The Run Down on my Rub Down

Today I learned that sometimes it’s ok to be naked with a stranger.

We’re going old school here. No life lessons. No Star Wars jokes. Just some thoughts about something that happened to me.

So today I cashed in a voucher we bought for a couples massage.

Notice the pronoun there. I cashed it in. My wife was unable to join me for reasons. It takes a special kind of guy to walk into a day spa alone with coupon for a couples massage complete with drink and chocolate covered strawberries.

Mom always said I was special.

They were totally cool with it though. After asking me if I had to use the bathroom the receptionist took me to a secret waiting room while I filled out a from. She did take away the plate of strawberries and drinks though, slapping my hand and explaining “Those are for couples.”

The form started with some pretty standard medical questions. I scribbled as much information I felt a lady about to rub my back would need. It got weird further down. There was the question “What are you goals for this massage?” followed by three full blank lines.

The last time I had to write that much about a goal was on a college application.

I thought I’d look like a jerk if I wrote “not waste $40” so I put down “Learn Spanish.” Might as well shoot for the stars.

After I filled that out, my masseuse asked again if I needed to use the bathroom and then took me into a room where she told me to “get as naked as you’re comfortable” then left the room. I looked down at myself. I was already as naked as I was comfortable.

I try not to be the one story people talk about for weeks, so I stripped down, hopped up on the bed and covered up with sheet provided. As soon as I laid down I instantly figured out the obsession with making sure customers peed before going past the point of no return. The bed was heated and the heat seemed to be completely focused on my bladder.

I tried to think about anything not liquid related (fortunately the fountain in the room was turned off, unfortunately is was audibly raining). I had to psyche myself up to no pee myself when I got all relaxed.

Suddenly I had a bigger concern. Would I be able to not fart this whole time. This was a 60 minute massage with nowhere to run and no one else to blame. This whole room was one big dutch oven just waiting to happen. I don’t think I’ve gone an hour without ripping one in my whole life (high school dates excluded).

Once she came in though it wasn’t a problem. The whole process of getting a real massage was distracting enough to prevent either bodily function based disaster from happening. My masseuse was very nice. She said she had “the best job in the world.”

I didn’t believe her though. She was touching my feet at the time.

As for the massage itself, it was interesting. Mostly the good kind of interesting. I felt totally relaxed and and one with the universe afterward. I also felt sorta in pain. She did things with her elbow straight out Muay Thai.

She stayed clear of the Danger Zone. She was on the highway there a couple times, but she always took the off ramp before it became a problem.

This has gone on long enough. So that’s a thing that happened to me.


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