Note: Peg’s group of girl friends, who semi-annually create havoc in the world, are nicknamed “The Steves” (don’t ask).  As a gift they paid for me to have a massage from their friend.  This was written as a thank you to them awhile ago. Thank you “Steves” for letting me copy this into my blog…

I was going for a massage.  A present to me from the Steves.  What would it be like?  Growing up male and spending a lot of time watching movies and t.v. shows, my personal Walter Mittyish impression of a massage was three-fold.  1) A massage was either an after workout rub down by a big bulky cigar chewing bouncer-like the boxers have after a fight, or a mobster has while he is planning “family” business.  2)or a rub down by a Matilda the Hun Swede (can a Swede actually be a Hun?) who was about 300 lbs and had a twinkle in her eye for pain. 3)or the type of massage advertised in the back of all the tourist seedy papers that promise a sensual pleasure with a topless oriental massage artist (two for one with coupon) showers extra.

I was scared to death.  Any of the three mental pictures would not be acceptable for my experience.  The first two would hurt me, the third-Peg would hurt me.  Besides, I have met Carol (the masseuse) and she is no bouncer, not a Swede, and was not topless, nor oriental when we entered her home.  What was I in for?  What should I expect?  Have the Steves planned some evil trick?  I’ll probably get naked and they will all jump out from behind the closet door with cameras and put a tiara on me and all laugh.  Why had I allowed myself to agree to this “gift” from a group of wild women, who have all had bad experiences with men (maybe not Karen, but she is still young).  Am I the pawn of their group revenge on the male species?  What is going to happen?

Peg and I entered Carol’s home and were greeted with a mini tour, to show Peg the house and to dupe me to a false sense of relaxation.  I was nervous and had to use the bathroom.  I missed the tour.  I could not stall any longer.  It was time.

Carol introduced me to “the room” and, as she departed to give me some privacy, told me to undress and call her when I was ready.  Under any other scenario, that scene and those words have been part and parcel of the male adolescent mind (of which I am a card carrying member in good standing) and would have sent a whole gamut of thoughts wandering in my frightened head.  Those words were all the more freaky sounding with my wife standing 15 feet away.  I cried “Peg”, they laughed  As I finished getting undressed and hung my clothes neatly on the hooks that were designated for my use, I heard Peg say to Carol “he’s  such a wuss.”  Ultimate humiliation-my best friend and loving wife telling the woman who is about to use me that I am a wuss,  and I am standing in my manly blue underwear.

The choice of underwear was not a choice made lightly.  Remember when your mom would say that you needed to have on clean underwear when you go somewhere in case you are in wreck and must go to the hospital-you must not be embarrassed by being seen in dirty “u trou” as my college roommate would say.  Of course she never quite got the fact that if you are in a wreck your underpants are the last thing on your mind-but you have never met my mother.  However, I was pleased to see that Peg had happened to have done a load of laundry the night before my massage and I could be somewhat comforted in the knowledge that I could wear my blues and not a ratty old pair of whites.  Keep in mind that his was important to me, in my fear of the impending.  When Carol told me get undressed and get under the sheet (back to adolescent thoughts), I said “everything but my underwear, right?”  She hesitated and said yes.  I was a wuss.  They knew it.  I suppose everybody else just jumped in all naky. But no, not Dan-he needs his blankie.  I was doomed.  I got under the sheet and called for Carol.  I felt like a pig in a blanket.

Carol entered the room and used this amazingly pleasant soothing voice.  I had heard that women possessed such a voice, but it is a rare occurrence-I must say that it almost caught me off guard.  These women can be very tricky.  It is usually used in the early stages of dating and usually disappears after marriage.  It sounded very nice.  I resisted, and tensed up.  I had too many thoughts twisted in my head (the cold medication was not being helpful in discerning thoughts).  How relaxed was I supposed to be ?  Do I stay tense to avoid any sense of enjoyment or worse yet-what if it felt pleasurable?  What if it feels too good?

What if it feels goose bumpy?  What if it feels sensual?  What if …you know…I get…excited?  Come on now-think about it-an attractive woman with soft hands, soothing music, my face is covered.  Would she laugh out loud? – I would crawl home without caring.  Maybe a stranger would see me and run me over and put me out of my misery (at least I had on clean underwear for the hospital).  Would she yell and call for Peg who was still sitting in the next room?  I would be divorced for doing nothing.  Worse yet-what if Carol wouldn’t even notice .  Oh the angst of it all-where is the old man with the cigar?  Give me the Hun.

Carol soothingly began her very incredible, wonderful massage.  She told me to ask any questions but that she would mostly be quiet and allow the music and sounds to help me relax.   She told me that at any time I felt discomfort, that I should just yell “more lotion” (again, back to adolescent thoughts-the image of Peg sitting in the next room and me yelling “more lotion” just strikes a funny chord).

The hour was over before it began.  Carol left the room and told me to get dressed.  What do I do now?  Do I make the bed?  Do I leave a tip?

I felt the release of tension in my neck and shoulders.  It was a very rewarding experience from a very good professional massage therapist-I am impressed.  I survived.  I nearly fell asleep.  No more angst.  I asked Carol if I could put in another quarter.  I got dressed and slowly drank the filtered Brita room temperature glass of water that was waiting for me.  I took in the ambiance of the room, read over Carol’s certificates and her mission statement.  Very classy!  I’ll be back-even in my ratty whites-who cares?