On Massages, Cerebrospinal Fluids and A Kinky and Relentless Sheet

I had the first professional massage of my life yesterday evening. It lasted for roughly two hours. It focused on my neck and back. And while it was indeed worthwhile, it hardly changed my life the way I sort of expected it to.

I guess that’s what I get for having high expectations.

I sought out a masseuse because my back’s been giving me trouble ever since I landed on it after slipping on some ice a few months ago.  I saw a doctor and nothing is technically wrong with my back.  And yet it still hurts me.  The discomfort finally got to the point where I was completely willing to part with some hard-earned cash in order to have a stranger run his hands all over my naked body. Usually this only costs me a couple of drinks and a cheap dinner. But when you are working with professionals, you’ve got to pay up.

(That last bit was a joke. I promise, Mom.)

I arrived at my appointment early so I could fill out a bunch of paperwork, including a statement that there would be no sexual advances allowed during the massage. I signed that one a little begrudgingly. Who doesn’t have a fantasy of getting it on with a hunky massage therapist?

The session began with what my masseuse called craniosacral therapy. According to my massage therapist’s website, craniosacral therapy “centers around the functioning of the craniosacral system, which consists of the membranes and cerebrospinal fluids that protect the brain and spinal cord.”

I have no clue what that means. I do know, however, that during this portion of the massage I was able to remain clothed, and I was pretty excited about that fact. I tend to only enjoy being naked around strangers if sex is involved.

(That, by the way, is another joke, Mom.)

Once the membranes and cerebrospinal fluids that protect my brain and spinal cord had been worked over, it was time for the real fun to begin. My therapist told me he was going to leave the room and I was to get undressed “to my comfort level.” I was then to get back on the bed and cover myself with the sheet.

He left and I froze. I wasn’t sure if most people get completely nude during a massage or not. I didn’t want to break some unspoken Code of the Ancient Masseuses. I wanted to appear worldly and knowledgeable and comfortable. I surmised that the only real way to appear worldly is to be naked. And so I got naked. Then I got under the sheet.

I was fine with the whole nudity thing for the most part. The sheet never fell lower than my waistline. Even when my legs and gluts were being worked on, the sheet remained in its place.

There was only one slight problem with that. As I was lying on my back having my legs worked on, the sheet kept rubbing back and forth over my crotch. It felt kind of good. And when something rubs across a man’s crotch and feels kind of good, there are noticeable ramifications.

Luckily, I was able to keep things under control by thinking of completely non-sexual images. It’s amazing what some deep breathing can do when you’re up against a kinky and relentless sheet.

When all was said and done, I was glad I’d finally decided to see someone about my back. I’m still sore, but I feel better for having been worked on. My therapist was friendly and knowledgeable. He talked me through a lot of what he was doing. He recommended a few things that may help with my discomfort and bad posture. And then, of course, he recommended I come back in a couple of weeks.

I may do just that, but mostly because I miss that sheet.