On my day off, I decided to get a massage. This turned out to be one of the least relaxing massages I have ever had. I couldn’t get out of my own head and just enjoy the moment because I was far too busy worrying that I might’ve inadvertently welcomed a “happy ending”.
It started out perfectly normal and I couldn’t wait to get my rub down. I love massages and usually I get super relaxed and not at all uncomfortable about a stranger oiling me up and smoothing all of the stress from my muscles. It wasn’t until I began to undress in the massage room that I suddenly remembered that I wasn’t wearing underwear. This is probably not that big of a deal to some people, as I hear lots of people get birthday suit massages. I do not. I am comfortable with nudity in the proper environment but I am just more comfortable wearing underpants during my massages. I think it’s about sending the right message. When someone is rubbing on my greased and naked body, my underpants send a signal that I have strictly professional requirements in this one-hour relationship. I’m not trying to accidentally and non-verbally send a signal that the female version of a rub-n-tug would be welcomed.
You may ask, “What the crap kind of establishments are you going to?!” They appear to be reputable places, sometimes upscale even, but hey, you never know when a legit massage therapist is looking to make a few extra dollars on freaky clients. Remember that episode of Sex & The City where the ladies at the spa were paying a certain massage therapist to go down on them? These things can happen in real life people! I’m not naïve enough to believe that there aren’t people out there who have gotten themselves in a little trouble inadvertently. Accidental solicitation is a thing. At least it is in my mind.
So I realize that I’m not wearing underwear as I am left in the room to change. Perhaps “realize” is the wrong word to use. It’s not like I am constantly in the dark about whether or not I am wearing underpants. I do dress myself. During the summer, I like a sun dress and an air out. I normally choose appropriate moments. I always wear underwear when in the office or at church. I always imagine those are the two worse places to have some sort of Marilyn Monroe accident. Although, because its me and not Marilyn Monroe, its more likely that I’d trip and fall and end up accidentally exposing my beaver to important executives or clergy. Or worse, I’d accidentally expose myself to someone who reports to me and it comes off as the worse sexual harassment ever. I don’t want those kinds of problems with HR. It’s closed up down there all winter long and my Hello Kitty likes to get some fresh air during the seasons when she won’t catch a cold. No one likes a wintry January breeze up in the nether regions. Going commando under my summer skirt is the norm, but when I dressed to leave the house several hours before, I wasn’t thinking about the fact that I’m getting a massage today and should probably wear undies. I realize that it’s probably nothing to the practitioner, but it’s my own level of comfort that I am projecting onto her. She sees nude bodies all day. If I’m not fully expecting to see an ass, I wouldn’t like to be surprised with one but, I’m not a masseuse. Luckily she told me we would start face up, so I figure by the time an ass pops out, she’ll be ready for it. I’m here now and there’s nothing I can do about it so I slip my 100% naked self into the massage bed and pray the massage therapist isn’t offended.
I lay there clenching my whole body waiting for her to come in, as if that clenching would somehow lock up all my holes so nothing accidentally goes in or out of them. Then there’s the light knock and the door with the whisper, “All set?” and we are off to the races. I laid there, face up, waiting for the moment when she realizes I am sans panties. It comes when she gets to my thigh and stretches her hands straight up to my hip and there’s no fabric to stop her. My secret is out and now I’m replaying my conversation with her before she left the room for me to get dressed. We discussed how I work at a desk all day from home so I am sitting for hours at a time and get a sore lower back. She mentioned that we would address this with some stretches. Every stretch I begin imagining would require my legs in the air and I am NOT ok with an open vagina while I do stretches. Some things are never meant to happen in the nude. Stretching is one of those things.
Well, she’s a professional. She cleverly whipped the sheets around my legs, never revealing my glory hole and proceeded to give me the best stretch EVER. There was one part when she straightened my legs directly in the air and then brought them over to my side by pulling the ankles. That would be the first time my butt met the open air during this session. I clenched more. An accidental freedom fart would be bad right now. Farts stink more, and are louder when there’s no underwear to muffle and absorb it. Scientifically speaking, ya know.
I survived the face up part with my dignity mostly in-tact and it’s time to flip over to my stomach. I feel like some sort of weird naked seal trying to make my nude flip over as graceful and quick as possible. Usually this is the point in time where I do a lot of adjusting. I hate that face cradle because it makes me feel suffocated. I have to fuss around with the sheet that covers it to create an air hole because unless I can see the floor through a hole, I cannot breathe. I know I can… But I can’t! Since I am more concerned with the fact that I am now ass up, I just can’t effectively search for or create my air hole. I’m too busy clenching my butt cheeks. It begins again and everything is going as normal until she works up the backs of my thighs. Under normal circumstances when I am equipped with underwear, the massage therapist barely pays any attention to my butt area, but as her hands go straight to fully massaging my butt cheeks, I fear we have gotten to the part where my nudity has sent a message I wasn’t intending to send. She spent a LOT of time massaging the cheeks and I am not a fan. I don’t have a small butt and I feel like she’s preparing batches of pizza dough on my backside. I know that I could just say something and she will move on, but between trying to keep from suffocating and trying to clench at the same time, words are evading me. Between shallow breaths I am thinking I brought this on myself by providing her with an accessible ass. I try to angle my face toward the place where I think an air hole might be. I can’t use my precious little amount of air to tell her to move away from my ass. How does one even say that in a polite and calm manner? I couldn’t imagine that I could do that without shouting and sounding like some sort of psycho, so I just kept clenching. The clenching probably isn’t doing me any favors because she’s surely thinking she should be working there because there’s so much tightness in my butt cheeks.
Never in the history of all the several dozens of massages that I have gotten has any massage therapist gone directly from butt cheeks to the lower back. And I am talking across the entire lower back. So that means all my hind parts are now meeting the air. It’s out there. My full moon. Usually a massage therapist goes down over the shoulders and down the back to get to the lower back, while the sheet is folded down to your waist. I have never experienced from the ass up, leaving my cheeks just flapping in the wind. I’m clenching so hard that my butt would turn completely inside out if that was physically possible. I believe I could have created a black hole right there in the room if I tightened any more (no pun intended). This ended up being the least relaxing massage I have ever had. I don’t blame the practitioner and I didn’t actually get accidentally violated. This could be a metaphor that the universe is trying to teach me regarding life in general. It’s best to just cover your ass, or you’ll live your life clenching against invasions that may or may not ever come. This won’t make me wear underwear, but maybe I’ll keep a spare in my purse all summer for just such future emergencies.
The Well-Adjusted Adult 