So Tuesday night I went for my first massage since the end of November. Well over two months. And since it had been so long, I decided to go for the ninety-minute massage. I’m telling you, if we could afford ninety minutes every two weeks, I’d totally go for that.
Now, when I made my appointment, a man had answered the phone, and I assumed that he was the receptionist. He’s not. And the man who answered the phone did not ask whether I wanted a man or a woman to do my massage, but I didn’t realize this until the next morning, the morning of the massage. I didn’t worry about it, because I assumed this meant they only had one or the other, or they would ask my preference when I arrived.
On my way to the massage, I told Frank that I had no idea if it would be a man or a woman, and I was a little nervous that they might put me with a man. Frank didn’t like that idea, and I assured him that if I got to pick, I’d pick a girl. Well, I got there and checked in, and the receptionist told me that [we'll call him George] would be with me in a moment. I noted that there was a man standing behind her, but I did not assume he was George. “I’m sorry, who?” “George.” “A man?” “Yes. Is that okay?” By now, the man standing behind the receptionist was fully tuned in to our conversation. “Um… I’d prefer a female.” Female. I said female. What a dork. “Okay, we have one on her way in, and she’ll be here in about ten minutes.” “Okay, thanks.” But really, I did *not* feel like waiting another ten minutes, as I was surely going to get home after 8 p.m. as it was, then have to cook dinner, and I’d be lucky to spend five minutes with Frank before bedtime. So after about thirty loooooong seconds of deliberation, I said, “Actually, I’d rather just go now.” So the receptionist told me George would be right with me.
Detour: Here’s why I prefer a woman. One, I don’t like the idea of any man besides Frank having his hands all over me. I know that as long as he’s a professional, it won’t matter, because they all stay away from the sensitive areas (except the glutes — they do work on the glutes, and my glutes always need it). But I’m still a little funny about it. Then there’s the fact that I tend to get chatty in my massages. I like to talk to my MT about everything. All my health stuff, personal life, religion, politics — none of that has ever been off limits in my massages. But dude. I am so not opening up about any of that to another man when I’m neckid. Which means I get the massage part of the therapy but not the head shrinking part of the therapy. That’s okay, though, because less talking usually means more relaxation. Also, the only other time I had a massage by a man, I was living in Amarillo, and this guy had come recommended to me (by someone who really didn’t like me all that much, now that I think about it). He had just banged on my body with his fists for an hour. So not a good experience.
Okay. So now the man behind the receptionist was gone, and in a few minutes he came out to tell me he was ready for me. And I realized that George had just listened to me telling the receptionist that I did not want a man to work on me. Which made me blush deep red for what seemed like several minutes.
We got into the massage room, and he asked if there were any particular areas to work more than others. I was very businesslike when I told him that my back, shoulders, neck, hips, and feet always need a lot of work and to please be careful in the area between my calf and my heel, because just rubbing the skin around there makes me scream in pain sometimes. He left the room, and I got undressed and went to get on the table. Which was actually harder than I expected, because George is like eight feet tall, and apparently for him to be ergonomically sound while he’s working, the table has to be about five feet off the ground. I may exaggerate a little (he’s more like 6’3″ or 6’4″), but I actually did have to hop onto the table.
Anyway. George came back, and the first thing he did let me know that this would be a heck of a massage. He told me that he didn’t have any hot towels at the moment, but he had some warming. Sweet! And after that there was no talking. I think there will be no talking in the future. Nothing about personal lives, none of that. He’s a man, and only one man gets to know everything about me. Not even you guys!
The hot towel thing was awesome. He heats them up on a rather large space heater and then puts them on me, over the blanket, in addition to the heating pad under the sheet on the table. The massage music was good, the lighting was relaxing. The only thing that was a little disconcerting was when he was working on my shoulders and I realized that his hands are gigantic, and he could kill me with one little squeeze of the neck. And it wouldn’t matter that my gun was in my purse across the room, because I’d just be dead before I could jump off the table and dive for my purse. Yes, mmmhmm, these thoughts do go through my head. Also, I opened my eyes briefly while I was face down and he was working on my shoulders, and I saw man shoes instead of painted toenails and flip-flops.
Anyway. He killed my hips. And by killed, I mean he totally de-knotted them. Can’t even tell you how much that hurt, and I couldn’t even yelp or moan! With Mary and Vicky, I would yelp or moan, and sometimes I probably sounded like I was having… fun. And I was very careful to make no sound at all with George, no matter how much it hurt. Of course, part of that was that I didn’t want him to think it was okay to let up — bring the hurt so I can fell better later. I had a ton of knots in my back, and they no longer existed when he was done with them. It’s like when Mary used to work on me, and she’d work on me for an hour and a half even though it was an hour massage. Any little knot she found, she’d just work it out slowly, holding, letting go, holding, etc. until that sucker untwisted itself. George did that. And my feet. Oh y’all. Deep foot work. He worked all of my sensitive reflexology points (and yes, I totally believe in that voodoo) and really dug hard right below the balls of my feet, where my feet really really need attention. The only thing I was a little disappointed in was that he didn’t really get my arms that well, other than my shoulders and my hands — my forearms were kind of just fluffed. But he really worked my head so well that I got over the arm thing really quickly.
On my way out, the receptionist apologized for the mixup. “Oh, no problem. I just tend to get chatty when I have a massage, and I’m a lot more comfortable chatting naked with a girl.” There will be no chatting. I went ahead and scheduled with George for my next one and then got Frank’s permission on the way home. I was pretty much walking on air after that massage. You’d think I’d had a colonic.