Massage Story

I reached out to Rose Monday.

Me: You want to hang out sometime?

Rose: Yes, please.

Me: Do you have anything in mind, or would you like to just hang out?

Rose: Want to get a couples massage with me?

Me:  Yesss! That sounds like a perfect idea.

I made some last-minute calls and scheduled a couples massage for the next day, two days before Valentine's day. Most places were booked. I scheduled time at a place neither of us was familiar with.

It is a small place located in a strip mall. The waiting area is decorated in dark, peaceful colors. Four or five chairs fight for space with a silver reception desk. To the left of the desk, a brown curtain divides the front from the back area. The back area consisted of five small rooms.

When I arrived, the receptionist handed me a three-page questionnaire to complete. Rose showed up on time. I give her a quick hug when she enters. She smells strongly of weed. She receives her own questionnaire and finishes it just in time for us to head to the back. Two masseuses lead us back to the farthest room, where two massage tables were strategically positioned diagonally opposite each other.

Rose's masseuse is a tall male in his mid-thirties with a shaved head. He is dressed in pants and a tee shirt. My masseuse is a pale young female in a hoodie. They leave us a moment to undress and get under the covers.

Though we are not a couple, Rose and I are comfortable getting undressed in front of each other. She is wearing a midriff-baring tee shirt over leggings.

"Don't judge me," she says while we get out of our clothes. "I didn't have any underwear on, so I had to grab a pair out of my gym bag and stuff them in my pocket."  I just shake my head.

I don't stare at her while she undresses, not that she would mind. I do catch a few glimpses. Her body is perfect. She fell on an ice patch and has been away from the gym for a few weeks. It has only improved her figure, giving it a softness the weight lifting takes away.

Rose enjoyed her massage. "I almost fell asleep," she tells me.

My masseuse had the boniest fingers I have ever felt, and I like skinny girls. She dug her spikes into me, creating pains where there were none before. When she got to my left shoulder, I had to tell her to back off. I did not enjoy it at all. I would say it was the worst massage I have had. Every time she started a back and forth motion, the table would wobble.

The good thing is they were not expensive. I have paid more for one massage than both cost me. After, we went to a Qdoba-style eatery and caught up. I updated Rose about dad's death and the latest with Billie. We talked about Rose's younger sister, who is about to have a baby.

After the quick meal, we sit in the Jeep and continue our conversation. Rose says she wants to hang out more. I am unsure if she wants to hang out as friends or something more mutually beneficial. It is hard to tell with her. She is never straightforward, and I don't ask.

I like Rose. She is mindful and socially responsible, but she thinks differently than most people. I want to say she is a sociopath (she denies this) or perhaps just emotionally damaged. She has a fondness for me, rooted in my positive impact on her years ago when we met in the strip club.

 "I will never forget what you said to me once,"  She says, then recites back words I said to her long ago. "Rose, your life is a book full of blank pages. You write what you want the story to be."