Why Is This Man Rubbing My Butt?

Posted by Big Daddy Paul in Paul is a Dork

Lying face down at the acupuncturist’s office the other day, I lamented the sad status of my massage life.  Henry, the massage therapist, was aggressively rubbing my butt up and down, and, although it felt nice, the fact that he was a man was not unnoticed.  (Sadly, this is not the first time I have mentioned rubbing my butt aggressively in this blog.)  You see, I really like getting massaged, but when the massage is performed by a man, I like it less.  I am not against men rubbing each other, and I wish I could be OK  being massaged by another man, but I just get a little tense when another man is digging around my twig and berries.  Call me unenlightened, but I am just more comfortable with a female masseuse, much in the same way many women prefer female gynecologists or the way Malcolm prefers to have his dinner covered in chocolate. But, I digress.   

I began my long journey of loving massages in Thailand.  There, you can get an hour long massage for around eight dollars.  (For an extra eight dollars, you can effectively end your marriage!) We got massaged, almost every day, by tiny Thai women with incredibly strong hands.  It was paradise, and I thought getting massages would always be like that.  Sadly, it was not the case.

Trouble first arose on a trip Amy and I took to Greece.  We signed up for a multi-day spa package that had us running off for treatment several times each day.  I knew things were going downhill when I found myself naked, standing spread eagle against a wall.  They called it an exfoliating, toning rinse, but really they just pointed a high powered hose at me as if I was an inmate suspected of bringing lice into County.  Then, it happened. My massage therapist walked in and he was a hairy German man, who breathed his smelly, smoky breath on me for the entire rub.  I spent the entire time trying to think of Amy giving me the massage, only to become terrified that I would achieve an erection and really get myself into a bind.  Needless to say, it was not relaxing.

Last year, in Turkey, it almost happened twice.  I got a Thai massage from a hairy Turkish man, and dealt with it by promptly falling asleep the whole time.  I guess it was relaxing, but I could have stayed in the room and took a nap for a fraction of the cost.  Later in the trip, Amy and I signed up for a Turkish Hamam, which I thought could be something like this:

Unfortunately for me, it turned out to be more like this:

Do you see how nervous this guy looks?  I definitely didn’t want to be him.  When we arrived at the treatment room, the hairy Turkish guy (who spoke no English) seemed to indicate that he would do us both at the same time.  I wanted no part of this, so I ran away very quickly, opting instead to take a cooking class. I was definitely more relaxed:


When I found out that our acupuncturist has a masseuse on staff I was extremely excited, until I saw Henry walk in.  The first time he worked on my shoulder, he gave out a long, slow burp that had the force of air escaping from a popped blister. He then kinda blew it in my face.  Since then, I have come to respect Henry because he fixed my shoulder problem so that I can now play softball without pain again, although it would be much better if he were a Henrietta. At least he is not hairy.

So there I was, face down on the table, with Henry aggressively rubbing my butt and wondering how I should feel about it. I decided not to feel anything about it just lie there.  That only lasted for a few moments, when I fell into a deep relaxing sleep.  Denial has its benefits.


2 responses to “Why Is This Man Rubbing My Butt?”

  1. Amy Wilson says:

    You are a riot!

  2. […] a quick nap in the room, followed by a massage that Amy set up for me. I have had a recent glut of male masseuses recently, so I was very glad to walk in the massage room to find a woman, even if she appeared to […]

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