15. Dodging Va Jay Jay

My husband has long fingers and strong hands.  They are perfect for kneading tension out of shoulders. Despite the perfect niche for his hands he leaves me whining like a baby for the smallest bit of attention to my back.

I decided to take matters into my own hands.  (Not literally :-) I have tried to massage myself and, as I’m sure you already know, that doesn’t work out too well.)  It was my birthday.  What a perfect time to treat myself to a massage!  My husband yelled the following after me before I made my way to Mount Vernon Square.

  1. Masseuse not masseur
  2. Don’t let anyone touch your butt

massage tableI wasn’t in a private room.  Instead a thin screen separated the massage table from the rest of the room and the receptionist’s desk.  That didn’t stop me from stripping down to my birthday suit.  If nudity was needed to get the full effect – so be it.  After I was safely under the sheet I started to think.  Did the masseuse want me in the buff or was I about to get kicked out of the establishment for being a pervert?  Should I have kept my panties on?  I had only had one of these professional massages once in my life. That time I wore a paper thong.  Where the heck was the box of paper thongs?  Oh well. aromatherapy32

The panties on/ panties off debate subsided when she started pressing away the knots in my shoulders.  Uh oh. The sheet is rising!  My va jay jay feels a breeze. Oh, ok.  Just a little leg exposure.  Is that her hands on my ass?  Oh…who cares.  That feels gooooooood.  Caution, caution rising sheet!  Phew.  My va jay jay evaded exposure once again.

I almost paid for 20 more minutes when the lights flicked on and the masseuse thanked me.  After I dressed she thought it was a great time to mention that she knows me.  She is a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend.  Why didn’t you mention that before you were avoiding my va jay jay?  The only person that can see me naked and attend a dinner party with me is my husband.  Next thing you know my gynecologist is going to be at my next book club meeting.  Creepy!  My husband called the masseuse a sexual predator.  Drama king! He used such strong words as he finished his meatloaf, and let his concern float out of his head like most of our conversations.

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