In the aftermath of Footgate, on my way home that day, I was in some serious pain. My back was just killing me. And over the course of the following two days, it didn't get any better. So last Thursday, I buckled and booked in for a massage. And it was lovely!! But it brought back some memories of what might well be the most bizarre massage I ever got.
We'd just gotten married and I'd gone to Munich to spend a couple months. Mr Bunny was working during the day, so I'd just knock about, having fun. Back then, I used to take really good care of myself. I used to get my nails done, facials, get my legs and underarms waxed and of course, regular massage. So I needed to find a decent spa to have all these things done. I don't remember exactly how I found this place, though I think it was on an ex-pat's forum. It was called Feel-good Salon, so no, not your typical German name. I emailed reception, got an appointment for an in-fill and a pedicure, and it was all systems go!
That first appointment went really well. The spa was in this lovely residential area, that was only about a half-an hour's ride on the U-bahn. My beauty therapist, Sabrina, was a really nice girl, who spoke pretty good English (as most Germans do). The whole place was pretty no nonsense, as you would expect a German place to be, but it was comfortable. You got offered a cup of tea while you waited, there were loads of magazines in the waiting area and the staff were lovely. So I was pleased with the place and decided that it would be my new spa, and booked in for a full-body massage. Now, I've had full-body massages before, and they are by far, my favourite treatment. I tend to get some wicked knots in my shoulders, so I love being pampered like that. So of course, I was so excited for this appointment.
The date of the appointment, I tipped up to the spa, had a cup of green tea and was ushered in to the massage room. Sabrina told me to get undressed and lie under the sheet on the massage table. So far, so good. She comes back in and is starting to work on my neck and back, and it was blissful. Tensions and stress were falling away and I was just getting lost in the feeling. She moved down to my legs, working her magic on my thighs, then my calves and then my feet. Loved it! When she was done, she asked me to flip over, which didn't strike me at all as odd. But what happened next will stay with me until the day I die.
I'm laying on my back, looking forward to her working on my arms and hands, when she rips off the sheet and starts massaging my boobs. As if there was nothing weird or horribly wrong about that. As if it was the most normal thing in the world, and not at all traumatic or scarring in any way, shape or form. With that one, simple action, all the tension that left my body came rushing back in. My eyes shot open and back stiffened up. I mean, this woman is massaging my boobs. This woman, who thus far had only seen my admittedly lovely hands and feet, was now basically feeling me up. And she clearly saw nothing wrong with it. She's carrying on massaging as if nothing's wrong, and all I can think is "She's massaging my boobs! She's massaging my boobs! SHE is massaging MY boobs! She's massaging my BOOBS!"
Needless to say the whole thing was ruined. Completely ruined. Like, forever. Look, I know the Germans are mad free 'n shit. They're always bloody naked and when you go on holiday, they're the ones in the speedos, with the women walking around in a thong and no top. You go down to the Englischgarten and people are laying around doing a bit of nude sunbathing, then getting up and walking to the water fountain or the ice cream truck, like nothing's wrong. They see the body as being very functional and in their typical no-nonsense attitude, why shouldn't you lay out in a public park on a sunny day, with your baps out? I mean, they're only baps, yeah? Every female's got baps. Big baps, little baps, saggy baps, fake baps, pert baps. Baps with pink nipples, brown nipples, baps with freaking huge nipples. Perfect baps, hideous baps. Like, they're baps, yeah? They're functional. They're there. And that's all well and good for them. But I like to keep my bosoms under wraps, many thanks. I'm sorry. That's just the way I roll. I don't even have sex with the light on, for fuck's sake!
After that massage, all I could tell people was "She massaged my boobs!" When I left, I called Mr Bunny and practically screamed down the phone at him "Fuckin' hell! She massaged my boobs! What the fuck?!" Needless to say, he found the whole thing hilarious. I sent my mate Marion an email, and of course I mentioned it. I went to bed that night, and all I could think of was that fateful moment when she literally ripped off the sheet and started kneading me like I was a potential loaf of sweetbread. The next day, all I could think was "I can't believe she massaged my boobs!"A couple weeks later, we met up with one of his workmates and his girlfriend. He's British, his girlfriend is German. Of course, the whole boob massaging thing came up. He was like "Nice. I wonder what other extras are on offer?" She saw nothing wrong with it. Apparently, it's all about circulation and lymph nodes and what not. :-S I went back to have my legs waxed after that, which I was understandably nervous about, as I worried that it would become 'more' than a leg wax. But my fears were unfounded. The wax was actually really good, and she even broke out the tweezers and magnifying glass, to get rid of any strays or ingrowns.
All I have to say though, is thank God for sexually repressed British masseuses. Yes the Brits are a bit slutty, always boning down and shagging around. But fortunately for prudes such as myself, this doesn't extend to beauty treatments, unless it's been specifically advertised or requested. Oh my.
I was so traumatised by that massage, it was about a year until my next one. It was in Trinidad, a couple years ago. A masseuse comes to our house once or twice a month, since all of a sudden, my dad is on some sort of holistic kick. He had one and my mom had one, and I was like "Well what about me? I doh want a massage too?" So she came back to next day and I had one, it was really good. And the best part of it? She never asked me to roll over. I also had one when we went to Turkey on holiday in 2009. And you know what? There was also no touching of boobs. Quite the opposite. The masseuse was extremely careful to NOT rub me the wrong way (if you'll pardon the pun). And it was an amazing massage. I went back up to our room ready to spend the rest of the day laying on the balcony, watching cheesy American made-for-tv movies. Win!
I have another one booked in for this coming Thursday and I'm mad excited. But three years later, whenever I think of having a massage, all I can think of is the time an outwardly nice, pleasant German girl, threw me into a panic by a simple act designed to actually make my body feel better. Good grief. At least now I know to never have a massage done at a German spa, unless I memorise the German for "Please don't touch my boobs. Many thanks."
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