As he held out a backless gown, the masseur indicated in softly spoken broken English that she should totally undress, put it on and lie on the bed. She waited until the door was shut then with shaking hands removed her clothes, hiding her bra and underpants under her dress, in case they excited him. She knew she was being unreasonable, but better to be on the safe side. Then she scoffed at herself. Her? The idea of her exciting anyone with her beige underwear was ludicrous. Just look, she sneered, pinching her belly fat, pulling at the stretch marked skin on her thighs. She was glad there was no mirror so that she could avoid looking at the crow's feet lurking under her eyes. She was getting adept at putting on the makeup without even looking into her face these days.
As she picked up the gown she noticed that it was a size 18. Size 18? She looked around, afraid that someone might see her getting into such a shamefully sized gown. She struggled daily with her two lousy rice crackers for lunch to stay a neat size 12! Then she realised it was purposefully large enough to totally cover her and she relaxed, shrugging it on. Still, such twee little pink roses! Gratefully she glanced over at her classically designed navy blue dress.
As she lay on the massage table, which was covered with cheap plain blue towels, she felt a little disappointed. The whole room was quite ordinary, plain...not really exotic at all, apart from the acupuncture posters on the white walls. She was shocked to see on poster though, represented in what she thought was unnecessary detail, the "anal" acupuncture point. She squirmed at the thought of someone touching her down there...
She had better get on the table otherwise she would have to ignobly clamber onto it in front of him, while holding her gown shut with one hand behind her back. Lying down, she carefully arranged her gown to cover every inch of flesh.
"Ready?" lisped the masseur through a slightly opened door and she called out brightly that she was. She lay with her head in a hole in the bench which was good as it meant that she didn't have to look at him and also that her mascara wouldn't smudge. Perfect.
"You should know," said the masseur," some people, they do not like it strong. Just say if you want it softer."
"Oh no strong is fine," she said. If she was going to blow money on a massage she wanted to feel it, to feel something, even if it hurt.
He started, lightly lifting the gown, then sweeping with long strokes over her body from her lower back to her shoulders. She still felt tense, she realised a few minutes later, wondering what he must think of her flabby old body…yet after just a little while she even stopped mentally rehearsing that night’s recipe as she realised that his hands were so warm, hot -- and dry as autumn leaves. It was sort of soothing...she sighed, feeling the heat from his hands dissipating into her flesh.
A sudden image of a Chinese garden with a weeping willow of golden leaves and the sun heating up white stones in the shape of a teardrop.
Then he started chopping on her back and she gasped. The image vanished with the pain.
"Too hard?" He asked.
"Oh no," she replied, trying to keep her voice steady. She did not want to be rude. She did not want him to think she was impugning his professionalism. She had taken a Chinese cooking class once and considered herself culturally sensitive. Her hands were gripping the metal legs of the massage table, she realised, when he picked up one of her arms. She giggled nervously as he prised her fingers off the metal bar.
He stretched out her arm, then gently pulled on her fingers one by one. It felt strange, but not unpleasant. What felt even stranger was the sudden prickling rush of energy along her arm, pulsing all the way through her fingertips and beyond. She felt excited and scared as she didn't believe in all that new age energy nonsense but she couldn't deny that she was experiencing something inexplicable. Then, as she remembered that her physicist husband would undoubtedly have an explanation, the sensation died.
The masseur laid Joan’s arms by her sides and swept his hands up to her shoulders. Ahh just there she cried out in her mind as he pinched and pulled at her muscles until she felt like screaming but didn’t because the tension lifted more with each delve into the muscle. He was on her body's side, not against it, as after each time he caused her pain, the tension drained away. She was so relaxed she did not care when he lifted the dress and started massaging her buttock then her leg, as she was daydreaming with the relief of pain and tension, about
a Chinese girl, early twenties, in a red silk gown and two long plaits. She stared serenely back, her dark eyes mysterious and strong. She held out hands glowing palely to Joan who reached out to her too.
The masseur brushed her groin as he worked his way down from her other buttock. The image disappeared as tension snapped back. She felt like crying. How dare he? Only her husband was allowed to do that…although it had been a while. If it had to be touched why couldn't it be someone better looking? Yet, a sensation was growing stronger and stronger. Peter said she was as cold as a fish in bed, but now down there it was fiercely hot as though she had the sun between her legs, and taut like a rubber band, so taut she felt as though she would never find relief. So long had she not felt anything, yet how comfortable life had been...not like the torment her foolish passions put her through in the bad days before Peter. Oh, coming here was a mistake.
She felt ashamed as the masseur continued without varying his pace down her other leg. If only he could know how corrupt she really was, if only he could read the disgusting images of orgies squirming in her mind. She bit her lip. Oh god, he couldn't could he? If he could make energy flow through her arm, who knows what else he could do. Then she mentally slapped herself. Be quiet Joan, you superstitious fool.
"You need more time," said the masseur kneading her foot. "You very stressed. High pressure job?"
Joan snorted. Why was she so tense, her with her tennis lunches and shopping? No one could possibly have a less stressful life when all they had to do was cook a few meals and be a happy smiling wife for Peter.
"Me? No, I guess I'm uptight by nature," she replied, gaily. The foot massage felt nice, as it was a neutral zone, she could allow herself to enjoy feeling relaxed.
"I do not think so," the masseuse replied, but she was getting too sleepy to summon outrage at his presumption. Somehow by pressing and rolling parts of her foot, he caused warm surges in other parts of her body. She sighed and saw once again
the Chinese girl sitting on a low bed, her silk dress unbuttoned and pushed down to expose her white breasts, round like the moon. Sandalwood incense drifted through the dark room, gathering in clouds amongst the embroidered silk bedclothes. A sturdy young man with rough brown labourer's hands was stroking her neck and kissing it softly, moving towards her earlobe. He was bare-chested and wore only a pair of worn canvas trousers. Around his neck, a small jade tiger glowed. The girl sighed, falling back against him. Then, twisting around, she undid the cord of his pants --
"Time up." The massage stopped. Joan was back in the white room with the fluorescent lighting flickering. Blinking, she lifted up her head to see the masseur with the thick glasses smiling benignly as he wrote out a receipt for her. He looked nothing like the man in her daydream…how on earth had she conjured up that image? She felt both totally aware of her body and of not being grounded in her body by tension, except for a slight bittersweet aching in that place which before had been burning.
"So," the masseur said, "You think massage helped? You feel better now, more relaxed?"
Joan took a deep breath and didn't mind a bit that her gown slipped off her shoulder as she did so.
"Oh yes," she said returning his smile. "I feel much better."
Once more he shyly left the room while she changed. On his return, she was dressed again in her plain blue dress, but this time her top buttons were undone.
“Same time next week?”
The
masseur nodded, head lowered modestly as he watched the beautiful woman
leave the room. Then, from around his withered neck, he took out a jade
tiger and stroked it, smiling in quite a different way.