My wife loves massages. In theory I don’t, mainly because I’ve never particularly enjoyed being touched. Nonetheless, when Sophia purchased a session at a local Asian massage parlor for my last birthday, I could hardly refuse. She told me she’d sprung for the best package – the “Everything” deal – and insisted I’d love it. A couple of months ago, I finally went.
The rather large woman who “greeted” me at the establishment’s door seemed oddly suspicious and inhospitable, at first. But her attitude changed entirely for the better once I showed her my gift certificate. She remembered my wife and acknowledged that “everything” had been taken care of.
The manager then introduced me to my masseuse: a slim, attractive young Asian lady whom the manager introduced as “Susie.” After escorting me down a winding corridor pocked with doors on either side, Susie deposited me in small cubicle of a room sparsely furnished with a massage table and chair. She instructed me to disrobe and lie on the table while she waited outside. Having never experienced a professional massage before, I knew no better than to comply.
When Susie returned, she asked me: “You want everything, right?”
What did I know? I replied: “I guess so. That’s what my wife’s arranged.”
Much to my surprise, without another word Susie proceeded to strip, all the way. I didn’t know what to make of this turn of events, but lacking any other spa experience to compare, I just assumed nudity for both participants represented standard operating procedure. At least, I did until Susie slapped a tablespoon’s worth of oil on my tallywacker and began rubbing away.
I may be naïve but even I wasn’t gullible enough to think that particular service fell within a masseuse’s ordinary repertoire. I also found it hard to believe my wife would’ve sprung for a “happy ending.” Sure, Little Richard begged me to put the blinders on, enjoy my “massage” and blame any unintended results (from Sophia’s perspective) on a simple misunderstanding. But I’m no cheater and I couldn’t bring myself to go through with the service.
Though I stopped the masseuse and departed without partaking in any further ministrations, I didn’t want to disappoint Sophia with an account of what actually happened. I decided we’d both be better off if I vaguely informed her that the massage had been “excellent.” Anyway, that’s what I’d figured until last night, when she mentioned how – based on my recommendation – she’d rewarded one of the married guys who works for her with an all expense paid visit to the same massage parlor, under the same “Everything” package she’d arranged for me … and he was cashing in his gift certificate as we spoke.