Massages and other debilitating preoccupations

Massages and other debilitating preoccupations



So here`s the thing. I was given a certificate for a spa this week and I booked myself an hour long massage. I was given the 90 minute option but, naturally this sent me into a state of panic.

I can’t stay calm that long. I can’t quiet the incessant chatter in my mind for more than 12 seconds at a time and even that’s a stretch.

What if I don`t like it? What if it’s bad? What if it smells weird? What if I want to leave? What if…

I mean, how do you just abruptly announce that the masseuse just isn’t doing it for you and walk out? You cant. Well, maybe you can, but I have debilitating issues about hurting other people’s feelings.

Seriously. I`ve had sex with people who repulsed me simply to avoid the burden of being the one who made them feel rejected.

Pardon? Therapy? Yes I’m aware. Thank you.

And you probably thought that after my last two massage experiences (Massage 1 and Massage 2 ) that I would never get naked with a stranger again.

But then you probably remembered that it’s me we`re talking about and…

I was going to book a pedicure but the last few weeks have been so incredibly stressful and then on top of that, I injured myself, obsessively shoveling the front walkway and stairs during the great snowstorm of last Tuesday.

When I arrived, a gorgeous young man was waiting for me in the lobby.

‘Jennifer’, he cooed, ‘Daniel. Follow me.’

The room was calming and serene. His voice was deliciously soothing.

He asked if there was anything he should know before we got started. I lied and insisted there was not.

He told me to be comfortable to relax and to completely let go.

He told me to do and feel whatever I needed to do.

He told me if I need to cry, I should cry.

¨Or fart, or burp or whatever you need to do. Just let it all out…¨

What? Okay no, that was unnecessary. I didn’t even consider the possibility that either of those things might even be an issue.

Of course, now that he had planted the fear in my mind that I might lose control of my bodily functions, I immediately had to suppress a burp. Which is stupid. I never burp.

I knew this was a terrible idea! Why didn`t I book a facial? I never should have come.

He rocked gently back and forth beside me as he caressed my lightly oiled body.

I lay there fidgeting and fighting the persistent preoccupation with gas emissions, which, obviously, led to me trying to remember which underwear I was wearing and fighting the temptation to reach down and feel them, for the purpose of identification.

What the hell? Why didn’t you take them off? What if they’re ugly? Tattered? Torn?

What difference does it make now? You can’t change them.

I need to know. I’m just going to touch them quickly.

No! He’s going to think you’re trying to pull them out of your butt crack or something.

Clench your thighs, or your butt cheeks. See if you can feel what fabric they’re made of.

It took some time, but eventually I let go enough to relax my shoulders away from my ears and breathe.

I breathed in and out slowly, following the rhythm of Daniel’s breath. Following the tempo of his hands kneading my flesh. And I started slowly to slip into a hypnotic state until…

Oh, my God, am I drooling? I totally am. I just drooled. Right through the face holder and onto the carpet.

I think it was loud too. Did beautiful Daniel just hear my drool hit the floor? That’s so weird, It’ almost worse than burping or farting isn’t it?

Shut up Jen, seriously. First of all, drooling is so not worse than burping or farting.

Second of all, tons of people drool when they are having massages. Massages are drool inducing.
Tons of people have probably drooled right through this very face holder and onto that very carpet below your face.

Eeeewwwww!!! I`m drooling on other people’s drool? I`m hanging face first over a f@cking germ-feast!

Jesus Jen! Get a grip on yourself. There is a beautiful boy rubbing your whole body down with warm oil. He`s breathing deeply in and out as his muscular body undulates beside you. His soft voice in your ear. His hand grazing the side of your breast. His feet visible through the little head holder and…

He’s way too young and anyway… Gross! He`s standing in the drool pit.

Okay, whatever. You’re impossible. I give up.

No. Don’t give up up on me please! I can relax! I promise and I swear. Calm starts now.

And it did. For at least 15 minutes I lay in a slobbering trance, floating in the air above my body. I was only half aware that I wasn’t alone but not enough to recognize who or to question why their hands were on me.

A little chime sounded a few times to break the hypnosis before Daniel whispered. Jennifer we’re done. You can get dressed now. I’ll wait for you outside.

When I got up, I was met in the mirror by the face of a woman who glowed like a freshly f@cked virgin, rolling riverside in a field of spring daisies.

I don’t even know if daisies bloom in the spring. Or if they grow by rivers. But it doesn’t matter, that’s what I looked like.

When I met him outside, Daniel was holding a glass of what I imagined to be magical water from the fountain of youth, and I drank it as such. Tilting my head back submissively and letting it run down my throat like a gift from the Gods.

Do you need anything else Jennifer?

I stared at him, speechless and doe-eyed.

A hug? He offered.

I melted into his arms for a moment.

Next time I’ll book the 90 minutes.

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