Tuesday, October 30, 2018

Back in the Day

Chapter 28

          In March of 1997, I met my new boss. His name was Mr. Song, and he picked me up at Kimpo Airport in Seoul. Mr. Song was a tall Korean gentleman who looked wonderful in a suit. He cared deeply about his outward appearance and did his best to maintain a successful public image. For instance, his hair was always combed perfectly, and he loved to smoke perfumed cigarettes called Balloon Flowers. They gave off a lavender odor. He once even wore a tie while climbing a mountain.

          The first time I laid eyes on him, I said this to myself: “Wow, this guy is quite stylish. Check out those shoes. They’re marvelous. I can almost see my reflection in the black leather. He must polish them for hours. And those clothes certainly didn’t come off the rack. He actually has a tailor.”

          Mr. Song had brought an entourage with him to the airport. His right-hand man named Dave was there. He was a Korean rich kid (twenty-three years old at the time) with a super-hot girlfriend whom he called Linda. Linda was wearing skin-tight jeans and high-heeled boots. Just looking at her gave me Woodrow. There was also a translator from Los Angeles named Scott.

          But the most unusual person I met that day was Mike the Gay Albino. We were the only two white men in the group. Mike’s hair was platinum blond, and his eyes were pink and narrow. Furthermore, his skin was the color of milk. This poor bastard looked like he’d burn to an ash if he got touched by a single ray of sunlight.

          Dave said, “Do you have da Marlbolo?”

          I nodded. “Yes, I have two cartons. But don’t they sell them in your country?”

          Dave said, “Yes, but dey not true Marlbolo. You cigarettes authentic Amelican.”

          My luggage got loaded into a van, and we sped toward a city called Daejeon. We smoked lots of tobacco on the way. My authentic Marlboros were a big hit.

          We briefly stopped to eat dinner. And then we were in the van once again, racing down a busy highway. Back in those days, I was both skinny and handsome. Linda kept glancing at me as if I were a sexy exotic bird. I could tell that she was undressing me with her eyes. This made me feel wonderful. Plus it gave me a throbbing boner. Perhaps I had died and made it to pussy heaven.

          We arrived at our destination around midnight. The van pulled up in front of a commercial building. The store on the street level sold children’s toys. Balls, board games, dolls, etc.

          We walked into a lobby and took an elevator to the second floor. The living arrangements were strange. In the corridor to the left was a public restroom and a smoking area. It looked like any John Doe could catch a ride to my apartment and take a shit at his convenience.

          Further down the hallway and also to the left was an office. It had a huge desk and a fancy-looking phone system. It also contained a large sofa and wooden coffee table. My bedroom was located right across from this working space. It was a tiny room filled to capacity by a small plywood bureau and a thin flimsy mattress. There was barely enough space to jerk off.

          Scott the translator said, “Don’t worry about the accommodations. Korea’s a lot of fun. You’ll just be coming here to sleep.”

          I nodded. “I’m not worried. I like things that are simple.”

          “You’ll also be getting company. Mr. Song just hired another twelve teachers. They’ll be arriving in the next week or so.”

          “Sounds great. Are we all going to live here in this building?” He could sense the trepidation in my voice.

          “For the most part. But don’t worry. This place has lots of space. Here’s the bad news. You have to teach tomorrow. However, your fist class won’t be until the afternoon.”

          “I can manage.”

          Scott left, and I was all alone.

          My new bedroom had no windows. I switched off the fluorescent overhead light. Everything went pitch black. I slept like the dead.


  1. fwiw, that "Linda" in the story, she's my mother.

    we used to call mr song "uncle".

    now my brother and I are scarred for life. all because of your horrid little tale.

    1. Lol! Better watch your tone, Anonymous. There's an 80% chance Buff is your dad

    2. haha. A skinny Mr. Buffalo could F the bibimpop out of skinny Linda back in the day