It begins before you even get to my office. You call me, I answer, and you start asking me things like, "Is it a FULL BODY massage?" Then, you tell me I sound sexy. You ask if I'M going to do your massage. Before I became a massage therapist, I always thought that happy endings were good things. You know, like you read about in fairy tales. "They lived happily ever after. The End."
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People think it's easy to become a massage therapist. I blame the commercials. They always say "In less than a year, I got on the road to a health care career!" They never mention that in LESS THAN A YEAR, we know the names, locations, and functions of every body part. Not just 206 bones, but even the myelin sheath that surrounds the axons of your neurons. We've studied diseases and skin conditions. We learn about Eastern medicine, too. This involves energy, points, channels, colors, seasons, emotions... We packed all of that, and much more, into our brains. I think that deserves a hint of respect.
You guys come to my office without even taking a shower first. Sir, you're going to be naked on my table, and I'm only going to be an arm's length away. It's June, and we're in Florida. The room stinks before you've even finished undressing. Oh, and you haven't even passed gas yet... which half of you do.
Most of you start face down. In a way, that's nice for me. You're can't be too aggressive with your sexual harassment yet. That's what I think, eh? As soon as I move that towel, you spread your thighs and lift your ass. I wasn't going to touch your musky hole in the first place... but I'm having a hard time convincing myself to do your thighs with all of the funk in the air.
After waving it around for a minute, you realize I'm not going to be entering your back door. So you sigh unhappily, reach down to adjust, and lay back on the table. I finish your feet, and it's time to turn over.
I've continued the massage, you're flipped over. We can pretend all of that ugliness never happened. Why, oh why, didn't you brush your teeth? Or chew some gum? I'm massaging your face, pressing on your sinus points, and you smell like something took a crap in your mouth, and then died. No, this is NOT a good time for you to reach up and caress my hand. I didn't want you to do it in the first place, and now I REALLY don't want you to.
I try to move on as quickly as possible... but then I remember that I'm getting closer to that other area. You're going to ask me, aren't you? I cringe the whole time that I massage your stomach. I move the towel so I can get to your thigh. PHEW! You didn't ask! I'm so relieved, I forgive the crap from earlier. I'm working on your feet when I see movement from the corner of my eye.
No, don't! NO! You've moved the towel a little, thinking you're subtle... and I can smell your nasty sweaty balls. I ignore you totally. Even if I was that kind of girl, I wouldn't do that for you.
I only have your other leg left, so I hurry. I tell you that the session is done...and then you ask. "Does this massage have a happy ending?" I say you should take your time getting dressed and head for the door. I'm daydreaming of a bath in bleach. Undiluted. You ask again, because you apparently think I'm deaf. Why not? I can't smell you, right?
You leave, without leaving me a tip. That's fine, because you're GONE. That's MY happy ending.