We left dinner and the flashing lights to our left got our attention.
MASSAGE it blinked. MASSAGE it flashed with rainbow colors. Who were we to argue?
We went in, and surprisingly, they had instant openings? At 7? On a Saturday night? I guess we just got lucky...
They put us in a couple's room. Asked us to remove our clothes...and then the female Japanese manager asked as she slowly closed the door...
"You rike-a hard massag-e? Media' massag-e? O' sof' massag-e?"
That's an odd question I think as I respond "Hard, I guess?"
And then the fun began.
When we first got into the room, I got on my table and noticed that the headrest was too low for my neck and completely not adjustable. T's table was more well-suited for my body type.
"You want to switch?" as she rolls her eyes. She knows that I have massage issues, and she knew my dislike of the headrest was a little bit of my crazy coming out.
"Is that ok?"
So we switch tables, and I try to adjust my headrest that was working just fine for T.
I adjust it. It falls.
I adjust it. It falls.
I adjust it. CLANK! A huge screw falls out of the headrest and onto the floor. I look over at T in absolute fear as I have just broken the fucking massage table headrest! I am already having a slight mental breakdown because I really don't like massages and the fact that I have just broken the table is doing NOTHING to calm my fears.
BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH is her retort.
"Thanks!" I scowl as I find the screw, and hurriedly try to insert it back into the table as I fear the masseuses will be coming in any moment. CLANK!!!! again.
BAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAAH is all I hear as I fumble around, panicking, looking for the damn screw.
I pick the screw back up and shove it back into the headrest. The screw stays in this time, but the headrest falls limply along the table. The instructions are attached to the headrest still...and I feel a moment of relief.
Directions! I'll just follow the directions! I can do this!
But my moment of relief is taken away from me as I get to step three, the final step, and the headrest still lies limply on its side.
"Did you BAHAHAHHAHAHAH want to BAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA switch back?"
The broken and battered headrest in hand and my tail between my legs, I respond, again, "Is that ok?"
We scurry our half-naked bodies back across the room, and as soon as we get under the covers...KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. The masseuses come in and T straight lies to them:
"Um, there seems to be something wrong with this headrest. It's not working for some reason."
The two girls try to work on it for a moment...and then go get the Japanese manager. She works on it for a few minutes, too...and emphatically apologizes and asks if we would be ok with a new room.
We tell them its ok...and the "massage" begins.
I found a number of things odd about this massage. Here they are in no particular order:
(1) My masseuse was wearing a lot of beads on her shirt, so every time she would lean over to do something, her beads would bang into my eyes or drop into my mouth. Not very relaxing.
(2) It wasn't hard..unless you count the part where my masseuse was at the head of the massage table and kept ramming my head. RAMMING my head with her pelvis. For some reason, I think she found it relaxing? to massage my lower back from four feet away...rendering my cranium the only way she could reach her area of desire.
(3) Speaking of desire, did I mention she tried to rape me yet? Oh. I didn't? Because that bitch fucking tried to rape me.
(4) You know when you get yourself in those situations where hypothetically your mom was supposed to say "At least he was wearing clean underwear when X?" Well, I had not planned to be at a massage parlour, so I was wearing my snow-flaked-ladened Family Guy underwear that has a gigantic "I've Been Naughty" quote on them. Excellent.
(5) Did I not fully explain number 3 yet? Oh, I didn't? Let me explain. In any massage I've ever had, the masseuse tends to not touch my boxers in anyway, shape or form. This seems to be qualified as a "no touch" zone. For all the reasons I dislike massage, the "no touch zone" at least gives me some semblance of security. This lady, at various points during the massage, seemed to look at my boxers as some sort of wrapping paper. She pulled my boxes down past my crack, while, at other times, shoved my boxers INTO my crack so she could have at it. I have never had anyone, ever, shove my underwear INTO my ass before. So relaxing...
(6) Did I mention she kept grazing my junk yet? Cuz she did. I wondered, initially, if she kept thinking whatever the translation for "Whoops" is in Japanese in her mind...because I hadn't had my balls handled so much since the last time my doctor checked me for a hernia. After about the fourth "accidental" swipe, and working my way through the fear that she might accidentally slip a digit in my butt with the wayward movement of her hands...I figured this was one of "those" places.
(7) I don't need to go into the biology of what happened when she eventually had me flip over to my front...but as a normal male, if someone is caressing and jostling your upper inner thighs...never quite touching...but oh-so-close-to-touching Broadway...most men (I would assume) would have some sort of physical reaction. I had said reaction. The masseuse then ensued to massage AROUND this "protruding" area, never TOUCHING but, instead, using the shape of a spade with her hands (her forefingers and thumbs touching together). I felt safer, though, because I was no longer in danger of having a digit in my rear and because T was just a few inches away from me.
There was no happy ending, literally or metaphorically. As we got dressed, I confided in T what had happened, hoping that she would not be angry at my reaction to the massage.
While lying on her back, she put her hand under her sheet by her stomach and pointed at the ceiling.
"Was it like this? BAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAH"
And then she said "My God. I was worried that lady was going to slip a digit in the entire time!"
So it wasn't only me!
We were basically both sexually assaulted, but we broke their property, too.
I guess it all evens out in the end.