My Masseur

A few years ago I used to visit a masseaur on my doctor's recommendation. My slow deterioration of age, fitness and aches had gotme into this situationso I agreed a little TLC would be appropriate. Tis could not have been further from the truth of course. It is one thing to have your body soothed into a relaxed state but quite another to have those aches and pains identified and kneaded into submission by a skilled practitioner. Parting with a few dollars to satisfy the sadistic pleasure of a torturer was a bitter pill to swallow except that for the rest of that day the treatment received I felt reall well. My body felt cleansed of a myiad ills, albeit temporary but it did give me hope my body would not crumble around me.

My return visits were not regular at first but with such well being It encouraged me to attend on a monthly basis. Soon the manipulation, the music in the background and our two way conversations about everything under the sun soon made the visits quite a delight.

I say two way conversations; thisd is not quite truw. While the masseur was a young woman half my age chatted abot many things my own utterances were few. My response may be an admonition at her finding a reclacitrant tendon or a chat about our families, pets or holidays! If she was silent I too might drift off as I melted under her care

This of course was my undoing. Recieving treatment I was stripped down to my jocks and not a stitch more. Can you imagine my chagrin when on the massage table been lowered she tapped my shoulder to say "You can get up now", finding that she had put my socks on me! I gasped "I forgot to take my socks off".

At this she replied with a laugh "No! You were fast asleep I put them on for you." It is one thing to have a masseur, quite another to have a dresser too!"

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