I got my first massage from a man. Well, the first one that I paid for. Which, uh, makes it my first massage from a man still.
Lisa and I had the great idea of getting a pre-Project Runway massage last Wednesday. Maybe we hoped it would make us cool customers like Timmy Gunn is. Or, maybe Project Runway had not much to do with our massage, it just happened to be on that night and not start until 10 p.m..
We found that one of the mooses (what we here at You Know How I Do call them because we don't know how to spell the real word) was certified, and one was just a student. The certified mooses charge $10 more, but also give better massages. We also found that one was a girl and the other was a dude. We were trying to figure out which of us was willing to pay the extra cash. I offered, but we decided to let the gender of the certified moose be the ultimate deciding factor. If it was a boy, Lisa went with him, if it was a girl, I would.
Well, when we showed up, we didn't really have an option. A dude and a girl came out and looked at the schedule. It looked like they would decide. I had been moosed by the girl before, and she did well, so I was hoping the cards would fall that way. Alas, they did not, and I got stuck with Lars.
I wasn't totally bummed, though, because I am massage bi-curious. I have had short, 10-second man-mooses before. They didn't feel bad at all. Totally professional, you know? So, I approached my hour with Lars in a professional manner (while also repeating to myself, "Don't get a boner. Don't get a boner.").
Lars led me to my room, and attempting a soothing voice, he said, "So, uh, have you been here before?"
--(looking at the body chart of what I wanted "worked")You want you legs focused on?
--Yeah, they're kind of sore.
--From riding a bike or something? (don't forget, he is using an ungenuine soothing voice)
--No, playing softball.
--Okay, well go ahead and get comfortable and we'll start you out face-down.
Lars was great at asking me if the pressure he was giving me was acceptable. "Yes," I would always respond. He started "working" around my armpit, and I almost started laughing. Then, I did start laughing. "A little ticklish there, I see," he said. I concurred. For some reason, he started working the other side in the same spot, probably even deeper into my armpit. The more I thought about not laughing, the more I wanted to, and finally, I did one of those loud laughs where I spit out the moisture in my mouth. I apologized, and jazz-voiced Lars responded, "It's better than screaming in pain [huh/eh/right]?" Again, I concurred.
Overall, the massage was nice. I now have a theory that men don't have to be as skilled at giving massages for it to not be a bad one. I don't know if it is bigger fingers or stronger hands, but they aren't as bad as a girl who is bad. But, a girl who is good is immeasurably better than a man who is good.
When Lars finally got to my legs, he started slapping my calves really hard. It was loud and made me laugh. It was so loud that Lisa could hear it. She said it sounded like the bation of masturs.
When the massage was over, and I was no longer naked, Lars handed me a glass of water.
--I want you to drink a lot of water after this.
--Okay, I will. Trust me. (I don't know why I needed Lars' trust, but apparently I did)
--and keep swinging that bat.
I almost lost it and had to turn around and load my mouth with water to keep from laughing.
I wonder what other kind of motivational snippets he hands out after moosing people.
For people who are sore from running: "Take it one stride at a time."
For those sore from their jobs: "Take a break every now and then, okay?"
From basketball: "A gentle push and a mild arch....the ol' cowhide globe will hit home."
That's all I have for now.