Odd Days: The Man Massage (...speaking of underwear)

When I had my first massage many years ago, I didn't have to make any decisions. I walked in and was greeted by a strong-looking woman who led me to a room and told me to strip. My momentary discomfort at being naked in front of a stranger vanished quickly. I am, after all, a product of the 60s.

Over time, massage has moved into the mainstream, and with its legitimization have come choices. Many choices. For example, you can choose to leave all of your clothes on. Seriously. Another choice is: masseur or masseuse. In fact, if you unthinkingly request the first available massage appointment, you might well draw a man rather than a woman.

Somehow I tootled along, having the occasional massage and remaining oblivious to the possibility that I might one day unexpectedly meet a man in that tranquil room.

Fortuitously, I was not blindsided. The first time a man came into the picture, I was booking massages for a (good) friend and me. The receptionist volunteered that two massage therapists were available, one male and one female. Since I was doing the booking, I said, "I'll take the woman and my (good) friend will take the man." Then I had to break the news to my (good) friend. She said, "Well, actually, I'd prefer the woman." And I said, "Oh darn, I've already booked you with the man. You don't mind, do you?"

More recently, I went to Ohio to take my sister to a massage therapist. I could tell she was in dire need and I was willing to make the trip provided I could get an appointment too. So I called the female owner of a high class Columbus massage place and asked for two slots. She knew my sister so she booked us at our preferred time.

When we arrived, the receptionist told us that the owner (female, remember?) will be giving one of us a massage and *Jason* would take care of the other. I gasped. Then I turned to my sister and with my eyes, I told her she should take the guy. She's lots younger and is supposed to do what I say, even if I only say it with my eyes. So she said, "Oh I'm sure you'll like Jason."

And then there he was! I gasped again, smiled tremulously, turned my back and whispered to the receptionist, "Don't your massage therapists have to be at least 18 to work on naked women?"

She assured me Jason was old enough, whereupon Jason led me to the tranquil room. The stress was building. I had a decision to make and I had to make it fast. Pretty soon he would be asking me if I wanted him to work on my glutes. I couldn't waver, I had to decide...underwear or no underwear. ACK!