warned me as we stood in the alcove in front of a room with a heavy looking door. “I usually try to make it about a minute in here and then run straight to the freezer.” He gestured across the main hallway to a white metal door, its glass window frosted over. He took a deep breath and reached for the door handle. “Ready?”
I nodded, though I wasn’t really sure.
He opened the door and we were immediately greeted with a wave of hot air, like opening the door of an oven. We hurried inside and sat on one of the raised mats. I watched Parker settle into a meditative pose, closing his eyes and taking a deep, steadying breath. I mirrored him, already feeling the effects of the heat. It was dizzying, and my body was instantly coated in a layer of sweat in an attempt to cool itself. I took a series of slow, methodical breaths, closing my eyes and feeling the sensations as my body adapted to the extreme temperature. It was oddly invigorating, clarifying, like some sort of high.
After what could’ve been no more than ninety seconds, I felt Parker nudge my shoulder, and we rushed out of the room. I was drenched – sweat dripped down my forehead, trickled down my arms and legs. The cotton outfit clung to my body in dark, damp patches; I could see Parker was the same. I followed him across the hallway and straight to the cold room, where we barged in recklessly, and I gasped at the shock of the temperature. It was essentially a walk-in freezer, and my body, still acclimating to the extreme heat, suddenly faced a whole new set of challenges. My skin broke out in goosebumps, a shiver ran from the base of my spine to the crown of my head, and I could actually feel my balls rush for cover in my abdomen. Out of nowhere, I burst out laughing.
Parker looked at me with a surprised smile and furrowed brow.
“Sorry,” I sputtered mid-laugh. I was happily delirious. “I think my balls just froze off.”
Parker laughed heartily. “Oh yeah, happens to me every time.” His eyes darted down. “Hey, at least you don't have to worry about bulging too much in those shorts now.”
“I thought you said it wasn’t bad!” I exclaimed, horrified, but still laughing.
“Eh,” he shrugged. “I lied.”
Afterwards, while we waited for our body temperatures to stabilize, Parker got us some tea from the cafe, a refreshing and citrusy green tea, which we drank at one of the sitting areas that dotted the main hallway. It was delicious and good to rehydrate after the copious amounts of sweat I had produced in those last two rooms.
“Well,” Parker said, setting his half-empty tea on the low table. “Thoughts so far?”
I pondered for a second. “Honestly? I love it.”
Parker’s eyes lit up. “Yeah? Good! I mean, I thought you would, it's a great place. But i’m sure it’s not everyone’s cup of tea – pun intended – so I didn't know if you'd get bored with it.”
“No, it's really nice. I'm so used to staying active and keeping busy, it's refreshing to carve out some time to just do nothing.”
“Agreed,” he smiled.
“So what's next on the agenda?” I asked after a moment's silence.
“Well,” he began, showing a trace of uncharacteristic shyness. “I usually like to do the bathhouse stuff to close out the day.”
“Oh, the bathhouse stuff?” I asked, nervously taking a sip of tea.
“The stuff behind the men's locker room,” he clarified. “It's where the sauna and the spa tubs and all that is.” It was also the fully nude portion of the spa, the implication heavy in the air. I knew that was part of the facilities, but for some reason I had assumed we wouldn’t partake in that piece. Parker must have sensed my discomfort and immediately spoke up. “But hey, no worries if you aren't up for it. I know that's not the most normal thing to do with a buddy. And, you know, I get it if you're uncomfortable cuz of, you know…” He smiled nervously as his voice trailed off, though I knew what he was trying to say.
Parker was bisexual. He'd told me this casually one evening at Happy Hour, referring to a guy he'd gone out with the previous weekend. I hadn't really reacted at the time, and the conversation had continued normally. It didn't bother me, not really, even though I'd grown up in an area where being gay was just about the worst thing you could do. (That logic had never really sat well with me, and once I got to college I'd pretty much dropped any remnants of religion from my life.) But it was still a fairly foreign topic to me; up to this point, I'd really only known one other gay person at college, and I'd never met anyone who was bi. It intrigued me, serving as yet another factor that made Parker interesting and confident and worldly, but I'd always felt it was too personal a subject for me to ask about. Seeing as he didn't bring it up too often either, the whole topic remained a phantom in the background, present but never acknowledged.
“No, not at all,” I cut in, feeling slightly guilty for making him feel this way. “It's not that, I promise. It's just…” I paused, my turn to fidget nervously.
“What?” He asked.
“Nothing, it's stupid.” I shook my head. Parker gave me a skeptical look. “I just…I've never really been naked around anybody before.”
Parker's eyebrows raised. “Wait, really? Like never?”
“No. I mean, not really. Not since I was a toddler, anyways. And, I don’t know why, but I just get a lot of anxiety about it.”
“Oh. Damn.” Parker was quiet for a moment and took a drink of his tea. “Well hey, no worries then. I can always come back for the bathhouse stuff another time.”
He seemed to mean it, his voice calm and kind. I thought I’d feel relieved, but something in my stomach twisted in on itself, something sour and acetic. “You know what, screw it,” I said. “Let's do it.”
He looked at me with surprise. “You sure? We don’t have to.”
“Yeah, I’m sure” I lied. “It sounds nice, and everything else has been good. I don't want to miss out on the rest.”
He looked at me for a good minute as if he expected me to change my mind. Finally, he smiled. “Good,” he said, “because I, for one, am ready for the hot tub.”
