A few hours after my Grandmother passed away, my mother suggested that we all go to this foot spa/massage place that she goes to often. She told us that for $25, we could get an hour long massage. We were all physically, mentally and emotionally exhausted and so an hour long massage sounded wonderful.
I talked my husband into going, but it wasn’t easy. He was not comfortable getting a massage from a man OR a woman, but mostly from a man. I was all “if you get a man, just close your eyes and pretend she’s a beautiful, strong woman.” He agreed to give it a try.
Honestly? I was so traumatized from having watched my Grandma’s body being carried out on a stretcher and placed into a beat up old car, I don’t remember much from the massage. I remember it was dark and that there were lots of chairs in the middle of the room. I remember we left our clothes on. I remember there was relaxing music. I remember they put my feet in a tub of water. I remember that I wanted to fart SO MANY TIMES and had to clench SO HARD SO MANY TIMES. I remember they put a towel over my eyes and feeling relieved because no one would be able to see if I cried during the massage.
The actual massage? I don’t remember much about it.
Last Saturday I invited a friend to go with me to try this place again. It’s easy to convince people to try a massage that only costs $25 and lasts an hour. She asked about it and I told her what little I remember.
“They don’t just massage your feet. They massage your back and your hands. It will be great! Let’s do it!”
We met at 10am on Saturday morning. When we entered the building
, I could tell she was a little bit nervous. There are no private rooms, just a few chairs lined up in the middle of the room. Kind of awkward, but it’s really not a big deal because you don’t take your clothes off! I assured her it was going to be just fine and that she was going to LOVE IT. How can you not love a $25 hour long massage?
They brought a bucket for each of us to soak our feet in while we laid back and the men went to work on our bodies. I closed my eyes while the man started to massage my scalp. It was weird at first because he was chewing gum quite loudly and, well, there’s nothing relaxing about the sound of a stranger chomping on gum. However, one skill that I’ve mastered because I have three kids who are all very loud is the skill of Tuning Shit Out. I was able to tune the sound of his gum chewing out and focus on the peaceful music.
The first few minutes were pure heaven. Scalp massage, followed by an eye brow massage, followed by an arm and hand massage. He worked his way down my body to my feet. The foot massage was a bit rough. There were a couple of times where I instinctively wanted to kick him in the face (because it hurt so bad.) I took deep breaths instead.
Once he was done with my feet, he took the towel off of my eyes and asked me to turn onto my stomach. He started massaging my shoulders, which felt AMAZING. I have so much tension in that area from working on the computer all day. I was in heaven.
And then something pretty weird happened.
He touched my ass. On purpose. He started by pushing down on it, then he began to knead it, as if my ass was a ball of pizza dough that needed to be shaped.
It was so… awkward, so… unexpected. There I was, in the middle of the room, getting a Full Blown Unexpected Butt Massage. I could feel the laughter rising up within me. I laughed quietly to myself through that little hole that they make for your face in the massage chair. This was really happening! And it was weird! But then, it stopped being funny and started to be straight up painful. He began to rub The Butt in a very aggressive manner. It almost felt like he was angry with it and like he was “teaching it a lesson.” He pushed, he rubbed, he um, spread my freaking cheeks apart.
I wanted to get up and be all “HEY THERE, LITTLE FELLA! Watch yourself!” But I couldn’t move. I just laid there and let him brutalize my butt. (Because maybe this was normal? Maybe this was good for my butt and I just didn’t know it?)
It lasted for what felt like 2 hours, but was probably 5 minutes? And then, it was over. My friend’s massage ended at the same time. We both sat up and looked at each other. Our hair was a mess, or makeup was a bit smeared.
“What the heck?” My friend said. “I feel like I need to smoke a cigarette.”
I knew what she meant.
The next day, Tony wrapped his arms around me and grabbed my butt.
It hurt so bad, I got chills.
“I think that guy bruised my butt. Will you…”
Before I could finish my sentence, he pulled my sweats down to carefully, lovingly and longingly examine my bottom.
And sure enough, just a little left of crack was a blue-ish, oddly shaped bruise.
I’m no expert in How Massages Are Supposed to Work, but I’m pretty sure they’re never supposed to end with butt bruises.