Last Sunday, I spent most of the day at a local spa.
As I've mentioned before, I have my bum arm worked on by a masseuse now and then.
(Except, even though I always say it's my arm that's screwed up – in reality, it's the entire upper right quadrant of my body.)
It's just so much easier to say "arm," isn't it?
When I get a massage it hurts, and not in the way a massage might "hurt" a normal, able bodied person. It hurts quite a lot, and my pain level escalates for several days after. It's one of those things that's good for me even though it's very painful. I always dread going for a massage. Lately, however, my (extremely atrophied) muscles have been spasming worse and worse. I couldn't put it off any longer.
So there I was,
Hanging out all naked-ish with just a white fluffy robe to wear.
I knew I was assigned to a male masseuse so while I was waiting for him, I tweeted about how I was about to have my body rubbed by a hot man.
Guess who showed up to rub my body?
I was so shocked to see Tattoo walk out to greet me, I asked him what his name was.
"Fabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz," he mumbled.
"Oh! Tattoo! It's so nice to meet you," I replied.
Tattoo just looked at me blankly.
Then Tattoo escorted me back to a dark, quiet, room with soft music playing so we could be alone.
Tattoo exited the room for a minute. I hung my robe on the hook provided, and slipped completely naked under a sheet, face down, on the massage table.
Tattoo promptly returned.
He was quiet for a moment and then his hand lightly touched my right shoulder blade.
"Much pain?" he asked, instantly seeing the scars differences on the right side of my body.
"Yes," I answered.
And then Tattoo began working on me.
You would think, after all my years of physical therapy, I'd be used to having strangers a strange man touch me, but I'm not.
(I'm so proud of that last sentence, for reasons I won't go into today.)
All sorts of thoughts go through my head while I'm getting a massage.
Try not to grimace.
Don't moan no matter how much it hurts.
Don't moan no matter how good it feels.
Oops, my vagina just slipped.
Yes, that's right – my vagina slipped right out into the open.
(Wait … that sounds so bad – the words open and my vagina shouldn't be in the same sentence.)
Tattoo was doing this tricky thing where he was switching the sheet that didn't really cover me very much anyway.
I don't know how to explain it, but I've had The Magic Sheet Trick done before at this same spa. They remove one sheet, while putting a fresh one on you. It's a slight of hand, a magic trick, an illusion of sorts. One instant you have a sheet on, and the next they've replaced it with a fresh one – without you ever really being completely naked in front of them.
Except you're left wondering: How did they do that? Was I completely naked? Or wasn't I?
Except this time …?
Something went wrong.
I think it was my fault.
It seemed like the sheet got tangled on my foot, or my leg, or something happened.
In an effort to help Tattoo with the magic trick of presto, whammo, sheet replacement, I separated my legs and kind of lifted my left leg. At that exact moment, he pulled the sheet off and there I was all open-aired-vagina-ish-y right in front of him.
Seeing as he was only about three feet tall, which was the approximate height of the table, Tattoo was suddenly eye to hoo hah with me, brazilian bikini wax and all.
I guess I should have kept my legs together like my mother always told me not have done that.
I yelled, "Oh no!" and then promptly slammed my legs together tight. I immediately shut my eyes and pretended to be asleep.
That might have worked if I hadn't …
Just said "Oh no!" real loud and slammed my legs shut with enough force to shake the room.
Nevertheless, I feigned sleep because what else could I do?
I couldn't open my eyes and SEE him after that.
Instead, I just pretended to sleep through the next forty minutes while he worked on me.
Finally, my massage was over and I felt Tattoo drape the robe over me.
"Take your time; I'll be waiting right outside for you," he said as he exited the room.
What to do, what to do?
I knew I couldn't stay there forever but I tried.
Reluctantly, slowly, very slowly, I got up and put the robe back on.
I stood there, hesitating, for a long time.
Finally, I turned the handle and opened the door to find Tattoo patiently waiting for me.
I avoided eye contact as he escorted me through a maze the spa until I was back at the door to the ladies locker room.
"I hope to see you again," he said.
I looked at him then, our eyes meeting for the first time since my vagina slipped.
I could swear his eyes were laughing.
I immediately looked at the ground.
"Um, yes, thank you," I said and I scurried away as fast as I could.
I spent the rest of the afternoon convincing myself of the following:
• My vagina is not the first vagina Tattoo has ever seen.
• Tattoo probably didn't even notice my vagina in his face.
• There are vaginas everywhere in a spa.
• My vagina probably made itself invisible when it saw Tattoo looking at it.
© Twenty Four At Heart