Feeling: GREASY

  

Feeling: GREASY

Another massage post. Sincerely sorry, but needs a must.

After an extremely arduous back-bending session last night, Rajeesh recommended Eva and I get a massage today to curtail any back pain. As always, I do whatever he says so in I booked. 

I must admit, I was more than a little slightly disappointed when my lady love from last time wasn’t today’s therapist. I enjoyed being pandered to and waited on even if it meant some accidental fanny fiddling. 

It astounds me how these women are so meek and bashful in the public arena around men, but behind closed doors it’s all “Take your clothes off” and manipulating titties. Quite something else. 

So anyway, this one actually offered me a pair of paper undies to wear. (I don’t know why though, they were pretty much down the whole time as she slapped my bottom around. I felt like a little baby getting talcum powder patted on my booty). I struggled into the undies only to find I’d accidentally put the leg around my waist. It was rather constraining around the tum, with my thigh nice and breezy. 

She smirked. Yes, smirked, and signalled to take them off and reposition myself. I did then I climbed upon the table. 

All I can say is that I’m mercifully glad my third eye, the Ajna chakra, is still tightly shut. Otherwise it would’ve gotten a good view full of Indian va jay jay. She had her knees on each side of my head  as she started kneading at my knots. 

Had I been transported to Nigeria? Because she was beating me like an African drum. I swear my form was indented on the table she was slapping me so hard. “Good?” She grunted. “Absolutely,” I replied. Then came the oil.

Honestly, I could’ve sworn if I’d looked in the corner there would’ve been a cauldron of oil chilling there. She poured a good gallon on me throughout the treatment and lathered it all over my limbs. I felt like a KFC drainpipe. Want a definition of slippery? Just take a look at my bod. 
Next step: the bags of dog shit again.  Goodie! I had been worried they weren’t going to make an appearance. Was I suddenly in a room with Mike Tyson? Because she battered the hell out of my back with them. It honestly felt like she was punching me with boxing gloves.
 
Then I got the giggles. She instructed me to turn over onto my back where she began to manipulate my front. Ever had someone massage your abdominal muscles? It’s fantastic. At first I felt rather nauseous but it soon gave way to pleasure. She moved down to my thighs and there’s no other way to describe it; intense horsey bites. She put Hank to shame. The pinching of my thigh was done with such force I thought the muscles were going to burst through the encasing skin. 

I looked up at her and she gave me the most amazingly beautiful smile. I realised I had completely misjudged her. Throughout the massage so far I’d assumed she was just grumpy and silent but it was apparent in that moment she was just hesitant in her English. So we attempted a conversation, where I worked out that she was 34 years old with five children.  I felt like such a bitch. 

She wiped me down with paper napkins then gestured for me to sit on a stool (just wearing my massive, oil-stained paper undies). And then she treated me with such a maternal attitude I got a bit teary; she took each and every one of my bobby bins out of my hair (and there were about 30 – I’ve gotten back in the habit of twisting all my hair up with pins). It was like a chimp mummy picking out my nits. So gentle and at odds with her extreme strength she’d previously shown. She slowly massaged my face.
 
I had a momentary freak out here; lately, when different lotions and options have been put on my face I’ve been breaking out in a swelling red rash. I suddenly worried it may be the case here and I had a class with Rajeesh straight after so had to look my best. Ah, fuck it. Red rash, come at me. 

Then the massage was finished. She told me not to shower for half an hour so the oils and herbs could have their full benefit (it took a few goes to get this information across) whereupon I said I had a 90 minute class right after. She told me to stay marinating and wash after the class. Righto! I got redressed (on my own; no offer to clothe me), and was filled with such intense compassion for this woman. There was oil in my eyes and I couldn’t see but I didn’t want to hurt her feelings and tell her. I blindly gave her a hug and fumbled my way back to my room. 

Throughout the yoga session I kept being overcome with memories of one of the greatest loves of my life; my late pet rabbit, Hunny Bunny. I couldn’t understand why all these flashbacks of her humping a beach ball around the pool kept invading my focus. Then I clicked. Whatever the herby crap was in the bags of dog shit smelled like her rabbit hutch. I couldn’t stop laughing. 

Indian massage. Truly, truly something else. 


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