so over the laundromat

I loathe doing laundry so much that I put it off until the situation is abominable and it is the night before I go away for the weekend.
So I'm there by myself at Brainwash and there's a few dozen people there for spoken word night, which is not as great there as you might think, but getting a great turnout for Brainwash. I go about my business in the room where the machines are, and I notice this guy is getting awfully close to me at the change machines, but I figure it's just a coincidence. He smiles at me and I half-smile back and look busy. He looks like a decent guy, he's black and probably in his 20s, and when he whisper-mumbles something to me which turns out to be could I watch his laptop I said no problem. As I take my clothes out of the machine he asks me in the same half-coherent whisper-mumble how many times a week I go to the gym, and I look at him perplexed as if I can't tell he's hitting on me and say, usually three, and walk away as he says something presumably about my figure that I can't hear and ignore. He keeps trying to talk to me and asks where I'm from, and I say San Jose and look busy, and wonder when it would be appropriate to tell him I have a boyfriend, and he says "I'm glad you're here now with us in the West Bay," and he's hard to hear and very confusing (West bay?), so I figure I will avoid him, but he keeps somehow showing up near where I am.
I go over to the other table and sit and read my book Jon let me borrow about a microlending bank in Bangladesh while waiting for the dryer, and this other guy asks me what I'm reading, which reminds me of a bad come-on at this same laundromat that resulted in one very bad date, but he says, "Oh, that's by the guy who won the nobel prize, right?" and he seems like a nice enough person who actually was interested in the book and he is keeping that other guy from talking to me, he's probably in his late 30s with semi-gray hair and doesn't seem too creepy, but I don't really want to start a full-on conversation with him, especially not when he replies, "So are you going to Bangladesh to do the same thing?" and I try to cut it short, and it is at about this point that I notice he is folding an awful lot of washcloths, and at first I think he must be really into using washcloths in the shower until I see that he is folding like, 400 of these. At this point I figure it can't hurt to ask, "So what's with the towels?"
"Do you really want to know?"
"Um, I'm curious."
"Well, you could guess."
"Do you run a giant car wash?"
"Ha ha, no."
"A homeless shelter?"
"No, but that's a good guess."
"Um, a massage parlor?"
"That's kind of in the same realm. You're close."
I'm really over this guessing game but by now I am pretty curious, and what could it possibly be? So I finally just ask him to tell me.
He says, "Did you read the article in SF Weekly last week?"
"No, I think I missed it."
"I'm part of a group just down a few blocks from here that does orgasmic meditation and massage, usually involving a male stroking the female on her genitals, and we use these towels because we practice safe sex. So we wash them after each use. Each one of these towels is going to touch a person."
Whoa.
Although it's going through my head that that's not meditation, it's foreplay, and a towel does not the safe sex make, and these women expose their genitals to towels he's just laying out on the semi-clean table at the laundromat, and it's creepy that he's going into so much detail about this, all I can do is nod, and say "interesting" and try to go back to reading.
"So this is my job," he says.
"You guys take turns?" (I'm not sure why in the hell I asked that)
"This is the job I wanted. I want to touch every person who comes to the center, so I get to touch all of these towels, which are going to be used."
Holy shit.
"I'm Chris. You don't have to tell me what your name is. It's nice to meet you."
Yikes.
"Do you like massage?"
I need out of this conversation.
"Sure...uh-huh."
He tells me they are running a course to teach back massages at the center, and that for only $25 I can have a free massage from one of the students.
"Cool."
He puts all of the little towels into a giant, not particularly hygienic-looking straw bag and tells me to enjoy the book, and to come by the center if I'd like a massage. I wish him luck (what else can you say?) and he leaves.
The mumbling guy comes up to me again.
On the other side of my cart I hear "You whwooo shmooo."
"I'm sorry?"
"You look smooth."
"I have a boyfriend," I say.
"I said, you looked spooked, what did he say to you?"
I feel like a jackass.
"He told me he did some crazy erotic massage with the towels."
"I heard that," he said, and took his clothes and left.
My next apartment is going to have laundry in the building, I swear.