Massage Heaven
Sarah is sitting at her computer doing girl talk I am privy to with a woman client she just massaged. The subject is me. The woman asks, “What does he come in for?”
Sarah says, “He is under a lot of stress. He doesn’t work. He asks for lots of glute work.”
The woman replies, “He sounds like my kind of man.”
After the woman departs Sarah asks me, “What kind of massage do you want tonight, John?”
“Pop my nexuses. Shake my Chakras. Roll my meridians.”
Her coworker Elaine points out, “Be careful what you ask for John. You might get it.”
“I can dig that, Elaine. You know Sarah I’m trying out different religions. I want to paint myself blue and dance like the Druids. Or maybe I’ll find the truth in a sweat lodge. Then again, I could recite creation stories with Aborigines in the outback.”
Sarah looks concerned. “John, you’re mixing up your cultures.”
“Anything but Christian” I smile big.
“I did a pagan ceremony once. It was fantastic” Sarah grins.
“I must be crazy” I lament to Sarah.
She replies, “No. You’re not crazy. I bring out your wild side.”
“That’s why I like being in your company.”
Sarah asks me, “John, what would you like me to massage?”
“I need you to focus on my gluts. I store my tension there.”
“Especially since you keep your wallet in your back pocket,” she quips.
My heart beats in a bath of ambient music. The waves of sound wash over me like a tropic surf. I am naked underneath the cotton towel which drapes me like an altar cloth. Sarah enters my sacred space with soft words, “Are you comfortable?”
My gossamer voice whispers, “Oh yes I am.”
Suddenly her hands squeeze my shoulders with surges of Caribbean warmth flooding under her touch. Sarah opens her heart. “I just turned 31” she says. I lie in acquiescence to her kneading of my body’s need. She unfolds like a fan with intimations. “My dog doesn’t like men. But he likes me. I think it’s because I’m a woman and he’s a male.”
I take a big deep breath. “Maybe your dog senses that you are a kind person. You seem very nurturing to me. And your touch feels gentle. I could imagine your dog likes you petting him.”
I look up, “Oh John, you are too kind. And I feed my dog fish-based food for his heart with plenty of omega 3. But he probably just likes the taste and doesn’t know it is good for him.”
I reply, “Don’t underestimate canines. He must trust you. He knows you would never hurt him.”
I sink into silence. After a quiet moment she says, “You have such a deep contemplative mind. You know I studied philosophy at Texas A&M.”
I smile in my face rest and ask her, “Do you want me to tell you an aggie joke?”
She reaches across me and her fingernails dig into my shoulders. She says, “Ok but just remember I’ve got you from behind so watch your mouth.”
“I’ll keep it clean. There were these three guys from Texas on vacation in Mexico. One night they got drunk and the next morning found themselves in jail. And they are accused of murder. They are about to face the electric chair. But their Mexican jailers let them have one last word before they go to their maker. The first guy says, ‘I am a law school graduate from UT Austin and I believe in the power of the law that will save me.’ They flip the switch but nothing happens so they let him go assuming that the law has exonerated him. Then the next guy gets his turn. He says, ‘I am a theology graduate from Baylor and I believe God will not allow an innocent man to die.’ Again, they flip the switch but no juice so they assume God has acquitted him. They finally get to the last guy. He says, ‘I am an electrical engineer graduate from College Station and I can tell you one thing you aren’t going to execute anyone unless you fix that loose wire in this chair.’”
Sarah says, “Oh now that was funny. Cheesy but funny. And I took you to be a high brow dude. But I must say it made me laugh. I guess I am a girl that has a taste for cheese.”
“I am a mouse at heart too,” I say.
“Oh, there go you with the cheese again. And that one smells of Limburger.”
“I did have a meeting with the lave before showing up on your massage table.”
She replies, “Oh I can attest to that. But your scent does bear a striking resemblance to the Old Spice cologne my father wore. Pungent.”
“Well at least I remind you of your dear old Dad. Perhaps piquant.”
“More moldy but nostalgic as you aptly pointed out.”
“Well, I am hoping more sentimental than a stench.”
“More fragrant than your joke about my alma mater.”
“Perhaps more like the scent of the sea.”
“More like the smell of algae having spent too long in the air and gone to rot.”
“This has been the best massage ever.”
“I aim to please.”
“Did my aggie joke really smell of Limburger?”
She gives my glutes a well-placed smack. She says, “That is your complimentary tapotement and my answer to your question.”
Sarah turns serious and says, “My husband and I are moving to Vermont. Last night he and I sat out back under the stars. We talked about where we’re going in life. It was a special moment.”
“I’ll miss you my friend” I say.
She says, “I’ll miss your jokes that reek of cheese gone bad. But you are one of the few men who’ve appreciated my gender studies. That makes you special to me.” Night falls across our city.
Sarah speaks. “I know this will sound a bit new age to a Scorpio who thinks a bunch of hypermasculine brutes tossing a pigskin around is a sport but there is a super consciousness which lies under our waking mind. It guides us and teaches us. It can be tapped to energize our lives or relationships.” Finally, Sarah combs my scalp with her fingernails. After an eternity of bliss she asks me “Will you give me a gold star for my google review?”
I huskily say, “Oh yes.”
“Well then, you are a gentleman after all your musky humor not-withstanding.”
She retreats from the room. My heart throbs like a boy who got his wish on Christmas day. She retreats into a wake of silence. I dress and meet her in her office.
My words pour like a mighty river of frivolity and madness. “There was a writer who wanted to write gut wrenching novels. He wanted to provoke a visceral reaction in his readers. He wanted to write a literature which maddened his reader. He ended up writing error messages for Microsoft.”
Sarah laughs like a girl on her first cannabis high.
Her cell phone rings. She looks at the number. “It’s my husband. I can call him later” she giggles. Our mirth carries on as the night minutes trickle by. She asks me, “Did I massage all the kinks out of you boy?”
I reply, “Well there are some areas on my side which still ache.”
“Let me work some of that tension out of you.” She sits next to me on the couch and rubs my sides like an off-duty therapist dedicated to her client.
She says, “I like your shirt.”
I reply, “I like it too. It is a women’s shirt.”
She pinches me and laughs, “You look cute in that so called woman’s shirt. Besides pink is the color of your aura. And men wore pink and women blue in the Victorian era.”
I stutter, “The Miami Vice TV show made men wearing pink shirts fashionably vogue.”
“You aren’t Don Johnson but nice recovery.”
“Well at least I am better read that him.”
“Tell me John how many quarts are in a gallon?”
“8.”
“You’re confusing pints with quarts. Your hair is a mess. You never bring a comb. We should supply that I guess. Your shirt is unbuttoned.”
“Where?”
“Right there.” She points at my protruding belly.
She follows me out into the hallway. “Are you alright John? You seem kind of hyper. Will you be safe to drive home?”
I say, “What was that you were saying about the unconscious?”
She replies, “Yes the Super Consciousness.”
I calmly reply, “My Super Consciousness will drive me home.”
Sarah replies, “I feel better now.”
