Hand-Job by Joseph Ridgwell

his debut collection of short fiction, Oswald's Apartment, is now available from Blackheath Books.

On his return Moshi told me the story like this. I was lying on a bamboo bed inside a
yellow beach hut. We were in Bali. The sound of the ocean’s roar could be heard
outside. I liked that sound.
‘Did ya find a massage parlour?’ I asked.
Moshi gave me a sheepish look, ‘I just had a very strange experience,’ he
replied somewhat enigmatically.
‘Tell me everything,’ I demanded
‘Okay, but promise you won’t repeat what I’m about to tell you to anyone. I
MEAN ANYONE!’
Now I was genuinely interested and more than a little intrigued.
‘I promise?’
A troubled look appeared on Moshi’s suntanned face.
‘I searched all over for a massage parlour, but couldn’t find one anywhere.
Then I saw it.’
‘Saw what?’
‘The sign?’
‘The sign?’
‘The words, Traditional Balinese Massage, were painted on it in white letters.’
‘And?’
‘Inside was this ancient Balinese woman.’
‘How much?’
‘Five dollars.’
‘Bargain.’
‘Yeah, and I’m thinking this elderly lady must have decades of experience, is
certain to give me a traditional massage, but I was sadly mistaken.’
‘Sadly mistaken?’
‘She takes my top off and gets me to lie on the floor. And she hasn’t got any
teeth and her lips and gums are covered in this red shit, and she smelled.’
‘Nice.’
‘She pours some oil onto my stomach and starts rubbing, I mean she must
have been around eighty years old....’
I raised a questioning eyebrow.
‘Yeah?’
By now Moshi was no longer maintaining eye contact.
‘The dirty old cunt slipped a hand inside my shorts!’
‘What the fuck?’
‘I didn’t know what to do or how to react.’
‘So you stopped her, right?’
‘No, I just closed my eyes and let the wrinkled up bitch do it.’
‘Shit,’ I said.
Moshi scratched his head and appeared puzzled.
‘And afterwards she demanded thirty dollars instead of five.’
‘Fuck,’ I said.