"Full Body 1 Hour Massage- $40"

You get what you pay for.

It was my second day of my very first trip to Ottawa. My friend Pat, who I had come to visit and stay with, took me with him downtown. He went to work and I was free to explore and do whatever I wanted all day. I had been walking for a couple hours and happened upon a sign in front of a hair stylist shop. A one hour full body massage for $40? How could I go wrong? I was tired and anticipated a little bit of lovely relaxation.

I entered the shop, and inquired if there available massage appointments right now? The ladies nodded their heads as if to say, "Of course there are!" As I was asking, a woman who had been sitting in the waiting area slowly left and went to the back. She soon reappeared as my massuese. (I wondered if she purposefully sat in the waiting area to scope out her patients?) She lead me to a small back room. We walked in. She seemed nervous. After initial greetings, she opened up with the soft spoken question, "And how to do you feel about me massaging near the breast and tummy area?"

Inner gasp. "I don't think I would be comfortable with that," was my immediate reply, very little thought involved.

"Alright. Then disrobe and lay on the table under the sheet."

I've had many massages and so knew this drill well. The massage table was a little wobbly and once I managed to wiggle my way under the one solitary and rather thin sheet, I realized I was wearing very bright red underwear... Growing feelings of anxiety...

The masseuse re-entered the room (let's call her Olga because she was foreign sounding and blonde.) She dimmed the lights, almost so they were completely off. "Should I dim them some more?" she asked. "Uh, no I think that's fine," I said. She came over to the table. Sometimes you just know somethings not right from the very first moment...

She picked up the edge of the sheet by my left foot and sloppily flipped it across my leg. I heard the squeeze of the massage oil and felt her hands touch my skin. First she kind of moved the oil all around, up and down my leg. Then she dug right into my foot. Then up and down the leg again a few times. A little pressure, but not much. She soon finished and flipped the sheet back over and then moved onto the other leg.

I think she had a bit of a difficult time moving around, because she seemed to need to use my body as a bracing aparatus as she swivelled about on her chair. Hand on the calf, hand on the hand, pushed herself along... When she finished with my legs, she moved up to my arms. But as she massaged my arms, she let them stay laying on the table. Very little muscle massage then ensued- mostly topical oil application.

By this time I had held back a couple giggles. But then she moved on to my back. She grabbed the sheet and yanked it away, tucking it unabashedly and rather deeply into my underwear. I heard the oil bottle squeeze and gurgle again. I had wondered and envisioned this happening, but when it actually did my giggle-holding-back became twice as difficult. She poured some oil into one hand and then proceeded to rub it all over my back, one-handedly, like I was a piece of meat getting slathered up for the oven. The back massage itself was okay. But I was also gradually becoming aware of her slightly long nails and rough edged fingers. Don't giggle, don't giggle...

The most poignant moment between Olga and I was when she worked her way up to my shoulders. I sensed her hands grab the opposite side of the head rest and actually pull it toward herself. Olga is a fairly hefty woman, and so the right side of my head was forcefully snuggled right into her protruding abdomen. I couldn't figure out why this was necessary, but Olga seemed to think it was. And as she worked her way up and down my back and across my shoulders, the right side of my head had no choice but to rub back and forth along her tummy, the table in full wobble.

The inevitable "flip" came and then I felt acutely naked under the thin revealing sheet. Back to the legs, then arms again. Then hands. She stroked my hand and brought her fingers up through mine, three times each time. The inclination to leap off the table grew ever so urgeful. As well as the contraction-like urges to giggle.

She worked her way up to my neck and shoulders again. She started breathing heavily. I caught several wifs of her coffee breath.

The massage finally came to an end. I don't think it lasted the full hour, but I wasn't complaining. Olga inquired as to how I enjoyed it? "Oh, fine!" I said in a high pitched voice. "Thanks!" She proceeded to rub me down with a hot wet towel. This was the nicest feature of the massage and I mostly enjoyed it. Lord knows the amount of oil all over my body needed all the help that wet towel could give.

Proudly having held in my giggles through the whole experience, I paid at the front desk on my way out. "Would you like to add anything extra?" asked the gentleman. "Could I keep anything back?" would have been a more appropriate question. I assured him I did not. But I guess it was only 40$. And though I left the shop feeling more tense then when I arrived, I haven't laughed this hard and long for a very long time. Didn't relieve any muscle tension but sure helped to relieve some of another kind! Thanks Olga.