My Pathetic Massage


Let me start by admitting the following…I am not mature enough to enjoy a full-body massage. I am a 37-year-old man, a father of four, and an employer to forty-plus adults yet the thought of receiving my first full-body massage gave me a cross between the giggles and the shits.

I got the giggles because a woman who was not my wife was about to touch me for sixty minutes. I got the shits because a woman who was not my wife was about to touch me for sixty minutes.

The Waiting

The anxiety, the questions, the fears, the terrors  and the neurosis that comes with such a notion left me toe-tapping in the waiting room. How much should I tip her? Am I supposed to talk? What if she’s hot? What if she’s ugly? What if she wants to talk? What if I take off too many clothes? What if I don’t take enough clothes? What if she touches my feet and I threaten to kill her? What if I fart? What if I get a boner? What if I giggle a lot. What if I shit a little? How much should I tip her then? How much should I tip her then?

How the hell was I supposed to enjoy a massage with my inner mental meter running?

My wife bought me this massage for my birthday knowing that I might need a little relaxation after running my first marathon last week. My wife also bought me this massage because she knew exactly how uncomfortable I would be throughout this whole endeavor.

This was not a birthday present. This was a personal challenge.

The Massage

Let’s just say Roma, my masseuse, was not my type and we’ll leave it at that. Oh, and she looked like she could hurt me.  Oh, and she kind of looked like she wanted to hurt me. And I was scared.

Roma dropped me off at Room #3 and left me with little to no instruction as to proceed. When she returned she found me on top of the towels (instead of underneath them) in my underwear and my socks with a large quirky smile. She snickered and accused, “this is your first time.” I knew then she didn’t like me. And I knew she was going to hurt me.

Within minutes of the start of my first massage I was reminded that I was not the right person to be laying there face down. I just cannot relax enough to enjoy a massage. For one hour Roma chased the tension around my body. When Roma massaged my neck, my legs tensed up. When she massaged my legs my feet tensed up. When she massaged my feet my arms tensed up. When she massaged my feet my back tensed up.  After one hour all my anxiety settled right back in my neck as I walked out the door.

I felt pretty lucky to be walking out of there alive. On three separate occasions I felt sure that Roma was about to kill me.

It started off with me face down. Roma put her entire body weight into one early stroke to my upper back.  My Adam’s apple flattened against the massage table and damn near protruded out the back of my head. Now, I know why there was a hole for my face on that table as I began drooling lifelessly all over the floor of Room #3.

Later, Roma removed the cylindrical pillow from out beneath my knees.  For seconds the dark room stood deathly still and, while I cannot prove what she was thinking, I am fairly certain she thought twice again suffocating me with that thing.

Finally nearing the end of this massage, Roma took her thumb and attempted with all her might to pierce the bottom of the back of my neck and hook her thumb into my skull. Ever see the movie Very Bad Things where Jeremy Piven accidentally killed the hooker with the towel hook? Well, it was about to be my turn to turn up in a large plastic bag in pieces.

The Happy Ending

This is not one of those kinds of places, but I swear at one point Roma was trying to get my left foot to climax. And if anyone could get a foot to have an orgasm, this was the woman to do it. (I know, I know, but I told you I was not mature enough to receive a full-body massage.)

You want to know my secret? I actually started to enjoy the massage. I started to relax. I started to think that I could stay in that spot for the rest of my life. And then it ended….Just like that. Abruptly  leaving one with disappointment…Just like this blog post. 


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I am Kevin Harris, a father of four and husband to one very understanding woman. And yes, I know exactly what caused all those pregnancies! My home life makes me smile and I like to share that laughter with others. Hopefully, you can find a bit of your home life reflecting in my pathetic blog….. For more of my writing I suggest you visit my favorites page….