Sunday, April 4, 2010

Manhandled: What the Dr. Ordered.

A long, long, long time ago I bought Joey a massage. It was an act of love. I didn't think twice about having some girl's hands all over my husband's body; I only thought of giving him a relaxing and luxurious experience. This is when we were poor college kids living in a shoebox on campus with nothing but pure, naive, giddy love holding us together.
Then life happened and six years later, suspicious, jealous, insecure, and bitter, I told him in a very nice way I wasn't comfortable with him getting a massage from some other female that I have never met (and therefore was not able to say yes, go ahead, she's ugly, or HECK NO, that girl is way too hot-don't you even put a finger on him).
He was, a little, peeved. Just a bit.
I even added I would be more than happy to give him massages. He rolled his eyes.
Before I axed my husband's freedom to get a massage now and then, he gave me an 80 minute massage and scalp treatment gift card (I swear he is such a better human being than I am). I called to make my appointment and the lady on the other end said, " I have an opening with Tim at four."
Tim.
Tim.
Hmmmmm.
"Sure, that will work just fine."
When I told Joey I was getting a massage from a man it was like I was telling him that I had a turkey sandwhich for lunch.
Oh, that's nice.
Hmf.
"Tim" turned out to be almost as scary as I imagined him sitting in the waiting area. Late thirties, beard, (yes, beard), slitty eyes, nervous smile. Not too tall, gangster sneakers, hairy knuckles.
As I followed him back to the room, where we were going to spend 80 minutes together, I took a deep breath and acknowledged to that suspicious, jealous side of me that this was, entirely, her fault.
The room was dimly lit with a mural of Tahiti or someplace painted on it's brown walls. It was hot. There was island music playing. It's smelled like oranges, and coconut sun tanning lotion.
We chatted a bit, I told him about my accident (focus on the neck, buddy, the NECK), and he left me to get undressed.
Here we go, I thought as I slipped off my pants.
I got onto the table and waited nervously, sweating like a pig, for him to come back.
The first touch of his soft man hands surprised me and as tense as I was, immediately relaxed me. He very slowly, and very firmly, pressed his hands down from my shoulders to my ower back, and it was pretty much all over at that point. He was really good.
Sure, I freaked out with him doing my legs, especially the upper parts (I hated him for a moment when he adjusted the sheet at the you know what area--I mean common, my eyes were closed but it's just creepy as everything to think he could have snuck a peak. Sicko.)
He burned me with the scalp oil and it was kinda gross to have him running his fingers through my four inch hair, but other than that, I left drunk relaxed.
On the way home I thought about all of it and realized none of it helped me with how I felt about Joey getting a massage from a girl because I am not Joey.
The whole man massage for me was awkward. Great massage, but awkward. That's all I know. That night I told Joey if I hadn't been late for dinner I would have bought him a certificate for his birthday (which I still will probably do).
It basically comes down to what it always will come down to: do I trust him?
And I do.


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