She left the room as we started stripping. “I want you to strip down and lay on the bed,” the lady said. Once our eyes adjusted to the dim lights, we were led into a back room with an understanding nod. Music played in the background, the composition being some sort of instrumental melody rather than Pour Some Sugar on Me. The walls sparkled with some sort of gold glitter. Some female employee was sitting in a plush lobby chair when we entered, smiling through he dim lights in a tight-fitting outfit. Immediately, upon entering the spa, however, my reservations were confirmed. She assured me that they are nice and relaxing, as did many friends. I’m also ticklish.ĭespite my hang-ups with massages, I decided to take my wife for a couple’s massage for our anniversary. These inquiries remind me of the strip club venue, being awkward but without the obligatory smell of shame. Masseuses also ask awkward questions “What do you like?” and “What do you want me to work on?” in a coy manner. It brings to mind the clinical setting of my doctor’s office instead of a relaxing environment. There is something about a fully clothed stranger touching me while naked that resonates weird in my mind.
