It’s A Celebration
In light of recent accomplishments, my wife surprised me with a trip to a resort in the Georgia mountains. Included with our stay was a choice between a manicure, pedicure, a two-hour horseback ride, golfing, or a massage. If you know me this was a no brainer, it was massage time. There’s nothing like a good old-fashioned rub down to help you get your mind right! Side note, I’m not talking about seedy, blacked out windows, and possible arrest or happy ending massages. I’m talking about school certified, well lit, no hail Mary’s needed afterward, professional massages.
With great anticipation I called to make our reservations and of course (dun dun dun) they were all booked up for massages. This left me in a very precarious position; do I take what’s behind door number 1, door number 2, or the consolation prize? So inevitably, for the sake of growth and development of my marriage, I chose the consolation prize, his and hers pedicures. To my surprise though, upon returning to our room I found a voice message informing me of an opening for a massage. Winning!!! Without hesitation, I called the spa back and it was on!
Welcome to the Thunderdome
The next day my wife and I headed to the spa and I walked in the place liked I owned it. However, in a matter of minutes, my world came crumbling down. As I looked around the spa I noticed that there weren’t many female employees. As I waited for a young (or old) lady to approach me and show me to the changing area, one never came. Instead an over eager young lad came running up to the lobby, introduced himself, and escorted me to the locker room. He gave me instructions on how to proceed and left me to change into “something a little more comfortable,” i.e. a robe and my draws. This was my first time on the receiving end of that proposition and I was immediately struck with fear. What’s the problem you may ask. Well, I had never had to process the possibility of a man giving me a massage.
Mind Over Matter
In order to go through with my much needed massage I had to find the proper mental space. The only source of comfort I could find was to equate this massage to that of being a professional athlete and going to physical therapy. At that moment it was justifiable to allow this dude to work out the kinks in my body, in the name of athleticism, versus being free to experience the undefiled pleasure of a deep tissue massage.
Being in need, I went through with the process and honestly I was able to “enjoy” it but I could not get the clarity of mind that I usually achieve. I just could not shut off my mind and become one with the massage. I was able to relax a bit and allow the fella to work out my tension (insert the politically correct version of pause) but I kept over thinking what was happening to me. I could not chill.
Let me Know if I’m too Rough
“I likes ya and I wants ya,” is all I kept hearing during this ordeal. Homie was twisting, turning, tugging, pulling and I found myself resisting. The whole purpose is to relax and eventually I was able to do so but as soon as I did bruh hit me with, “Turn over.” Of course I thought, “Turn what over, my hand,” but there was no use in resisting. The next thing I remember was hearing some sort of liquid squirting into dude’s hands and then feeling his paws squirming down my back. It was one thing having my head manipulated by a man and having dude tug on my neck and shoulders but the back rub was foreign territory. To say I wasn’t ready is an understatement. But as quickly as the massage started, it was over.
Wax on Wax off
What all of this boils down to is me being afraid to enjoy the massage too much. I was caught up in whether or not a man should be able to bring me the implied pleasure that comes with the treatment. Bottom line, massages feel good. They are therapeutic, they allow me to relax and enter a state of meditation, and they relieve hidden tension in my body. My wrestle is if a man should be able to help me feel good.
In my world, there is a certain intimacy that comes with getting a massage. In this context it is not sexual intimacy, but it is still an intimacy that I did not plan on sharing with a man. Now that this has taken place, I’m not sure how to feel. Overall I enjoyed the treatment but I was not able to complete my massage ritual. The kinks got worked out of my neck, back, and shoulders but I was not able to completely relax. On a scale of “Do That Bro” to “Don’t Do That Bro,” and whether or not to have a masseur again, I’m struggling.
With great confusion,
I wrote this piece to get the DDTB ball rolling. It’s a little self-disclosure on my part and I’m looking for your honest feedback. So help me out fellas, what are your thoughts? Feel free to respond here or anonymously by sending me an email and I’ll post your response incognito, if need be. Holla at me…ddtb@ForthDistrict.com