Monsieur Masseur

I'm addicted to professional massages. Unfortunately, my bank account does not allow me to indulge in this addiction very often. So, when a salon that I had a gift certificate for started offering massage services recently, it was cause for excitement.

I called to make an appointment and the receptionist confirmed the date and time. "You're all set for a 30 minute neck and back massage with Daniel," she said. Great! Uh, wait a second, what was that last part? Did you say Daniel? As in a man? Rubbing oil all over my neck and back? This could be weird.

I've always gone to a woman masseuse, it's what I'm comfortable with. Massages can be very intimate situations that are completely dependent on your ability to relax. Most involve getting completely naked, lying on a cozy, cushioned, heated table in a dimly lit room with soft music playing. For me, it's the most relaxing thing in the universe. My mind wanders into complete nothingness as the silky-smooth hands of a professional massage therapist hit all the right pressure points and release all of those nasty toxins. It is heaven.

Having some dude at the helm of my journey to relaxation was a little scary. Would I be comfortable? Would I be able to relax? What business does a man have getting into a profession that involves rubbing oil all over naked women? (I have similar feelings about male gynecologists). I considered calling back and rescheduling for a manicure, but what the hell, a free massage is a free massage and I was sure that Daniel was a professional. He deserved a fair shot. Besides, it was just neck and back, not like I had to take my pants off.

So, I went. And it was weird. And Daniel was hot. Which made it weirder. And he was not the best massage therapist I've ever been to, which was a little disappointing. But, I conquered my fear of masseurs and used up my gift certificate, so all was not lost.

It wasn't that he was bad, I've just had way better (nothing will ever compare to Ariel at the Paris Spa by Mandara in Las Vegas.) And it was different. His hands were rough. His sneakers squeaked on the tile floor. He tried to make small talk. I had to stifle a giggle fit when he asked if the pressure was OK and said, "Tell me if you want more." He was also on the short side, which put his crotch basically on my head when he bent over the top of the table to reach down my back. The whole thing had qualities comparable to an awkward one-night stand, including when I told him I'd call again.

I'll be sticking with female massage therapists in the future. I don't want to base my opinion of all masseurs on Daniel, I'm sure there are amazing ones out there, but I will never be 100 percent comfortable in a room with a strange man, without my clothes on. And to Daniel - thanks for being my first. I'll never forget you.