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I live a pretty average annoyed life. Wednesdays, I take a longer lunch break to make it down to the Hampton shopping center for a massage. You understand massage decreases stress and anxiety and improves self-confidence. Those are things the modern-day male has to worry about. In between Benny's Tacos and Ever Clean Dry Cleaner, there is a little glass door to a affordable massage place. The waiting area with a cheap workplace carpet is tiny. There are 2 blue plastic chairs and three people standing. They are scrawny middle-aged mothers who actually need a massage. There is the odd potbellied, male city services blue-collar worker who feels out of place but extremely unbiased about trying it. All of us try not to touch each other, not breathe too loudly and discover an empty area to stare at without in fact looking like we are staring. We require a secondary area to change back-and-forth in between, so that it seems like we are completely comfy.
It's $40 for an hour. I would not waste money on a high-end of over $100 for an hour of sensation good. So the place has to be super-efficient. The college woman behind the counter is talking on the phone and scolding an older consumer for not tipping enough at the same time. A slim massage therapist, who is evidently new, looks afraid to disrupt the receptionist to learn who her next client is. An older tall male therapist behind her pressed the skinny massage therapist aside to take the centre of the waiting room to bark out: Who's here for Lorenz?
I try to stay out of the fray of massage therapists and customers pairing up on the hour. I try to let opportunity choose the therapist and be non-discriminating. There is a continuous turn-over due to the fact that many newly finished massage therapists understand that the profession isn't for them. That day was a good day. When just debris was left in the waiting space and a mindless Styrofoam cup on the floor, a brief, slim, young white woman called out my name. She wore a casual tee shirt with a huge print and exercise pants. We strolled down the poorly lit corridor with many doors leading into treatment rooms. The therapy spaces were all the same. They were tiny. The massage table didn't even suit straight. It was diagonally in the space. The door didn't open totally. I sort of needed to squeeze myself past the cushioned foam to enter an open enough area. There was soft music playing from a cheap radio alarm clock. A candle light was flickering in the corner. Ah, this was going to be my sanctuary for the next hour from the stress at work. I had actually endured the parking lot battle to get a area and the waiting room. I would be able to zone out.
When Angie flicked her finger casually, in fact with almost a disrespect, for me to undress and lie down, I understood something was different with that brand-new girl. Her hand flick seemed like a South Central hood rat telling somebody: Yo, slam it down there! It was extremely different from the New Age caring-- Oh my god, has your aura been bruised by the world? mindset. There was no worried question about any locations on my body that might trouble me. I kind of liked it. I'm not at all a submissive person who yearns to be bossed around to clean up the toilet. There was a freshness and direct connection in that. It seemed like a wake-up call. Hey, someone is breaking the veneer of the soft elevator music of daily veneer. She is going to engage with you in a way that's new and keeps you on your toes. While I undressed with her outside the door, I questioned what sort of message it would be. I suspected that she didn't have a great deal of training and rather fell under it with very little training. It probably wasn't going to be a high-quality massage, however when one gets a massage, the body listens with 100% attention to every touch. The accidents or mistakes sometimes offer the most interesting feelings to feel. That's what you get for a $40 massage. As soon as I 'd close my eyes and feel her hands on my back, there would not be any distinction between a high-end massage location and this.
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