so I decided to call this blog by this title because as we were driving home, I saw a pair of the RHPS lips on the back of someone’s car … as I go on, you’ll get the ha-ha there.

GC and I have been less than kind on our bodies since leaving AZ – moving boxes here and there, lifting heavy-as-fuck IKEA shelving, futzing here and there around the home – all in our attempt to prettify our house. Add some stress of an ailing grandfather moving in with my mum back in Texas, the fact that I’m looking down the barrel of a REALLY big-ass IRS payment from my soon-to-be-fired accountant snafu, and the lovely mva vs. fencing (to be written about in the next blog, which will be chock full o’ picturesque goodness) … and you have one grouchy GCG which in turn makes for a less than slap-happy GC.

I decided to book us massages today. I did loads of research into different spas and such around the area before settling on this place. I can fully appreciate full service spas and the decadent fun of being steamed and exfoliated and buffed and shined to a high pro glow, but I was just looking for a reputable place to get tweaked and realigned and thankfully so, I found it!

We splurged on the longest sessions available and after completing a health questionnaire, were ushered quietly into different rooms with our respective masseurs and tally-ho! Let the relaxation and rubbins* begin šŸ™‚

Chris was to be mine and GC got George. I could have specified female but considering it was last minute, it was easiest to say we had no preference. And I really don’t have one as long as the RMT is capable and strong-handed. And with a scene change, I was there on the table, sheeted and blanketed as I lay on my belly. I was comfortable under my covers in my one article of clothing away from being au naturel. I focused on listening to the sounds of the room – the cello music playing softly in the corner, the trickle of water from a tabletop fountain, the muffled sounds of urban street activity, and the soothing voice of my masseur as he bade me to breathe deeply before he began.

A few deep breaths as my face rested in the terry-clothed doughnut of the table. I just let it go – thoughts of unpacking, the IRS, the anything and everything and I let the moment take over and I inhaled deeply through my nose, exhaling slowly through my mouth to get those goodly oxygenated ones going and also trying not to hear Kate Bush in my head singing. By the time I had exhaled my last deep breath, he began.

First the covers were gently drawn down, blanket first and then the sheet – not fast nor rough, preserving the modesty afforded to clients in this vulnerable position. My eyes were closed so I was allowing my tactile sense take over, enjoying the cotton of the sheet pull across my shoulders and small of my back. I heard his hands rub together with the oil and soon I knew that my muscles would be kneaded for the next ninety minutes. I smiled into my white doughnut and he began.

Thumbs into flesh, palms kneading, forearms running the length of my spine, shiatsu technique blending into deep tissue work … fingertips finding knots of tension and working them through into that fine line of pain that slips effortlessly into pleasure once you allow the pain to leave. The increasing heat of hands mixing with the blood rising to the upper most of my skin, the largest and soon-to-be-happiest organ in the human body. I found myself listening to the music more as he kneaded and manipulated me into a happy ball of relaxed dough. I imagined the bow drawing across the strings, the rhythm of movement making such heart-aching music and how the tones make me feel relaxed when I stop to listen. I’ve always been a sucker for strings, especially the soundtrack for a breathtakingly beautiful film.

I fell asleep for a few moments on the table, before I was awakened softly to flip over. I felt like I had fallen asleep in the sun – warm and languorous, not capable of quick movement. My eyes closed as my right foot experienced the joy of squeezing and human touch. As the catnap drifted away from my consciousness, it dawned on me that this was the first time in nearly seven years that another man touched my feet, much less the small of my back, a thigh or hell, even the rest of me!

It gave me a comfort to know that I’d been with someone for that long, longer than anyone I’ve ever relationshipped with and I smiled. Chris saw my smile and asked, “How I was doing?” Knowing it would take far too long to try to explain something whose relevance was important only to me, I nodded and gave the international thumbs up signal.

My time was soon up. I got dressed and met GC out in the lobby where a cool glass of water and a nice square of organic mint dark chocolate was waiting for me. I was light-headed but calm, and it felt like walking through water … warm, enveloping water. Sounds felt muffled and ambulating to the car felt heavenly. We waited for a while before heading out into traffic and the grocery store. I don’t know what I wanted to say in this blog. I seemed to have gone all over the page here. I know that I feel like a freshly baked and glazed pastry and the moment I feel the tension creeping back, away we go to get another massage!

Oh yeah, and this sign is at our local coffeehouse. It made me chuckle when I saw it.

Seeya on the flip side šŸ˜‰
– RelaxedGermanCityGirl

*rubbins – chiefly slang in the GermanCity household, used to mean massage or rubbing. Example – I am sore and would love some rubbins. Or, Nubbin loves da rubbins. The latter being a popular one in the house to say aloud.

Currently listening to: Tous Les Matins Du Monde (Bande Originale du Film) Soundtrack Import.

Meal: Late lunch at Duke’s on Green Lake. We split a blackened salmon Caesar salad followed by a lovely macadamia crusted halibut served with rice + grilled vegetables. Yum

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