Sunday, October 21, 2012


As a nonbeliever, I never wanted to have a Thai massage but somehow there I was. The room was darkened and smelled of warm peppermint. I was told to remove my clothes and put on a pair of baggy knee-length pants that, in my Puritan discomfort, I had to make fun of alone. I lay down on the massage table, heated from beneath. A lady no bigger than a cat came in and crouched beside me. I was belly-down and as good as blind. I said the woman was small but did I mention she had two enormous hands and something like 16 or 17 fingers? And she was not a cat but a kind of demon weaver. My skeleton was her loom, my muscles threads, and she went to work to make my backside into an unimaginable tapestry.

1 comment:

kenc said...

Dream weaver, sounds like. And if she didn't talk, all the better. I've had a few massages, but I'm always thrown by the fact that there's another person in the room working me over. The key is for the masseuse to be there in hands but not in body or spirit. Tough gig, that!

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