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I have a bad back, so I go for therapeutical massage frequently. I’ve always seen female therapists; not for any real reason, just because there are more women than men in the field.
Lately, my back’s been so tight you could bounce a quarter off it and my neck has gotten so stiff that friends have started making “stiffie” jokes. It’s time for a massage when people start to make boner jokes about your neck. (Haha, by the way, very creative.)
I called my massage therapist (you have to call them therapists. They correct you if you accidentally slip in “masseuse”, and you do NOT want your masseuse angry with you) to schedule an appointment. She’s a popular lady, so I’m used to waiting a few days to get in, but this time it was a TWO WEEK wait for an appointment. The only one in the office who was free soon enough for my liking was:
The Massage Dude.
Hey, I’m amenable. I don’t discriminate. I’m sure he’s wonderful, of course I’ll see the dude. Why not?
Everything was as usual as I walked into the office, there was a waiting room full of ladies, peaceful colors everywhere, the waterfall was tinkling and Enya was playing softly in the background.
The place is like a monastery; you don’t want to speak above a whisper – if you talk at all. I waved hello to the receptionist, thought briefly about giving her the old Buddy Christ,
but sat down across from the serene waterfall instead, my back to the massage rooms.
The Massage Dude came out to get me. I got up and turned around to greet him warmly (as I am wont to do) and…
I was startled.
Let me preface the rest of what you will read here with a better understanding of my usual “massage therapist”. My usual lady is a sage-burning, bangle bracelet tinkling, warm, relaxing, hippy-dippy delight. Her long, flowy, hair is always down even though it’s a thousand and one degrees in her room, so it tickles my back while she works. She’s strong but gentle, and afterward she sings a little song to me and leaves me there to get up and dressed at my own pace. No rush. There’s always cold water waiting. I could take a little nappy if I wanted to. It’s a beautiful thing.
SHE SINGS A LITTLE SONG.
And so, on that fateful day, I had it in my mind that the Massage Dude would be just like her, only… A dude… You know, a crunchy dude.
Massage Dude looked like an Olympic gymnast. All he was missing was chalk on his hands and a pommel horse. He was considerably shorter than me, 5’4”– tops, and might have been friendly with the ‘roids.
I schooled my surprised face (I’m not very good at this. Once surprise and/or disappointment have begun the facial expression party, all a good schooling does is to add “confused disgust” into the conveyed emotional mix. I end up looking like I smelled something very bad.) and shook his beefy hand.
His neck was wider than his head, which made his head look sort of pointy. The whole effect made him look like a gigantic upside-down novelty pen. Like, If you clicked his feet, a pen tip would pop out of the top of his head. He could schedule his own appointments while practicing his handstands. He should have had the name of the office written across him.
I wasn’t getting a little song.
Upon this squat yet sturdy body, he was head to toe white. A white athletic shirt, tight enough to see every rippling ab and peck beneath it, tucked into white pleated stirrups.
STIRRUPS.
The kind of stirrups that show, even upon first glance, whether Mr. John Thomas is swinging righty or lefty. Where do you even get those?
Does Amazon carry them?
He must have Googled “stirrups that show off my tool” and bought them online.
YET… it is not for me to judge others in the Zen garden which is my massage therapists office. Besides, weird massage experiences make for good blog fodder. Just ask Whyistherebreadinmykoolaid?
I followed him back into his room (also white and antiseptic, which was a disappointment. And absolutely no scent of burnt-sage-meant-to-cover-the-telltale-scent-of-marijuana. Which was a rather big disappointment) and he introduced himself.
For our purposes, I think Douchy McDouchington Massage Dude will do just fine. Then he left me alone, presumably to go do some work on the rings to undress, (I was wearing clean and pretty undergarments that day, just for the record) hop on the table face down, and pull the sterile white sheet up to my neck. I don’t really know why I bothered to do that, he was just going to turn it down anyway.
The bed was really narrow, narrow like the width of the pillow narrow, so my shoulders and hips came just to the edges of either side. My poor squashed boobs were locked in a fierce battle with my upper arms for table space.
There was a knock at the door and The Dude walked in, lubed up put massage oil on his hands, and began the massage.
I stifled a scream. Instantly I knew why it is that I see a woman.
He was rough, and not good rough either. Bad, bad, rough. Rough like he had a recipe calling for the juice of one Naptimethoughts.
I had to tell him several times to lighten up, interrupting him as he talked incessantly; making sure I knew all his credentials, his training, and his background in physical therapy. I pretended to care with my eyes closed, mumbling “Really” and “Good for you” at regular intervals. Don’t try this at home, kids. Not listening to a stranger is a finely honed skill one can only truly develop with years of practice not listening to their husband.
When he finished with my legs, butt and lower back, he went to work on my upper back and shoulders. Since he’s shorter than most men, he had to lean over the table a little. He leaned in maybe 30 degrees, but it was enough. It was that moment that I felt it on my upper arm.
IT.
There was no doubt.
It was not a pencil in his pocket. He was not saving a banana for a snack, and even though my memory of the 80’s is kind of foggy, I’m pretty sure stirrups don’t have pockets.
It was his private eye, and it was staring at the sky. It was his tubesteak.
The tallywhacker.
I was facing away from him with my eyes closed when his pizzle made its first dramatic appearance, but there’s no mistaking the feel of the pink cigar with naught but thin white fabric between… The two of us. My eyes popped wide open and immediately turned to saucers, looking in every direction for…
What?
The antidote?
A little bottle of Boner-be-Gone tucked away on one of the shelves?
Every muscle in my neck and back stiffened along with his… Unit. I tried to squeeze in on the narrow table, so it wouldn’t be so… Touching me, but I could shrink no more.
I tried to move over, almost my whole left shoulder and hip were dangling dangerously over the table’s edge and I was willing my leftover flubber to stay where it was. Who falls off the table in the middle of a massage? It was all, sadly, to no avail.
Donkey Kong was in hot pursuit of the princess.
I didn’t know what to do. Should I say something? How do you tell your massage therapist that his hard on is creeping you out?
Me: “Hey, not like it’s any big deal. but it seems that you have a fire down below. Could you, maybe, put it out before we continue?”
Because I want to be a part of that conversation. As far as I could see, here is the best case scenario to come out of that mess:
Him: “Oh, thank you so much for bringing it to my attention! I’ll just nip into the other room and have a little flute solo. Back in a tic! And no worries, I’ll wash up.”
Then I’d just offer my thanks and wait quietly while he jerked the chicken and came back to finish my massage, no harm no foul. Because that’s not disgusting, horrifying and mortifying all at once.
Oh. My. God.
Plus, I had turned my phone off in the car. I couldn’t even pray for a disruption.
There would be no salvation for Naptimethoughts, and Massage Dude was climbing onto the tiny table. There was simply no graceful way to deal with this… Problem.
Him: “You’re really stiff (Jesus, that doesn’t even require a joke, snide comment or horrifying pause). I’m going to try and get at this trigger point under your shoulder blade”
Me: “Umm… Okay”
(That’s his sausage rubbing on my buns. Oh, and there’s his knapsack swinging around back there too. Maybe I should just ask him to stop. No, he’ll ask me why, and THEN what do I say?)
Me: “Listen, when your boner was just rubbing up against my arm, I was good with it, really, but now your coin purse is all up on my ass, and this is (just now) getting weird.”
Him: “Oh, my apologies Ma’am. I’ll just go finish off the zipper trout so we can get down to business.”
Because that would work out well for all parties involved. There is no way out of this. Short of faking my own death (and what if he tried to give me mouth to mouth? Plus, since I’ve never actually died, I’m not really sure how to play it. I’d probably screw the whole thing up, give a totally unconvincing “Blehhhhhhhh” in the end, and he’d laugh, and I’d just have to get back on the bed and let him finish finish him it THE MASSAGE. Finish the massage) or have a stroke, which, at that point, was a real possibility.
I no longer noticed what he was doing to my back, all I could feel was the twig and berries on my ass. This couldn’t end well.
And then it was time for me to turn over.
I don’t know what my face looked like, but I imagine it did not say “serene relaxation”. I turned over anyway, careful not to look at Willy Wonka.
He asked me if I was comfortable having my chest and thighs massaged.
Errrrmmmmm. No. Upon reflection, I was not comfortable with his hands in between my thighs.
How could he not know that I know he’s sporting some wood below the equator? He’s wearing STIRRUPS. Everyone can see it in its flaccid state, it’s like a train wreck after he’s pitched a tent.
Shouldn’t someone talk to him about his work attire? Not that I’d be first in line to have the “we can all see your penis” conversation with a co-worker either, but they could draw straws or something. Don’t they have a boss somewhere? Or a full length mirror? Whoever gets the short straw could just put him in front of the mirror and ask him if anything jumps out at him.
Him: A full body might be a good idea, since you’re so impossibly tight today.
Me: No thanks, if you want to touch me there, you have to buy me dinner first. (Haha hahahaaaaaa yeah. I made a funny. Cough-boner-cough)
So he took to my head, which is always the final, and usually my favorite, portion of the massage. But IT was there too. He wasn’t rubbing it up against the top of my cranium or anything disgusting like that, but I KNEW it was there. It was there, inches from the top of my head, taunting me, with posture like my mother always wanted me to have at the piano.
Him: “Are you usually this tight?”
Me: “…… yes?……”
Him: “You need to come back to see me more often. Your back and neck muscles are likely to spasm if you don’t keep them loose. Have you been to PT recently?”
Me: “No, conventional physical therapy is extremely hard on DIFFICULT on my (don’t say boner don’t say boner) BACK, since both my neck and… (boner) BACK are injured. I swim and do massage therapy instead.”
Him: ………..
(How does he not know?)
Me: Oh, look at the time. (I looked down at a freckle on my wrist) I have a meeting, so time is tight for me today. It was so nice meeting you, (ram rod) MASSAGE DUDE. (Please leave now)
I started dressing while he was still in the room and I was out of there before the massage oil dried on my skin. I did not tip him. His tip was big enough when I left.
bmary said:
Oh. My. God. Oh. My. God.
I don’t have words.
Okay, one: BONER!
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naptimethoughts said:
And boner to you as well. That’s pretty much how I felt. I asked my husband, and he was pretty ambivalent about whether or not they always know if they’re pulling a rod. I just can’t imagine how it could be that he didn’t know.
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bmary said:
Namaste.
(I don’t know what that means)
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naptimethoughts said:
Namaste right back atcha. I don’t know what it means either.
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ParentingIsFunny said:
So you going to go back there to him again? 🙂
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naptimethoughts said:
Next week. Already scheduled.
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A.PROMPTreply said:
O M G. O M G . O M G.
I thought you’d done your best posts already, but obviously this POST is the POST to end all POSTS! IT ROCKS. (Get it? Post? Rocks? It?)
I have not stopped laughing since I read the first IT. And wow, you really had alot of euphemisms for IT!
O M G
This is why you are one of my most favourite bloggers right here!
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naptimethoughts said:
There are a million euphemisms for IT. I love them all, and we shall now add the new blogger euphemisms of post and rocks to the list.
I’m really glad you enjoyed it, and thank you very much! I love being amongst your favorites!!!
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Dean B said:
Oh dear. All I can think about is the title of Kate’s blog … Did that just happen? 😉
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naptimethoughts said:
Yeah. Happened. Boner. Stirrups. Shudder.
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Outlier Babe said:
I thought this was deadly funny: “Rough like he had a recipe calling for the juice of one Naptimethoughts.”
Then, the post got SERIOUSLY funny. I was cackling in my most hideous, embarrassing, witchy laugh–the one that would have immediately gotten me burned, pressed, or tested for floatiness, back in the day.
Um…aside from all that, if this really happened, the guy should be reported to both the management of the facility as well as to the Board that licenses his type of PT personnel. Yeah. He knows. If it was hard that long (heh, heh), he knew, and he knows. And that offer of the frontal massage after it being hard that long? Come on! (heh, heh.)
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naptimethoughts said:
Oh it happened. One thing I’ve learned by blogging is that I’m not very imaginitive. Exaggerative, yes, but not very imaginative. I didn’t report him. I will, however, tell my regular masseuse/therapist the next time I see her. I’m sure she’ll be horrified. I don’t want to bring anything nasty down on the practice, though. They’re a really nice group of massage therapists… but I don’t know how well they’d withstand an inquiry of any kind. Especially my sage-burning therapist, and she is the absolute best.
She sings a little song.
I’m glad you liked the post, though. Cackling is good for body and soul, I do it all the time. My whole family makes fun of my cackle.
And hey, at least there wasn’t a wet spot on the front of his pants… At least not when I left.
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naptimethoughts said:
Tested for floatiness… LOL. I just got that.
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Outlier Babe said:
Aggghhhh! Eck! Gee-ROSS!! Could not click the ole’ Like star for that one. Bleah… (and now, I’m laughing. at least this time, it’s a pleasant low chuckle: huh uh uh uh…)
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naptimethoughts said:
Muahahahaha… I thought that might gross you out. But see? There’s an upside to everything.
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Outlier Babe said:
Y’know, I was re-reading the sound of my chuckle, and it bears an uncomfortable resemblance to the sounds of –not MY sounds, mind you–
As for that “upside”, if you insert “chuck” before “side”, we are in total agreement.
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naptimethoughts said:
Of course, your sounds will be private, of course, forever. I will remind you of an old addage that kind of applies here:
Whoever smelt it dealt it.
We are in total agreement.
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Outlier Babe said:
And I will share with you and equally-applicable Icelandic proverb I read in a book of Idioms of the World in my elementary school library (I just mentioned this to someone the other day–it is the ONLY proverb I remember from the book):
“Every man [/woman’] likes the smell of [her/] his own farts.”
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Outlier Babe said:
“an”. See?: Duh.
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naptimethoughts said:
The Icelandic peoples would elect my flatulent 6 year old son as their leader.
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Outlier Babe said:
Ha ha ha ha ha!! (That is the exact count of “ha”s I emitted, but louder.) 😀
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cheergerm said:
Your best ever, snort coffee out my nose funniest post. I am awestruck with how many euphemisms for the family jewels, schlong, Johnson you came up (snigger) with. I bow down before you Naptime. (I so know you are going back to see him….don’t pretend otherwise…)
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naptimethoughts said:
I scheduled an appointment time before I left the office, of course. Who doesn’t want some stranger’s post and klackers all rubbing up on them?
There are a zillion euphemisms for the family jewels. I fully endorse the proper usage of them all.
I do so love when you snort coffee out your nose. It’s the highest compliment that can be paid, I think.
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elainecanham said:
Klackers? What a brilliant term. I’m having that one, straight off.
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naptimethoughts said:
I like that one too. I like euphemisms that bring more than one sense to the descriptive party.
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Jana said:
I’ve had two massages by men (well, more than that if you count the ex – but I’m only counting professionals). Both times they were rougher than their female counterparts – however, neither time did I have to deal with…wood. I don’t know whether to be relieved or depressed that I apparently don’t trigger that reaction 😉
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naptimethoughts said:
Jana, you never know. Not to freak you out or anything, but if the professional guys were in the right attire, you probably wouldn’t have noticed. I only noticed because he was A: short and B: wearing tool revealing stirrups.
Your massage dude could have given two massages right in a row…
I won’t ever go back to a male massage therapist, though. Not even a gay one. Maybe this is sexist, but I think women are just better at it.
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ericafuni said:
I snorted at the pen comparison. Amazing amazing image.
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naptimethoughts said:
He really did kind of look like that. I’ll pass the idea along at my next appointment. (NOT with the Massage Dude). I’m extremely glad you found my post snort-worthy.
It makes my day.
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Doobster418 said:
“The whole effect made him look like a gigantic upside-down novelty pen.” That cracked me up…and that was before things got hard difficult. Very funny post, NTT.
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naptimethoughts said:
Thanks Doob. I’m glad you laughed. You seemed to be in a good mood yesterday! Your post was funny too. Not that your posts aren’t always awesome, but funny Doob– He’s awesome too.
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Doobster418 said:
You mean my post yesterday where the guy on the plane was thinking about how much easier his life would be if his wife died and he found out when he landed that she had? Yeah, that was a laugh riot! 😉
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naptimethoughts said:
No Doobie. Jeez. How to gain 30 followers in one day. Would you like me to add a link as well?
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scottishmomus said:
Oh, NTT, this is hilarious. Not that I approve of your masseuse (deffo masseuse, no therapist there!) His co-workers should be made aware of his tent-making. How could he not know? Is there a guy born who doesn’t know when the hammer’s been primed? No chance.
I’m completely with you too on your incapacity to deter your face from registering exactly what it feels. I’d love to have seen the look on it by the end. Edward Munch comes to mind.
Get back to your wee hippy lady pronto and let her give him the proverbial kick in the goolies.
Does make for a hilarious post though so credit to him where it’s due. Then sack him.
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naptimethoughts said:
I like that one– when the hammer’s been primed.
I honestly think that he felt he was very professional about the whole thing, and that there’s no way I could’ve noticed the meat stick in his overly tight white stirrups. I think his was a crime of stupidity more than anything else.
Who knows how the steroids have addled his brains.
I’m absolutely going to tell my hippie delight when I see her again, because she has to know before he pops up in front of someone who’s not so good natured about it, and by good natured I mean exploits the situation for my own amusement
I doubt they’ll be hiring any more men any time soon.
Unless it’s Tommy Chong. I maintain that he’d make a fantastic massage therapist..
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pieterk515 said:
There’s nothing flaccid abut this post, it’s simply erectically funny.
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naptimethoughts said:
Thanks Pieter. Tell me, as a member of the species who holds a member, you do always know when the hammer is primed, as Momus so elequently put it? My husband was a little sketchy about it. I can’t imagine NOT knowing, but then gain, I don’t walk around with one of those crazy things.
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pieterk515 said:
Ok. So many questions.
Let’s start at the beginning, I’m gonna try and break it down for you and the other oestrogen filled readers of your blog.
Men are always aware of our member, which is why we scratch it in public or shift it around when people are looking We are always aware, basically because it’s there!
So when said member has increased in size due to the blood flow disappearing from our brains, we instinctively know about that too.
The Massage Dude was most probably “hitting” on you, and I’m not referring to hitting you on the head with his… I’m referring to hitting, like wanting to use his member in a way that it’s supposed to be used.
Bottom line, Massage Dude is a douche bag and a pervert.
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naptimethoughts said:
Oh, I so regret asking the question now. Who hits on someone by showing off an erection? We are not primates anymore, we’re not peacocks (I said cock) trying to attract our mates by who has the biggest plumage, and I was wearing my wedding ring. That is SO foul.
Thank you for the honesty, Pieter, but you people, (not you, because I met you and know for a fact that you are not disgusting) are disgusting. I don’t know how you walk around with those things.
I’m calling my massage lady today. Yuck.
Who hits on somebody by showing off their stiffie? That is nasty, nasty bidness.
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pieterk515 said:
Sometimes men are pigs. And in extreme cases pigs will be offended when used as a reference to some guys. But remember he liked you… And from what I read…he really, really, really liked you a lot.
(And I’m trying my best not to laugh at my own joke)
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naptimethoughts said:
Hahahaaaa. You made a funny.
I’ve only ever seen the master of ceremonies when he’s supposed to be in that state. I thought since my six year old gets erections for no apparent reason, that the grown up model might have the same tendencies. Maybe the husband was trying to spare me the horrible truth.
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naptimethoughts said:
Oh my God, so that’s why K isn’t allowed to date until she’s 30.
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joannesisco said:
I was holding it together pretty well until I got to the line – Donkey Kong was in hot pursuit of the princess. There simply wasn’t any hope of containing the loud guffaws after that point.
OMG! OMG! OMG! I think I’m going to be giggling all day now 😀
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naptimethoughts said:
Good. Naptimethoughts is good for the soul.
I like making you guffaw– it’s so much better than regular laughter. Tee-hee’s are no longer good enough for me. I NEED guffaws and tears. I’ve found so many other authors on WordPress that make me laugh so hard that I cry, and it makes my whole day. Sometimes a good one can last a week. I’ll go back and read a really good one again, just to squeeze every last laugh out of it. That sort of love must be paid forward.
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joannesisco said:
Laughter as medicine for what ails the soul is clearly underrated! I found myself chuckling while I was making the bed … reliving Donkey Kong 🙂
You are a good person providing a much needed public service 😀
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naptimethoughts said:
Just doing my job, Ma’am.
When duty calls, I answer.
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snoozing on the sofa said:
What’s the problem? He just wanted this post to have a “happy ending.”
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naptimethoughts said:
Someone had to say it. I knew it was coming (Bad pun #2) If I were a betting gal, I’d have put money on Doobie for the bad pun, but Scott wins.
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scottishmomus said:
Reblogged this on scottishmomus and commented:
Should I really be laughing for the second time today at NTT’s unfortunate experience with a male ‘physical therapist’? Do guys really wear tight, white, lycra gym pants? And just how many words are there for an erection because I’m pretty sure NTT knows them all? Why do I laugh at stuff like this? I need to know these things.
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naptimethoughts said:
Thanks for the reblog Momus! I don’t know ALL of them, you gave me another just today. And you laugh because you are among the special smart people who get my humor. Mwah. Love and kisses to you.
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scottishmomus said:
This is another of yours I’ll be reading aloud to my husband and a few of my specially smart (and old enough) kids. In fact, I’ll just share it on FB for them right now. My four eldest will get a real kick out of this. I’ve already told my sister to look you up. We’re both cacklers when it comes to laughing at some things. And this is one of those things. Macbeth’s witches isn’t in it. 🙂
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naptimethoughts said:
Witches got nothin’ on me. I cackle with the best of them. Tell the fam I said hi!
I’m sure the husband is old enough and wise enough not to show off the old peeper in tight stirrups. Still, in an age of skinny jeans, they sometimes need a reminder.
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scottishmomus said:
I wear the skinny jeans. He gets to have the reaction. And my weans wil kill me if they see this comment! Because, as we both know, parents are too decrepit for that type of thing.
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naptimethoughts said:
Yes. Also, aside from being old and decrepit, we are asexual beings, put here specifically to tend to their every need.
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sarcasmica said:
Eeeeewwwwwee!
Now you’ll never know if he actually uses his tool as a tool. Maybe it’s a rolling pin for the upper thighs?
My 4 year old wanted to know what I was laughing at, btw. I’ll save this for when she’s 25.
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naptimethoughts said:
Eeeeeeewwwwww… A rolling pin? I can just imagine it. That is nasty bidness.
Do your daughter a favor and make sure she knows that there are some professions best left to women. For women. By women.
And if she takes up massage therapy, tell her that her clients will really appreciate the little song, so she should sing one after she gives a massage.
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sarcasmica said:
We already have a song that fits: “Clean up, clean up, everybody clean up…”
That would work for the dude, too.
Mwahahahaaaaa
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naptimethoughts said:
Clean up, clean up, everybody do your share…
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Sidewalk Chalk said:
You knew you had to sit through that whole experience so you could write about it and make us all laugh like lunatics. You’re kind of like a martyr and I love you for it.
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naptimethoughts said:
MARTYR! I love it. When do I get to be a saint?
It’s kind of true, though. The whole time I was making sure to pay attention to Mr. Massage and his little friend so I could write it properly on Naptimethoughts. Erections make good blog fodder.
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Mark Lanesbury said:
It is at this time that I must regretfully inform you that I am a qualified Remedial Massage Therapist. But in my 12 years of practice I have never come across anything like this, from other therapists, clients or even here-say at the pub.
What am I doing wrong 🙂
Actually, I must be doing something right because they all keep coming back. Mind you, most of my work is now energy work and counselling. Most definitely would not be helping anyone if I strode in wearing white stirrups. Mind you, a good laugh is a wonderful medicine but at what cost. My sincerity, integrity, compassion and empathy would most definitely be lost in the translation.
Are you sure that he WAS a Massage Therapist? I mean, maybe they got him as a fill in from the red light district at short notice. Or maybe your friend called singing telegrams for you, so you wouldn’t miss out on your song, and they thought she said ‘Wrestler’ instead of ‘Hustler’…or both, and in the confusion he didn’t know how to act.
NTT, I don’t know what to say. But I do know this, if you were to come on to him to show you were ready….he’d probably lose it and really get in a
flopflap 😀Best of luck keeping your head down when you return 🙂
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naptimethoughts said:
Oh blech….. Eeeeeewwww… Who comes on to a married woman by rubbing his hard on all over her? That is so nasty.
Pieter threw that one out there like it was nothing too. Do men think about this sort of thing?
“Hmmm… What’s the best way to get this woman to notice me… Ask her out? No… Smile and strike up a conversation? No… I know, I’ll rub my erect penis on her without permission. That ought to get my point across.”
I suppose I was giving him the benefit of the doubt simply because that is so entirely and ridiculously out of the question.
I don’t have any idea if all he touted about his qualifications were true, There certainly weren’t any college degrees framed on the wall of his room.
I think you might have “massage therapist” confused with “physical therapist”, which, from your description, seems to be what you do. Massage therapy is a fancy name for completing a 9 month certificate in massage. You have to hold that certificate to work (legally) but no more. The woman I usually see, my hippie-dippy delight, is wonderful and so I’ve never asked nor cared about her qualifications. The other women in the group are great too, but that doesn’t mean that they have any more than that one certificate from some online college. Massage therapists are not covered by insurance. Physical therapists are, and have all kinds of degrees in sports medicine, or whatever else qualifies them to work in physical therapy from a 4 year institute of higher education. This guy claimed he had a background in physical therapy, but who knows? he could have made the whole thing up. I certainly didn’t see any dimplomas on the wall. Then again… I was a little distracted by Moby Dick.
Maybe you’d expand your business if you started wearing white stirrups? Or try singing a little song after you’ve finished. I’m telling you, it’s GOOD STUFF.
I am sure he was a “massage therapist” but, remember, that doesn’t mean much. Physical therapist is the one that means something. I do know that he could not be hired without any certificate at all, so he must have done the minimal 9 month certification process. He must have worn really loose jeans to his final exams.
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Mark Lanesbury said:
In Australia, a Diploma in Remedial Massage Therapy (it is specific for sports and injury related massage as well as therapeutic….just not THAT therapeutic 😀 ,probably is the equivalent of your Physical Therapist), is a 2 year full time course and is quite technical. I think due to the situation you had found yourself in, it removed all the Fly by nighters and Bone Dr’s, so to speak, and cleaned it up 🙂
I’ll think about the singing, my voice is like ‘ol man river’, a bit too deep and would probably suit doing vibrational work (got to watch what I’m saying now…everything points to sex…is that a psychological thing 🙂 ).
Any girlfriends over the years have asked me to give them massages but because of the healing that I naturally do…they all go to sleep. So even if I did want to dance, it’s a bit difficult when your partner is snoring 😀 (That’s not 100% true, but you get the idea 🙂 ). I’m loved for my hands and mind…the story of my life! 🙂
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naptimethoughts said:
You little song would be amazing! Deep and rumbly? AWESOME! I love the little song, it’s the capstone on a perfect massage.
My usual “massage therapist” keeps up to date with the latest professional developments in her field, even if she only has a certificate from a mail order college, and she’s just awesomesauce all around. Even if she burns sage to try and cover up a little recreational J once in a while. I did call her and let her know about the popup tent in room 2. She was horrified, and I got a free massage! Whoop! (In two weeks. Not whoop.)
If the commute weren’t so bad, I’d totally come see you. For now, I’ll just have to keep to the therapists I know. The LADY therapists. They take their jobs seriously and have never once gotten a boner during a session. Of course, if one of them sported some wood, that would be a hard on I’d pay to see.
Every single massage therapist I have ever seen (and that is quite a few) has said the same thing about relationships– that every time they start dating, massages are desired from the other party. That must suck, coming home from a long day at work and being asked to do some more work.
I’d want to be loved for me… Not for my hands (sniffle).
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naptimethoughts said:
You should check out what they do at a place called Esalen in California. They’re very innovative in the field of massage. They have WAY more than 9 month certs there. In fact, I’m thinking about getting the car and driving across the country just for one of their massages. A lesser commute than to see you, but still a continent away, unfortunately.
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Mark Lanesbury said:
I don’t mind giving the massages as, like my post on hugs, it is a way of really connecting with someone. And I mean that in either a healing and or energy sense. And the stress reduction for both is amazing.
I’ll check out that place Esalen and see what they do, you’ve intrigued me now.
Anyway NTT, enjoy your freebie :), and may any ‘hard bits’ only be your struggle to get up after a massage 😀 Mark
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naptimethoughts said:
No more hard bits for me. Only lady massages for me from now on, unless the dude has a degree or two hanging from his wall.
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John Coleman said:
By golly, you lead an interesting life. Laugh-riot! I thought immediately of Jack LeLayne’s (sp?) exercise jumpsuit. My input (har har) on the boner in question: if it was mashed up against your bum, then I’m thinking he was definitely in touch 😳 with his member. And a thigh massage! Puh-leeze. He needed a flick on the testicle, a hearty bip. “Juice of one naptimethought”–excellent!
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naptimethoughts said:
There is interesting in everything if you look for it. It’s not unusual during a full body massage for a “massage therapist” to ask if you’re comfortable with them doing your butt, chest and thighs– they aren’t checking for lumps or anything, they’re just massaging the muscles around the boobs. Usually I’m good with it, too. I have sciatica in my left leg, so it helps with that, and before this guy, I’ve NEVER been uncomfortable.
I don’t remember Jack Lelayne, but this guy was showing off every muscle he had, and he had some serious muscle. Maybe that’s why he thought he could pull of the physical therapist routine.
I called my regular therapist yesterday. She was horrified, as I suspected she would be… I doubt he will be there for my next (free) appointment.
Ugh. Maybe he did need a good flick on the testicle, but not from me. YUCK.
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Farmer Farthing said:
Oh my God lol. I know I so shouldn’t laugh but I couldn’t help myself!! Poor, poor NTT. Isn’t that illegal?? And if it’s not then it should be!! xx
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naptimethoughts said:
He didn’t really do anything to me that was out of the ordinary for a full body massage… Except have a huge hard on while wearing tiny tight man-stirrups… That’s really enough, though (boner).
All the guys on here have been of the mind that he was a total perv. I had no idea, in fact, I kind of felt bad for him. Like I was catching him with his pants down (so to speak).
I don’t feel bad for him anymore.
I’m glad you’re laughing though. That makes me happy 🙂
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Farmer Farthing said:
It’s really bad NTT!! He shouldn’t be getting turned on, he’s being paid to do a job xx
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naptimethoughts said:
Yeah, so I’ve been told. I thought men could pop wheelies over lots of things. I don’t know, like when they do stuff they really like or get excited over doing something exciting… like it’s wood by a rush of endorphins or something.
I suppose I’m a little naive to think he just really liked giving massages.
Yuck.
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elainecanham said:
God that was so funny. You poor thing. And yet, as Pieter says, it’s not like he couldn’t know. But when you’re on your own in that kind of situation it just gets so embarrassing you don’t want to say anything. I’m so cross on your behalf of how he took advantage of your good manners and embarrassment. Maybe now, if you feel a bit more fortified, you could go back and give it to him straight, so to speak….
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naptimethoughts said:
Yeah, that’s about the size of it. (See what I did there? I amuse myself so.) There just wasn’t any good way out. Every scenario I could imagine ended in “Just hold on for a second while I spank the monkey” which was SO much worse than the problem itself. I doubt if he’s there anymore. I had a talk with my usual hippie lady, and I think his days at that practice are numbered, or have run out entirely. I doubt I’ll ever see him again. And if I do,
ABORT! ABORT! Walk the other way!
That guy is a true jack off.
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heretherebespiders said:
Top post! Shame there isn’t a ‘freshly pressed’ doowhaziz for off-colour posts! You’d win the internets.
Ooo, I think I have a euphemism you didn’t use – ‘meat and two veg’. Standard Irish meal, you know!
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naptimethoughts said:
Meat and two veg! I love it! Never heard that one before, it’s so going on the list.
I have come to terms with the fact that I will never be freshly pressed.
They can’t handle this. And furthermore, I’d never be able to tailor my posts to be what they’re looking for. It’s just not Naptimethoughts.
So, although it’d be nice, I gotta be me. Potty mouthed, off color, farty, penis, embarrassing me.
Yes, that’s right. I’m a martyr for my cause. Someday they’ll say:
But before it was okay, it was Naptimethoughts. (tear)
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larva225 said:
This is the best thing I’ve read in like 4 weeks. Sorry that happened to you, but this is comedy gold!!
My MIL did one of those groupon things for a massage and gave it to me recently. I was totally stoked since I haven’t had a massage in over 2 years. Long story short, this “business” had no reception, no way to leave a message, no land line. When I finally did get to speak to someone, the rather redneck-sounding lady asked if I could call back, as she was clearly ordering something through the drive-thru window. I told my MIL thanks but no thanks. I feel quite certain that particular “massage therapist” was named Mavis, giving rubdowns with baby oil in the back of a double-wide while her husband fries chicken and smokes cigarettes in the next room and watches As the World Turns.
Whew. Sorry.
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naptimethoughts said:
Now there is a post worth writing.
It might not have been Mavis either, it could have been Mavis taking the calls, and the husband smoking cigarettes, ashing all over your back and outing his smokes in a half full Mountain Dew bottle, while HE gave you a nice rub down in the back of the double wide.
It’ll be naaaaice… Reeeeeeeal Naaaaaice. Sorry about that there cigarette burn little missy. I plumb forgot it was in my hand!
Alas, you’ll never know.
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larva225 said:
I swear I’m totally fine with that!! I need some unknowns in my universe.
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naptimethoughts said:
Call Mavis back. Just make sure a lot of people know where you’re going and when you should be back. Oh, and make sure someone calls to check up on you while you’re there.
No answer means call the police.
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Sandy Ramsey said:
This makes my story about accidentally hitting my massage dude in the crotch look like child’s play!
Gross and creepy. I don’t know how you managed as long as you did.
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naptimethoughts said:
I felt there was no choice. I think that’s how most people cope with gross and creepy things. The alternative:
“hey, could you go juice the lizard before we continue”
was just too horrible to imagine.
Sorry to be so late responding to you. The WHOLE FAMILY had a horrible stomach virus. It was awful, AND it’s the second time in 2 years that that’s happened. I don’t even need a post, I already wrote one.
Ugh.
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naptimethoughts said:
You hit your Massage Dude in the crotch? Ha! I gotta read that one.
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Sandy Ramsey said:
No worries….I hope everyone is feeling better. I didn’t blog about hitting Massage Dude in the crotch…just a weak Facebook post but in hindsightoh, well!
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naptimethoughts said:
So blog about it now! A good story is a good story, no matter how long ago it happened.
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lucie said:
I just about choked on my sandwich. Bahaha. LOVE this. Your pain is my pleasure. Maybe I’ll stop there because this is getting weird…:)
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naptimethoughts said:
I’m used to weird, I seem to attract it like velcro attracts lint. I’m glad it made you laugh, just be careful of sandwiches. You could end up with chicken salad pneumonia, and that shit’s everywhere. 🙂
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Saving My Belly Button Ring said:
Oh my God, you are such a delight to read!!! Sorry for your experience, BUT thank you so much for sharing it with us!!! I laughed out loud ALOT as I read this post. hahaha PS ~ I have had a few massage by dudes (yep, gave it a couple of go’s b/c I really wanted a massage on those days) who liked it a little bit too much. Way too stressful to enjoy your massage as you lie naked praying for it to end soon. Now it is a female or nothing. Only way to really relax and get what you paid for!! hahaha
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naptimethoughts said:
Agreed. Massage Dudes are more trouble than they’re worth. Unless they’re PT guys… But that’s different. I will never see a dude again. It’s a lady or nothing because I don’t care if she likes me likes me. No matter what, she’ll never grow a spruce in her spandex (at least we all hope not.).
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Saving My Belly Button Ring said:
Amen sister! That’s what I think – if she likes me she likes me – it doesn’t matter b/c I’ll be none the wiser and still enjoy my massage! hahaha
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allesklar said:
Hi naptimethoughts,
I’m passing by having read your recent comment on The Mad Hatters – cracked up laughing while reading your Adventures of a Naked Girl, but now not quite sure whether to laugh or cry about your masseuse. Not all of us men are rough, and hopefully very few of us are like that creepy massage guy you had the misfortune to meet. I can tell you he absolutely knew exactly what he was doing.
Your story took me back to the one and only massage I have ever had at the hands of a professional, in the early 1980s. I was the only man present among a bunch of women friends when the whole group was invited to have a “Swedish Massage” given by a man who was studying the technique and wanted to practice. The notion of “Swedish Massage” in early 80s Australia held serious sexual overtones, so it was with some trepidation that I went along with the group, and lay obediently face down on the table when it came to my turn.
To my astonishment, the massage itself was so gentle that I could barely feel that he was touching me at all. He applied a fragrant oil warmed to exactly skin temperature, and his touch was so light that it seemed impossible that any effect would result. After perhaps 10 minutes he had me reposition my head and arms slightly, then lifted my legs and slowly and gently moved them through a series of unaccustomed movements, testing the limits of where they would bend and stretch, yet doing so without arousing any sense of stress or strain. Moments later he informed me he had finished and I could get up.
“And that’s all?” I thought. The whole process had taken perhaps 15 minutes.
It was when I stood up that I realised he had done something extraordinary. I felt kind of crooked – as if I couldn’t stand up straight.
He looked at me with a twinkle in his eye and explained that when I first lay on the table, one leg was half an inch shorter than the other, because of my accustomed posture. The whole idea of Swedish Massage was to induce a deep relaxation in the body. A gentle touch was essential. If any nerve was over-stimulated, it would produce a corresponding reaction in the muscles, which would create the opposite of relaxation. Once the deep muscles were relaxed, he was able to realign my spine with a few simple movements of my legs. No fuss, no strain, no chiropractic dramatics – If I was now feeling strange, it was simply because I wasn’t used to standing straight.
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naptimethoughts said:
Wow– that sounds phenominal! I want one of those. My usual lady is great, but she’s never been able to fix my back entirely. I’m going to have to find me a massage school. I feel more relaxed just reading your description.
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allesklar said:
Yes it was good enough to remember from all of 35 years ago.
Of course the technique may go by a different name in a different country and time, but I guess some determined googling might uncover someone who knows about it.
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naptimethoughts said:
I’m going to have to look into that. I always keep away from Swedish massage because it seems like an hour of somebody pounding on my back. Not into it. I think my massage lady does Swedish as well. I’ll have to ask her about it.
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