Fits of Wit

I’m too awkward for rub-downs

I’ve been wanting to write about my shuddersome experience for a while now involving my first (and last) professional massage.

It was a chilly December day, only four days before my wedding. The future mother-in-law thought it would be nice to treat the fiancé and I to a full-body massage to relieve some stress before the nuptials. She had been going to this little place for a while and had nothing but good things to say about the masseuse that “works miracles.”

First, a little about me.  I am not one of those people who opens up to strangers right away and the thought of some man I’ve never met kneading me like pumpernickel was unsettling. I asked others if they had ever gotten massages  before and they all beamed and acted like their experiences were more amazing than seeing Jesus on a piece of toast. I was almost sold on the idea.

The mister and I got to the parlor and I had him go first while I waited outside in the lobby. Thank god I had 7 year old magazines to distract me. I read up on Britney Spears and Kevin Federline’s split, as well as read reviews for Borat. Very titillating shit. Time flew by too fast for that hour I was by myself and when my man came out of the room I knew I could no longer procrastinate. It was my turn.

The short, hairy masseur walked up to me and said my name in an almost whisper. It was part seductive and part smoker rasp. It creeped me the fuck out. Who knew hearing my own name could make me crap my pants? I followed him back into the room where he then explained to me in his high-pitched, whispery, oh-my-god-I’m-about-to-be-groped-by-Elmo voice to get undressed and lay face down under the sheet. He left the room and I had to tell myself that I was over-reacting and to try and enjoy this rare treat. He came back into the room where my almost naked self was awkwardly positioned, and turned on a CD which I’m pretty sure was a compilation of xylophones, seagulls, and whales having an orgy.

“WWWRRROOOOOMMMMM” bellowed the whale as it swung its gargantuan dick at the seagull. “Squaaak squaaak SPLASH!!!” went the seagulls as their frail feathered bodies were nailed by Free Willy’s tool and hammered into the sexual swirling ocean of xylophones. This is what I imagined and though it may not be the most accurate description, for some reason it was comforting. I’d rather live in a world where seagulls get it on with whales than what was going on above me.


Shortly after I became lost in the music, I heard the sound of a bottle being pumped and then felt something pointy on my upper back. Rather than this weirdo start my massage with his hands, he used his oiled up elbows for the first 5 minutes. As I was uncomfortably being stabbed by his dull butter knife elbows I began to hear heavy breathing RIGHT IN MY EAR. It was at this point that I pretty much blocked out the rest of the experience. I could get into the part where he massaged my upper thigh at the same time the CD stopped, and then rather than turning it back on he finished the rest of our session in silence. I could also tell the part where at the very end he massaged my temple while humming and booped my nose like I was an infant but I’d rather not get into all that because reliving it sends quivers thru my ass….not in a good way.

It may all sound immature or like I was being uptight but for some reason I could not feel comfortable with someone I didn’t know touching me. It could also be the old excuse that I wasn’t hugged enough as a child, I’ve never felt comfortable in my own skin, blah blah blah. The truth is however I don’t think I ever stood a chance of enjoying a massage. My imagination is a vast cosmos full of fucked-up imagery that runs wild twisting normal every day events into looming misfortunes. Basically what I’m trying to say is that I probably did overthink the whole situation so much so that I didn’t trust it.

Also, I may now have the image in my brain that my rub-down was performed by Borat.


What about you? Are you one of those chicks who enjoys her bi-monthly massages? Or does your awkward bashfulness take over so you cannot enjoy such luxuries?


  1. Crystal

    Hahahaah, booped my nose like I was an infant. Hilarious. I am going to love your blog fully.

    1. FitsofWit

      And this is only the beginning, Crystal. Muah haha.


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