Masseur? Don’t mind if I do.

Author: Single. Approachable. Girl.
January 23, 2010


About 3 years ago I got into deep tissue/Thai massages. I go every now and then and since I’ve always had women massage therapists, it never crossed my mind to ask for a male. I figured it was like choosing an OB/GYN – probably best to have someone that knows their way around the course.

Then I met Darius, and I gained new perspective on the subject.

It all happened at my gym after yoga class. The masseurs and masseuses were standing outside the spa, offering free 5-minute chair massages as a way to market spa services.

I was approached by this very tall, polite, strong-looking masseur with a European accent (Darius) and he asked if I would like a massage. “Hmm…If I must.” So, I straddle the chair (it’s designed that way) and it doesn’t take me long to realize the vast difference between female and male massage therapists. Detail is probably unnecessary, but I’ll tell you that I was relaxed, excited and nervous all at the same time. Sound familiar? Under the guise of a massage, Darius’ hands “went places” that if a dater went on a first date, I would surely slap his hand away, go home and blog it out. It was clear that I would be scheduling an 80-minute massage with Darius A.S.A.P. …one where I wouldn’t be sweating through my sports bra.

To my disappointment, the 60- and the 80-minute Darius massages were out of my price range, so our time together would need to stay within 5-minute increments. But, on a positive note, Darius opened my eyes to the masseur – a good friend to the “it’s been a while” single girl. So the next time I scheduled an appointment at one of my local, less-expensive massage joints, I asked for a male therapist, naturally.

As I sat in the waiting area the anticipation began to build and I’ll admit my mind wondered into a slight daydream about what the next 60-minutes would entail. Strong manly hands…body oil…babbling brook in the background…

“Miss? I believe you’re my next appointment. My name is Mario.”

I came-to, looked at Mario, shook his soft, feminine hand and instantly, my sweet dream turned into a beautiful nightmare. Until that moment, it had not even occur to me that all male massage therapists did not look, feel and sound like Darius. I’m embarrassed to admit that if I had no moral compass I might have followed my superficial compass right back home. It shocked me to realize that I had no problem being touched by a masseur (and stranger no less) with strong hands, a tall physique and a deep European accent, but show me the exact antithesis of Darius and I was ready to interrupt the massage going on behind door #1 and ask for a masseuse/masseur swap.

In the end, Mario was a fine therapist, but the experience was more awkward than exciting, as he kept asking, “Is this OK? Am I hurting you? Is this pressure good?” I felt like I was taking a creepy oral exam.

So, maybe picking a massage therapist is like choosing a gynecologist. At least when a woman is touching the “no-first date” zones, you couldn’t care less what she looks like. Just so long as she’s heating up the…lotion.


One Response to “Masseur? Don’t mind if I do.”

  1. JC Says:

    So you did not like Mario because he was effeminate?

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