I've had many a massage in my day and I'm a big fan. Some people get weirded out by a complete stranger not only rubbing them down with various slick oils but rubbing them down with said oils whilst barely clothed is just crossing a line for them. I get that. Clearly it doesn't bother me since I would strip down buck naked in the middle of Times Square and roll around in a drainage ditch of vaseline if someone wanted to give me a massage then and there.
The spa was pretty booked considering the shit weather so we were asked if we wanted our massages in the "couples" suite. Yeah, whatever. I had no intention of spewing words of love and holding his hand, I was more focused on my 80 minutes of pure bliss that were awaiting me just beyond the frosted glass doors and waterfall. So, NORMALLY I've done my massages completely nekkid. There, I said it. I'm covered with a sheet so why would I need to mess with undergarments? A bra would get the in the way so off it goes and who's gonna sneak a peek of my vajeej? Um, likely no one and I wear a thong anyway so it's not like it's hiding a lot. Off it goes. Welp, apparently that's not the policy here so she handed me a set of "disposable underwear" to put on. Hmmmm. 3 minutes later I was wearing a paper tube top and a diaper.
Awesome. Once in the room she told me to remove the top so off went the elastic, newspaper tube top. Bummer, I was hoping to hold onto that. Clearly it was pointless but I guess they all wanted to laugh at the stupid ass American who put it on because they told me to. It's like the Asian ladies who talk shit at nail salons. I was tempted to ditch the Pampers but I didn't want to get yelled at in Spanish so it stayed on. Did the standard climb on the table face-down in the blow hole thing and waited for them to come back in the room (I was just flat out ignoring my husband (who didn't have to wear a diaper thank-you-very-much) laying on the table next to me and fully focused on the 80 minutes of happiness and relaxation that were about to be bestowed upon me)
Now, our resort was VERY spa-zen-peaceful so there was aromatherapy shit EVERYWHERE. We should have expected it. What I did NOT expect was to be smothered with what I suspect were rags soaked in choroform and held right under my nose via the blow hole. WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?! Make it stop! I was trying not to cough and gag because it was so strong, she was already trying to kill me. This should have been a HUGE red flag. I just stopped breathing altogether hoping it would go away, but not before the pure strength of her "aromatherapy" invaded my nasal cavity and my nose started snotting all over the place. She is lucky her feet weren't right underneath me. I was wishing I still had on my paper bra so I could use it to wipe the river of snot that was flowing freely at this point mixed with tears from being gassed. Once I started breathing again I tried to relax but then I realized I had to pee. Shit. I had 79 minutes to go and although I wasn't uncomfortable yet, I knew I would be in about 13 minutes, give or take. I briefly considered peeing in my diaper but they weren't particularly "absorbent" and I didn't want to lay in that for 80 minutes. I didn't give a shit what they would have thought when the time came to clean up the room and realized what I had done...what were they going to do, walk upstairs to room 7009 and dump my diaper and peed on sheets in the hallway? I think not. But I chose not to, despite having to pee REALLY badly. And so began my massage...
The beginning was pretty fucking awesome. She started on my feet and legs which was very relaxing and I wanted to hug her and bring her home with me...that blissful feeling lasted a grand total of about 3 minutes. Then she started doing some weird-ass yoga shit on my leg and I'm convinced she was trying to see if my big toe could touch my left ear lobe. Then she grabbed my calf and started shaking my leg back and forth. Not sure if that was part of the therapy or if she just WANTED to gross herself out while seeing what my cellulite looked like in motion. I just wanted it to stop. Immediately. The bending, twisting, and whipping my leg around like an al dente spaghetti noodle was NOT my idea of massage. There was no rubbing involved; pretty sure she was trying to jump rope with my leg. My hip was dislocated and I couldn't feel my toes. I don't know what she was doing but it hurt, it wasn't relaxing and I was PISSED not to mention a little frightened when I realized she was going to do it on my other leg shortly. I almost kicked her in the face but I couldn't move my leg. And I still had to pee.
She moved on to my lower back and I had mentioned to her previously that I suffer from sciatica so I wanted her to avoid mainly the right side but I apparently that translated to "I like your unibrow, I will likely fart in your general direction, and please use all tools at your disposal to hurt me you sadistic bitch". Not only did she NOT avoid that area, I'm convinced she had hot pokers hiding under the table that she jammed repeatedly into my body, or it could have been a wrench or crowbar...tough to tell. Then she moved onto rolling small John Deere-like tractor vehicles with spiked wheels up and down my back, taking special care to REALLY dig in near the lower back/butt area, because again "please avoid the sciatic nerve area" loosely translated REALLY means "use 40 G's of pressure to make every effort to sever my spine" then I think she added a knee drop for good measure. Beating me with wooden spoons may or may not have been involved. Good times.
Once she got to my upper back and neck I was in tears and think I may have peed a little, or I was bleeding internally, it was hard to tell. I was more tense at that moment than I had been in college when I had 4 finals within one day, hadn't slept, hadn't studied for any of them, and was still drunk. She stopped using her hands and resorted to her pointy, little elbows. I came up out of the blow hole for air at one point (to try and work out a kink, ironically) and glanced over at my husband who was being gently kneaded and massaged into a blissful state while I was being beaten into submission by the most sadistic bitch Mexico has ever seen...HIS side was was like rainbows and unicorns with the gentle sounds of Enya flowing through the speakers. MY side had anacondas and Nine Inch Nails. No sooner had my head popped up then she was ramming her forearm into my upper back forcing me back into the blow hole. Then I think she sat on me and put me in a head lock. She was pissed and now not only did I have to pee, but my internal organs had been crushed, she had broken my sternum and I was trying desperately not to fart and/or pee on her.
I think I blacked out at this point because I don't really remember her doing much of the same to the left side of my body. Either that or she temporarily severed some nerves, thereby rendering me unfeeling of all sensation. Fine by me. And yes, I did try a few times to ask her to lighten up the pressure but again...I believe that was translated to "Me love you long time... smack it, flip it, rub it down" At one point on the left side I believe nunchuks and cleats came into play, then she used the sheet to bodily toss me in the air...allowing me to flop helplessly back down onto the table in a bruised, battered heap and the next thing I knew I was being suffocated with more chloroform. In retrospect, I would have welcomed being unconscious for the last 80 minutes. My husband sat up on his table, yawned, stretched, and rubbed his eyes ever-so-gently looking so content and relaxed, and I just rolled off the table onto the floor. No Tonka trucks, no chloroform, no elbows, no sternum-crushing, no internal organ damage were involved on his side of the room. Not even wooden spoons. Whereas my diaper-clad self nearly peed all over the table, was paralyzed from the waist down, couldn't turn my head to the left, was cradling what I suspected were broken ribs, and was gasping for air as a result of my crushed sternum. Oh, and I couldn't walk. He got an 80 minute aromatherapy massage as the brochure stated and I got a crash course in Lucha Libre.
People smiled at us sweetly as we left the room together with our arms tightly wrapped around each other; likely thinking "aw, so cute and in love". Nope, he was holding me up and I had to shuffle because she had severed my sciatic nerve, my bladder was reaching critical mass, and my diaper was rapidly working it's way down my legs. Super romantic. He would have carried me out potato-sack style but it would have snapped my already compromised spine so we nixed that idea.
I somehow made my way back up to our room where I promptly pounded 5 advil with a Corona. The spa called later to ask how our experience was and I informed them that my instructions to avoid a certain area were ignored and I was actually in a bit of pain and they offered to book me another massage....yes, please...the internal bleeding has slowed, my left side isn't completely paraylzed and I can still feel my toes on my left foot and turn my head to the right. Sign me up...right after I hunt down a certain massage therpist named Valeria and go vigilante on her ass.
