Intro: Once again, this a very real story that i am not proud of.
I hate massages. When I say this, people immediately start brandishing their pitchforks and torches and try to chase me out of town. I don’t want a former drug addict with hulk hands touching my body. Massages combine my two least favorite activities: strangers, and being touched.
Neither my wife nor myself have ever had a massage so i thought it would be a lovely anniversary surprise to get a couple’s massage; I was very wrong in my assumption. Let me be clear, this was a very fancy massage studio and I spent a substantial amount of money for this experience. This was not getting rubbed by a strange foreign man in a strip mall, this was a goddamn experience, or so they told me. Needles to say, I walked in with the mentality that I was the best husband in the world and I was quickly punished for my hubris.
We are immediately greeted by the front desk person (let’s call her Susan) and my wife has a smile like a child waiting to get into a theme park for the first time (I was going to use a popular example here, but I’m not sure if I can legally use the establishment’s name, so imagine a popular theme park). Susan sits with us and has us fill out our intake forms which consist of a map of the human body and she has us indicate where we would like to be touched as if we’re molestation victims in a court case. I make no selections on this sheet and my wife selects every inch of her body. Susan then proceeds to ask us a series of questions such as: why are you here? Are there any areas you want us to focus on? Have you ever had a massage before? My answer to all questions is no.
Susan takes a moment and assigns a specialized person for each of us based on our needs and takes us back to our massage room. We are instructed to “strip to our comfort level” I take off my shoes and lay on the table still wearing my jeans and shirt; my wife strips completely naked and hops in bed excitedly awaiting to be groped by a stranger. The specialists walk in and my person is maybe five feet tall and weighs eighty pounds, but she had the hand strength of Hercules on steroids. She asks: “Is there anywhere in particular you want me to focus?” I say: “I guess my shoulders.” I’m fairly certain she dislocated my shoulders several times throughout the course of this massage. Meanwhile, my wife is sitting next to me with the strange woman touching her and she’s asking for her to go harder. I was aroused and emasculated at the same time; very confusing time for me.
By the end of the hour I couldn’t move and my wife wanted to go for round two. The moral of the story is, if you want to learn suppressed secrets about your spouse, go get a couple massage.