I have somehow managed to get to the age of 41 without ever having a massage. I have had backrub-type massages from former girlfriends, but never a proper professional massage. Until last week. I’d had a bit of an ache near my shoulder blade for a week or so, and figured it might be a good idea to get it seen to. A friend mentioned a place near his house, so an appointment was made, and off I went.
I arrived just as the lady was arriving, she unlocked the door to this place that had several rooms. She told me to take a seat for a moment. I sat there on a sofa next to an ofreta display thing for the Day of the Dead. She said she was off to change. The building had the feel of a junior school. Echoey rooms and wooden floors. After changing into what seemed to be identical clothes (I still believe her, though, because, on the whole, all of my clothing looks exactly the same). She told me to take my shoes off. I slipped them off, and slowly side-footed them under the shoe rack, and I followed her to a small room. She sat down on the bed explained what she was going to do. Something about energy. She said she might make some noise, and if I wanted to, or felt like it was there, I should let out whatever noise I wished to let out.
“Remove your clothes.”
I did. Stood there in my underpants, I said, “Everything?”
“If you are comfortable, yes.”
Not wanting to be that person, I slipped off my grundies, and lay down on the table thingy. She told me to relax. Easy said than done, missy; you don’t realise that I’ve not felt utterly relaxed for about twenty years, so, y’know, let’s not get too excited. She started rubbing my calves. And then came the noises. Not from me, although I was suppressing laughter. She started moaning and groaning. Kind of like, if you can imagine, a ghost getting a blow job. Rubbing away at my calves and thighs, then grabbing a leg with both hands and stretching it. Then rubbing the bottom of my feet. Ticklish. I tried to concentrate on the sound of the dry leaves the wind was blowing across the skylight.
She told me to move down the table so that my knees were at the bottom edge. Still lying on front. She bent my leg to do some more rubbing. I could feel my shin was nestled between her breasts. Which felt odd. I felt uncomfortable with my leg there, even though she was the one who put it there. But that uncomfortable feeling didn’t last long. It was replaced by an even more uncomfortable feeling.
“Now get on your hands and knees.”
For clarity’s sake: doggy style.
I am naked on my hands and knees.
“Put your head down, so that all your thoughts and ideas can flow out of the corona of your head.”
You mean like all the thoughts of you stood there looking at my nuts hanging there while you can see directly into my bumhole? Those thoughts? Yeh, well, those thoughts aren’t flowing anywhere right now. They are, in fact, all I can think of. Apart from the big thought: don’t fart, Craig.
After way more rubbing of the legs than felt necessary considering I’d explained exactly where my back pain was, she spent some time on my back and shoulders and neck and head. Which was actually quite relaxing. I flipped over, she had a go at my chest and belly, and then told me I could stay here for however long I wanted to, to relax. She put her hands together like a praying person, and thanked me. I thanked her back without the hand stuff. And she left the room. I stayed there lying on the table, “relaxing,” for about 0.5 seconds. I got dressed, paid, and left. My shoulder still hurt.
But the next day, it felt a lot better, and has done ever since, so, y’know, it was all worth it.