male masseuses: not relationship-friendly

Posted by mason at 1:12 pm on Friday, June 19th, 2009.

Now, I know what you must be thinking: where does he get off being so sexist? But just hear me out before you cast aspersions my way. I had an epiphany on this subject as a result of an incident that occurred while on vacation in Mexico with my girlfriend. As the story goes, my girlfriend had arranged for us to have an in-room couples massage one afternoon on our terrace by the beach. Sounds incredible right? Um just wait. 

When she alerted me to these plans, I immediately asked her if the masseuses were male or female. She shot me back the look (guys, you know the look… it happens when she's trying to figure out if you're being a total scumbag or have just gone temporarily insane). Thankfully for me, my girlfriend assumes it is usually the latter. But after that awkward pause, she then explained that we were getting one of each. Obviously I was hoping for two females because I wasn't digging the 50 / 50 odds of having a male masseuse caress me to the sound of the ocean's waves. But part of me simply assumed that she would take the guy and I would get the girl, sort of like nature's law in effect. Yeah, not so much…

Once the masseuses set up their tables, I decided to turn away for one second. And before I knew it, my lovely girlfriend was already neck-deep in her massage with the female masseuse. Meanwhile, I had Octavio (yes, real name) motioning me towards him with a giant grin on his face… the sort of grin I have on my face when I‘m about to plow through a pulled pork sandwich. Yes, that grin horrifies me night and day. You know what was even more horrifying? The massage itself…

Octavio didn't really massage me; his approach was more of a rubbing motion. In fact, I felt like some piece of meat more than once during this massage, like my dignity was being compromised. Occasionally, I would have to pretend that a bug was on me and jostle myself, ensuring that Octavio knew I wasn't in some deep sleep or trance. I was five-cups-of-coffee alert so that this pseudo massage he was giving me stayed on course. Funny, I always felt that I'd be in a holding cell at Riker's Island when this situation came about, not on vacation with my girlfriend… but that's an aside.

As soon as the massage was mercifully over, I jumped up, thanked him for the memories and put my clothing on at warp speed. He gave me his card on the way out, which I immediately lit on fire…before trying to light myself on fire. The moral of the story here is: when getting couple's massages, it's best to request two female masseuses (preferably weighing in around a douce-and-a-half a piece with matching moustaches) to do the job. That way, you can avoid reenacting scenes from Deliverance and turning a romantic scenario into a prolonged fight. No need for us to rely on astrological or psychological expertise, just first-hand experience here.