I did a totally decadent thing recently.
(No. I didn’t have a multi-million dollar wanna-be “royal” wedding/festival of gaudiness. That was the other Kim.)
I had a two-hour massage.
When I went into the massage, my right shoulder-blade was on fire, my right elbow had been aching for days and I was having shooting pains from my shoulder to my forearm.
Oh, and I wanted to cry on account of the pain.
Two hours later I was a total noodle.
I don’t even really remember the end of the massage. I just remember somehow finding my way to the dressing room and being somewhat amused by the fact that I looked positively post-coital — messy hair, pink cheeks, bemused smile.
You know how cats get all relaxed and sprawl out and purr and you’re kind of embarrassed to even look at them because it seems pretty obvious that they just had an orgasm?
I felt like that.
Except do cats even have orgasms?
And how would we know if they did?
They look like they totally have orgasms. All the time.
Part of the reason why this massage was so good is because of my new Favorite Person, John the Architect turned Massage Guy. Turns out John was fresh out of massage school and was super-excited to explain to me how my back muscles work, etc.
I didn’t really understand all the fancy medical terms.
Then he actually looked at/messed around with my shoulder/arm and said “Wow. This is totally jacked up!”
I understood that medical term.
I also understood that John was a little too excited about the fact that I seemed to have an actual problem with my shoulder/arm. I’m pretty sure I saw him rubbing his hands together with glee.
Then he used them to simultaneously torture me and make me groan with pleasure.
(No, I’m not becoming an erotica writer.)
(As far as you know.)
(And I did not have sex with the masseuse.)
(Although he is the only man who has touched my bare skin since the dawn of time, practically. So there’s that. He is also 32, short and not into girls.)
It was just a really good massage.
Note to self for the next time I have a male masseuse:
- Shave your legs, Kim. Honestly.
- Don’t wear granny panties. It’s horrifying when the masseuse turns down the blanket and tries to tuck it in at your waist but can’t because your panties come up about 2 inches above your waist.
- Maybe don’t moan out loud with pleasure.
- Also, grunting is not cool.
- Try not to get excited when the masseuse whispers to you; he’s not sex talking you.
p.s. i’m pretty sure this is what they call “phoning it in”… sorry! this is all i could squeak past my multiple Dreadifuss Beasts. i promise a real post is coming soon. i think. i hope.