Sunday, November 20, 2011

Date 19.25 and 19.5

I know a massage is not an official date, but these people get further with me than most of the men I agree to meet.

I have been stressed out at work, so when I had my nails done yesterday, I asked for a back massage.  A mini-massage, if you will.  The lithe man that worked on my toes had the honors, and he worked me over.  There were moments when I thought, "So this is what it would feel like to die at the hands of a man."  The upper body strength is indescribable.  How did men get made this way?  I'm positive that I could not fit into this man's jeans, yet I felt he could snap my collarbone in 17 places in no time flat.  It hurt.

Today, B suggested we go to foot spa.  The full body rub down.  I was worried I'd relive a pseudo homicide by a woman-hating maniac.  To my surprise, I was given a female masseuse.

Completely different experience.  She was like a butterfly, so gentle and soft.  It was nurturing, yet firm.  Only the way a woman can do it.  I never had to squint my eyes in pain, breathe through my mouth, or make that embarrassing involuntary grunt.  Besides the old man in the corner moaning, "Oh yeah.  Oh yeah," it was a delightful experience.

So I am officially announcing that I am a massage lesbian.  And I am proud of that.  Female massage therapists are the new OBGYNs.  They used to be preferred, but now they're a necessity.

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