Ay, There’s The Rub

I didn’t get my first massage until I was thirty. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Massages are wonderful. I’d get one a week if I could afford it. When I win the lottery one day, and I will, that’s the first thing I’m signing up for.

What I would really like is for the therapist to come to my home. Sure, they tell you to lie there and relax for a while after it’s all over. Really, though, they want you up and out asap. If you dozed off and tried to take a two hour nap like you really wanedt to, they’d rip those tiny but toasty blankets off your naked body in a heart beat.

I have one girlfriend who refuses to have a massage because she has nakedness issues. I do not have nakedness issues. I figure they have seen lots fatter, cellulitier and hairier bodies than mine. If not, well, they are getting paid.

I like everything about the experience of having a massage. I like the smells of eucalyptus and tea tree oils. I like the soft clean feel of the sheets on the massage table and the comforting weight of the massage blankets. I like the dim light and the new agey music that you never can find anywhere else. If someone would put a massage table in the middle of a book store, that would just about be Nirvana.

After having dozens of massages myself, I finally talked Bryon into having one several years ago. We had them at the same time but in different rooms. There was a guy therapist and a girl therapist. He was torn as to which to choose. Ultimately, he chose the dude. He enjoyed it, but I think it sort of creeped him out a bit. Not me. I swing both ways when it comes to massage therapists. I’m unbiased, unbigoted and rearing to go.

Having a massage from a trained therapist is just so wonderful. First of all, you can rub and rub your own hands and feet and it will NEVER feel that good. When my girl hits this one spot near the pad of my thumb, it almost brings me to tears of ecstasy. TMI? Probably, but you get the idea.

Another massage mystery is exactly why when you touch your own extremely ticklish and sensitive feet, it doesn’t tickle at all. When the therapist lays hands on those puppies, I have to resist the urge to pull them back and kick her in the face. I certainly wouldn’t be welcomed back if that ever happened despite my generous tipping.

I used to get one hour massages but the entire time I was lying there getting scrubbed and rubbed, I’d be thinking, “It’s almost over. It’s almost over. It’s almost over.” Now I get hour and a half massages. I don’t worry about when it’s going to be over. I’m fortunate to have a very reasonable massage therapist within a twenty minute drive of my house. In fact, she had a special before Christmas, and I bought four one and a half our massages for $50 each. Those same massages would have been around $90-$120 in Springfield or (shudder) Eureka Springs.

One thing about massage therapists is they can sense a knot before you even know you have one. They are like dogs and fear. Let them know they’ve hit tender spot, and they’ll bore a hole through that sucker.  The trick is to go all floppy and let them think you like it when they try to separate your muscles from the bone. Of course the second they are on to the next spot, your body immediately regrets any grousing your weak mind was doing and begs for her to go back to that spot. Meanwhile, the other side is jealous of what’s going on, and you can’t wait for her to make the circuit.

Another trick to procuring the absolute best massage is to speak up. If the pressure is too light or too hard, you have a voice. Use it. They don’t read minds.

You could pick out the freshly massaged from a lineup no problem. They are the ones with the fluffed out, slightly shiny hair and that sleepy eyed, smirk on their faces. There are only a few things that are that relaxing and satisfying.

I’d suggest only actually paying for one of them.


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