Somehow or another, I have managed to dwell in Provoland for 5.5 years, yet I have never discovered or been aware of the fact that one may receive free massages on Friday nights and Saturday mornings from the Provo college of massage therapy. I feel just a little bit cheated.
Colin found out about it, so we went this morning. Which was cool because, A. free massage, and B. it got me out of bed before noon. Double bonus.
Fortunately, Ricky knew his business. Tall, dark and, I'll be honest, not incredibly handsome, Ricky had a quiet demeanor. I apologized immediately for my lack of ovaries and mammary glands. I think, were I an aspiring masseuse, I would be pist every time I had to give some dude the rub down. To be honest, as the receiver, I prefer to be man handled, and for a few reasons. A. Stronger hands probably means a better, more thorough massage. B. I feel like when lying under a sheet in nothing by my skin, having a mans hands kneading dangerously close to my groin is a little less awkward than a female's. C. I'm not going to feel inclined to hit upon a man who is touching me everywhere but my special purpose. Were it an attractive female, I might feel some sort of pressure to make a move. Which, being naked under a sheet, could not be done in a manner dignified/not perverted. "Hey, ya know, while I'm naked here under this sheet, I thought I might mention that you have really nice eyes." Creeper. D. With a guy, the only fear is an NRB*, which I have basically grown out of, and therefore that whole embarrassing possibility sort of just flies out the window.
About 3/4 of the way through the massage, the people in the next curtain over started having a conversation. I can't think of a more awkwardly obnoxious thing, than having a conversation while someone is kneading your naked ass through a sheet. I mean, common. Have some self respect. It was easy to hear that the aspiring therapist was not terribly excited about talking to the women whom she was rubbing down. Nakedly. It sort of reminded me of the time when Onyon the 16 year old scab pedicurist awkwardly talked to me whilst massaging my calves. I just think that when one is being rubbed nakedly, one's mouth should be kept shut, and conversation should be non-existent. Whenever Rickey had to ask me if the pressure was okay, he did so surreptitiously, with a sort of low, breathy voice. Which, now that I think about it, was sort of creepy. But better than naked conversing.
All in all, it felt great, and I think I shall find myself an at least monthly patron of the free morning massage.
*If NRB is a term foreign to you, urbandictionary.com can help you out.