I’m feeling relaxed right now. Very relaxed. I just had a one-hour Swedish massage with a ridiculously handsome masseuse. When he introduced himself I think I may have made a little Scooby-Doo surprise sound like, “Berrow!” His name was Petr – no E. He had an accent. I think he was Swedish. A Swedish massage by a real, live Swede! I padded behind him in a too big spa robe and too big spa sandals, in awe at my luck.

During the hour, most of which made me all melty, I watched him through barely open lids and was a little bummed when he placed the lavender buckwheat pillow over my eyes. After laying there in scented darkness for a few minutes, listening to the sound of mating whales and windchimes, I shimmied my eyebrows up and down until the pillow fell off and then assured “Petr” that it wasn’t really necessary to put it back, thanks though (smile).

While your average massage therapist will say there is nothing sexual about a session, (those not providing such services as “wrap-arounds” and “full releases”) I have to disagree. Massages are subtly very sensual. For crying out loud my naked body was just rubbed down with oil by the hottest fricken guy ever! Slowly! Firmly! I’m sure if there was anything “there” for him it ended during the first five minutes when I asked for a towel to put under my leaking breasts. Not so sexy. That being said, “Petr” was the consummate professional. In addition to providing the towel, he discreetly and somewhat cautiously uncovered and rubbed small sections of me, one part at a time. I’m sure that he has to be more than careful, what with all the lecherous women out there. Speaking of, I made sure to book appointments with “Petr” every month for the next year.

And for those of you that think I lead a glamorous life filled with fabulous fetes and saucy soirees (JOE), think again. Here are a few photos of Beck meeting the Church Ladies over coffee and doughnuts at Grandma Jane’s. Monsignor even made a special appearance and those women surrounded him and swooned like he was a celebrity. Beck was a champ and slept through the whole damn thing.
Church Ladies
With Doris and Marie
And here he is chillin' in the arms of Monsignor in his skate punk outfit: Mama's little Thrasher It sort of looks like he's throwing up some signs gangland style.

On a topic related to a recent entry, now I know why it’s so tough to get into Harvard, because most kids are dropped on their head: DaddyTypes.

Comments

[AVERAGE JOE]

Just proves that leading an oh-so-fabulous digital life is all about what you edit out.

Hell, I was so turned on by your account that I booked a monthly appointment with Petr. No, you may not bogart the Swede.

[Brechi]

LOL....I love the Petr story. Aren't professional masseurs the greatest?

[Xdm]

Elizabeth Arden, Pentagon Row. Treat yourself :)

[Petr]

Yes, it was good for me too (I have to wear these baggy trousers so my clients can't see my nordic wood, if you know what I mean).

While there are too many saggy church ladies and enough women of a "certain age" who smell like the centerfold of Cosmo, every once in a while I'll get a good client, someone who knows how to get touched, knows how move under the massage, knows how to take what these professional hands can give so well. They look demure, like their next stop might be a board meeting for their volunteer organization or a quick stop for coffee with their old coworkers. But, secretly, there's a randy side to the best of them, a side they probably don't even show to their husbands, their lovers, and it's impossible not to imagine what they're dreaming about when they feel the way I work. Maybe I'm part of their story? And, without saying a word, I know it, I can feel it, I can almost hear it and I just have to do something to convey that I'm in synch. I try to savor it, I go a little slower than normal, keeping the client covered up so I don't go too fast, and I work the body slowly, uncovering, revealing, exploring, as I go. I can't do anything outright, I have to be professional and I can't say anything. But the right ones, the good ones, hear what my hands say. I've come close a couple times. I've thought about crossing the line, of going too far. But then, if i go for my happy ending, my clients, my partner, might lose hers. And then, she won't come back every month for the next year. I'm patient, I'm willing to wait for the good ones. I'm a professional.