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my first massage, part ii
i finally got it this time
by todd w bush

Every week, those of us who watch the show, wait on baited break to see how Jack Bauer will solve the latest problem on “24.” Either that, or we’re just hoping to tune in and find out that Kim Bauer has finally been shot between the eyes by one of her plethora of kidnappers. Just as many have waited for the outcome of that show, others, albeit a much smaller amount, have been awaiting the conclusion of my massage chronicle. Fear not, faithful readers, the finale is finally here!

After dashing out of the day spa last time following the 18-year old’s announcement that a guy would be performing my massage, I’d made another appointment, making sure to specify that I wanted a female masseuse. Thus armed with the knowledge that I’d have feminine hands working out the kinks in my sore back, I left work yesterday and made my way back to the scene of my Scooby-Doo like bail out.

I walked up the stairs, expecting to see the 18-year old counter girl again, only to find she’d been replaced by a much uglier 45-year old version. As much as I didn’t want to get giggled at, I would have preferred the young one. I sat down in the comfy chair, picking up one of those celebrity magazines like People or Us Weekly. After waiting for a few minutes, a lady walked in saying she was new to the area and “just looking around.” Looking a little like Uhura from the original “Star Trek” with mounds of hair piled on top of more mounds of hair, she took a brochure, and sat in the chair next to me. Already a tad bit uncomfortable because I’d never had a massage before (as mentioned in the last column), I wasn’t exactly in the talking mood, but that didn’t deter Uhura.

“Are you waiting to get something done?” It took all I could muster to not come back with something akin to “No, I just enjoy sitting in a day spa in uniform reading this magazine when I could be doing the same fucking thing at home!” In fact, I didn’t say a thing, I just stared intently at the open magazine and nodded quickly one time. She didn’t stop: “Have you ever been here before?” I stared harder at the magazine, not actually seeing it, and shaking my head once in the negative. Then, incredulously she leaned over to see what kind of magazine I was so absorbed in. I was shocked! That is, until I finally saw what I was supposed to be looking it for five minutes straight, rather than talking to Uhura. It was a full page picture of Jared Leto topless. There are times I wish God would just hit me with a lightening bolt.

Thanfully, the massage lady came over to get me, and led me into my little room. I didn’t even fathom how gay I looked staring at Jared Leto, but I figured the fact that I had been staring at Jared Leto and was getting a massage, pretty much sealed my irritating little friend’s opinion. The massage lady, Christine, took me to the room and told me to undress. Not having done this before, I asked if she wanted me to fully undress or what. Her look indicated that this wasn’t the first time someone had asked that question; in fact, judging by her expression, it was probably somewhere in the neighborhood of the ten millionth time someone posed that query. She told me it was fully, and I proceeded to shed the uniform and throw the towel around my waist.

The massage table was slanted, with the head end slightly lower than the foot end. Resting under a table-length towel at the foot end of the bed was a round pad I assume my feet were supposed to rest on. I jumped up on the table, and laid down, then realized I’d kicked the pad out from under the towel and on the floor. Back off the table I go to get the pad, stick it back under the towel, and I hopped back up. And promptly kicked the pad on the floor again. I jumped back off the table, and, you guessed it, “lather, rinse, repeat.” Finally after kick number three, I picked up the fucking pad and just held it in my hand as I waited for the lady.

She got started on the massage, working on my back. Everyone I’d talked to who’d had a massage tried to give me advice and insight on how it would be. None of them said it would hurt like holy hell. They should have. Another draw back to this experience was the slanted table. I have allergies, so anytime I get into a closed space like that room, unless there’s air conditioning or a fan occasionally blowing on my face, it’s hard for me to breathe. This room fit the criteria. So thus deprived of my nose for breathing, I went with option B, my mouth. I’d forgotten about the slanted table, and thus neglected to realize that breathing through my mouth for twenty minutes would produce buckets full of drool. When she told me to turn my head so she could work on the right side of my back, I was a dead ringer for Hooch.

The back portion of the massage didn’t do a lot, in fact sitting here in my less than comfy work chair, my back feels about as good (or bad) as it did two days ago. However, the massage on my legs and arms was pretty sweet. The woman finished me up, I dressed, and walked out into the lobby. Uhura was still there in the lobby asking asinine question. I ducked my head and managed to avoid her. Either that, or the dried drool made me look like one of Robin Williams’ patients in Awakenings.

So my first ever professional massage is in the books. Was it helpful for my aching back? Kinda, but not really. Was it worth all the time and effort I put into getting it? Well, I did manage to get two decent columns out of it, so in that respect you could say yes. But the big question I’m wondering is, since I spent 40 Euro on it, would that money have been better spent if I’d combined it with another 20 Euro and just gone down the road to the legal brothel? Jury’s still out on that one.


Todd's background includes military service, a stint at a movie theater, and getting turned down for a date by Sandra Bullock. All things that make him totally unqualified to be a writer. However, now that he's getting married in November, that might just do it.

more about todd w bush


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topic: humor
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robert melos
8.29.04 @ 10:20p

On the gay scale, Jared Leto puts you around a 3. And I guess I didn't mention my massage experience, or my dislike for it and the pain involved for a couple of days afterward.

And 60 euros isn't worth it when its something you can do better yourself.

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