In the Pursuit of Delayed Gratification

Act 1

“Hey, man, I’m John. What’s up?” He gives an incline of his head, a view of his slicked back hair. A long sip of his vape. “First time, huh?”

“Yeah, I’m Henry,” they size each other up. Similar heights, similar age.

They’re standing in a nondescript room tiled floor to ceiling in white. There is an interesting light scheme that doesn’t seem to have a definitive source but makes the entire room glow. Three rows of chairs stand at attention along the broadside. A long mirror opposes. Henry extends a finger and pokes his reflection: hmm, two-way.

Both wear all black, Henry in wide leg jeans and a fitted t shirt, “OBEY” splashed red over his chest. John has black slacks, a black belt, a black button up shirt although he’s rolled up the sleeves to expose his forearms and enough buttons are undone to give ample view of his chest. Dark tattoos wink out from the V. Each ear boasts a diamond stud and silver rings adorn more fingers than not. Another hit of the vape.

“This is my fourth time being called in but I’ve never made the cut yet. I’m gonna keep tryin though. I’ll try as long as it takes,” John says, his foot jiggling. “If you’re dismissed, it’s fuckin over.”

“What exactly is this place? What are we doing here?” asks Henry.

John takes a minute to regard Henry through the cloud from his vape; assessing the competition.

“They didn’t tell you anything?”

“Not really,” Henry shrugs.

“Have you ever heard of Dr. Kim?”

“I mean….there’s a shit ton of Dr. Kims out there, man,” Henry rolls his eyes.

John shakes his head slightly, chuckles. “Not like this.”

“What do you mean?” Henry asks.

John glances up at the mirror, motions Henry closer. Henry sits next to him.

“Dr. Kim is a famous psychologist. They say her patients are royals, CEOs, real high-profile types. They all go and see her because she specializes in the kind of crazy ass, high pressure, ‘hard decision making’ shit that make people go berserker. Also sociopathy. Which I guess…is also the same type of people now that I think about it. Anyway she gets paid fuckin millions to see these patients and hear their all their dark, crazy shit, gives them weird ass drug combinations, hypnosis, experimental procedures, and she never says a fuckin word. She gets subpoenas every other day: corruption scandals, illegal arms, mafia stuff, murder, fuckin everything you can think of but she always finds a way around testifying. Word is she has a law degree on top of a fuckin medical degree and two other doctorates. Not a single one of her clients goes to prison. Basically, she’s some fuckin genius criminal therapist.”

Henry leans back in his chair, “Whoa. So what’s that got to do with us?”

John smirks, “Well, now this here is your lucky day, my man. Because everybody’s got needs, eh? I heard Dr. Kim has very particular tastes and she’s fuckin loaded so she hires guys to fuck. She recruits, bro, and then she pays you to keep your fuckin mouth shut.”

“What? She pays guys to fuck her? What is she like dog-shit ugly or something?”

Some other young men begin filing into the room and sitting down. Most are on their cell phones, some are chatting with each other.

John lowers his voice some more, “I’ve never seen her. Anybody who’s done it isn’t allowed to describe how she looks as part of the agreement you sign. If you so much as mention her, you have to pay back the money she gives you, and…” he pauses.

“And?” Henry whispers.

“And sometimes you just fuckin disappear,” John says.

“Jesus fuckin Christ,” Henry breathes, wide-eyed.

“I’ve thought about this though and I don’t think she’s fugly. She can probably go out and get any dipshit she wants, just crooks a finger at him, and he’ll come runnin tongue-out like a fuckin puppy. Nah, I think it’s the secret thing. I think she has to be really sure you won’t say a goddamn fuckin word to anybody about what happens. Ever. The money’s not bad but it’s not anything special. I genuinely think the guys who have done it get shut the fuck down. Never-heard-from-again type shit. It’s pretty chilling but that’s my theory. Still. One thing I am pretty sure of, it’s the fuck of your life. In which case, I’d do this shit for free.”

“So how come you’ve never made it through?” Henry asks.

“Fuck if I know, man,” John says, leaning back. “It’s the same room each time. I’ve never seen anyone I recognize any of the times I been here. And I got a thing for faces.”

The door opens. A middle-aged man in an immaculate suit and gold-rimmed glasses walks in, his shoes tapping delicately until he stands in front of the 20 or so odd seated young men. Conversation abruptly halts.

“Welcome, gentlemen. I am Mr. Kang. Thank you for coming out today.”

He begins to pace slowly, the tap of his shoes echoing faintly.

“When you registered downstairs, you were required to provide your ID and a blood sample. These things will be used for verification purposes. The agreements you signed are binding. I’m sure you were given ample time to review the terms but they’re a rather specific type of NDA. If you are eliminated, you are still subject to the terms of Section 2.1b and you’ll be reminded exactly what those terms are on your way out. If you are chosen in the final stage, a one-time payment of 33,841,250 Korean won will be deposited into your bank account. If at any point during the process, you wish to leave, you are permitted to do so. You need only raise your left hand. Anything that may be construed as an act of aggression, speaking out of turn, or deviating from our instructions will be cause for elimination.”

He removes a small, clear tablet from his breast pocket.

“I will now be reviewing a few necessary requirements for the selection process. If you fit the bill, stay seated. If something doesn’t apply to you, please stand. Any dishonesty will result in immediate expulsion and you will not be re-considered in the future. There are no questions permitted at this time. Let’s get started.”

13 minutes later only six candidates remain, Henry and John among them.

“Congratulations, gentlemen. You will now move to the next part of the screening process. I wish you the best of luck. Please follow me.”

Mr. Kang walks out, leading the remaining young men down a darkened corridor. As they walk, lights with automatic switches illuminate their path while behind them they flick off. On either side of the hallway are unmarked metal doors and darkened hallways. Henry attempts to keep count but quickly loses track. Mr. Kang stops in front of a door and opens it, motioning the young men inside.

Inside, six men in identical uniforms are standing in a row. Their faces are mostly covered by masks and sunglasses. Blue nitrile gloves strain over their hands. Each looks as if they weigh around 250 pounds.

“Jesus…” Henry whispers.

“Gentlemen, these men are here to help you through the next stage of the selection process. Please do as they ask. No questions are permitted. I will return shortly to advance you to the next stage.”

With this, Mr. Kang turns and leaves, the metal door clanging shut to deafening silence.

Wordlessly each uniformed man steps forward and directs the candidate in front of them to a section of the room. Curtains have been hung to divide the space roughly into rectangles. It’s an eerily hospital feel. Shower heads protrude from the walls like silver mushrooms devoid of spores. Henry glances at John who nods.

Following the man to a berth, Henry sees a metal cart under the shower head. The man pulls the curtain around the space, enclosing them inside. The screech of metal bearings at five other berths.

On the metal cart: a bar of light blue soap, two electric razors, a can of shaving cream, a large white towel, and a small mirror.

The uniformed man is succinct, “Take off all of your clothes, shoes, and accessories. All of them. Put them on the empty shelf on the cart. Shower. Use the blue soap to wash everything and be thorough,” he pauses, glancing downward. “When you’re done showering, use the razors to shave everything from the neck down,” another pause and downward glance, “Everything. You’ve been provided two razors, I highly recommend you use them both. When you’ve finished shaving, you will shower again using the blue soap. Wrap yourself in the towel when you’re done.”

With this, he lifts up the curtain to duck under. Henry can see his boots and hear the showers begin turning on.

Someone is whistling?

Henry feels his guts churn but it’s probably hunger. It’s been hours since that ramen at the GS25 around the corner from his house. Sex with some lady, that’s doable. At least it’s not some dude tryin to ass-fuck him or suck his cock. What if she’s old? Henry muses as he soaps. If she isn’t hideous, maybe she has some deformity? Maybe her pussy smells. Nah, no guy would really give a fuck about any of that shit for 30 million won. Just fuckin close your eyes and breath through your mouth.

Henry dries off and wraps the towel around his waist. As he reaches for the curtain, he can hear raised voices, expletives. He opens the curtain to see one of the other candidates yell into the face of the guard.

“The fuck are you talkin about, you fuckin weirdo! I shaved!”

The guard throws him to the floor, his knee planted on his shoulder. A splat of naked flesh on wet tiles.

“You were instructed to shave everything. You are eliminated, now do you want me to send you on your way with a dislocated or shoulder or would you like to leave quietly?” He pulls a few degrees to demonstrate his point.

“Aaaaaah, fuuuuuck! I’ll leave! I’ll leave! Fuck, OKAY!”

John gives the still dripping candidate a half salute as he’s bundled with his clothes out.

Mr. Kang returns.

“Gentlemen! Let’s proceed, shall we?”

The remaining 5 candidates are led in their towels back into the corridor to a room with another two-way mirror, this one devoid of chairs. They are lined up against the wall opposite the mirror. The numbers one through five appear in lights above their heads.

“Gentlemen, in this stage of the selection process, each of you will be called by number to step forward and perform some perfunctory tasks. Questions are not permitted. Remember, if you wish to decline participation at any point, you can raise your left hand,” reminds Mr. Kang before stepping out.

The scratch of a PA system and a mechanized voice:

“Number one. Step forward into the spotlight. Remove your towel. Put your hands on the back of your head, interlacing your fingers.”

Number one snickers.

“Have yourself a good fuckin look then,” he mutters under his breath as he puts his hands behind his head.

Henry steals a glance at John, mouthing, "What the fuck?”

John shakes his head, “Be cool.”

“Quarter turn to the right. Face the back. Bend over, use your hands to part your butt cheeks.”

Number one spins around, “What? Fuck, no. I’m not doin any of this faggot prison shit. I’m out, you hear me? I’m OUT,” he snatches up the discarded towel and waves his left hand at the mirror. Mr. Kang opens the door.

“See ya, fuckers,” Number one tosses over his shoulder, “Hope you’re into getting pegged.”

Tune in for Act II.