Massage?

You know those times when you've got a really uneasy feeling about what's going on, because you think you came to one place, but have a creeping suspicion that you're really somewhere else that you don't want to be? No? Not ringing any bells? Let me be a little more explicit about what I'm talking about: Danny and I went to a "massage" place that looked suspiciously like a brothel.

Before we embark any further on this journey, I should make a few things clear: this massage parlor was not in the red light district, and it had an actual, legitimate looking menu of different types of massage (foot, "health promoting," shiatsu, Thai walk-on-your-back, &c), so there was some compelling evidence against its being a den of iniquity. The reason I didn't walk out after all my suspicions was that it would simply be so embarrassing to have made this kind of faux pax. This kind of mistake would be on par with walking into a legitimate dentist's office, then telling the receptionist, "I'm so sorry, I have to leave. I thought this was a dentist, not a whore house." What if you walked into a restaurant, mistook the maitre 'd for a drug dealer, then proceeded to berate him for the way that your cousin's heroin addiction ended up taking his life?

So this is the sort of bind in which we found ourselves: asking whether we were actually in a whore house would be really insulting to the massage parlor if the answer came back negative. But if the place actually were a whore house, making such an inquiry would probably be mistaken for an interest in such an establishment. Is this making sense to anyone, or is this just another case of my neurosis overtaking rational thought? In any event, here's how things played out.

Clue #1
Even before we entered I began developing these apprehensions because the "massage" sign was in red neon. Again, we weren't in the little alley that hangs red lanterns outside its "barbershops" at night, nor is every store with a scarlet, neon sign in this town a place offering love for rent by the hour. Nonetheless, that color just put me ill at ease; I was trained from an early age to interpret red as "STOP!" or "danger ahead."

Clue #2
After ordering our health massages, Danny and I were led back to the massage rooms. On the hallway were screens on which were hung photos of half naked women. "Red flag! Red flag!" the neurotic voice in my head warned. (Seriously, what non-sex industry-related business puts up provocative images of ladies à poil? We're not talking tasteful, classical Greek sculpture type nudity.)

Clue #3
After passing down the Hall of Shame, we were deposited in room, which looked almost exactly like a hotel room: two twin beds, a TV on a dresser, large window with curtains conspicuously drawn to keep out the unwanted gaze of the outside world.

"Danny," I said to my partner in what-looked-to-be-imminent crime. "I'm nervous. Do you think this place is legit? I mean, the neon sign, the nudey women in those pictures, the fact that our 'massage' is being offered on bed? Do you think we should go? I'm scared."

"Really? I think it's okay. If it turns out to be an 'informal massage' [local euphemism for sex-for-pay], we can always just leave.

"Okay," I agreed, "but I've just got a bad feeling about this..."

Clue #4
So the "massage practitioners" came in, and of course they were both female. To facilitate the rub-down, I took off my jacket, leaving on my t-shirt, pants, and all other clothing; disrobing in front of two women whom I highly suspected of being prostitutes was more than a little disquieting.

My masseuse had me lie on my back, instead of my stomach—thereby allowing her full access to my no-no areas! I had received professional massages twice before, and in both instances, I was asked to lie face down, so in contrast, this new position felt both very unorthodox and potentially dangerous/sexual/scary. In conjunction with clue numbers one through three (and the disconcertion I was already feeling thanks to having removed some clothing), this new development turned the little voice in my head into a gargantuan, megaphone-assisted banshee who shrieked "NO! NO! NO! PLEASE DON'T STEAL MY VIRGINITY! DON'T TOUCH MY WEE-WEE, MS. PROSTITUTE, PLEASE, I BEG YOU! LEAVE ME ALONE! I'M AN INNOCENT BOY WHO INNOCENTLY MISTOOK THIS HOUSE OF DEPRAVITY FOR A LEGITIMATE MASSAGE PLACE!"

At this point, I think the "masseuse" was trying to say something to me, but I couldn't hear her above the hysterics errupting in my teeming brain. She proceeded to place a blanket over everything but my shoulders, which she rubbed down after giving me a nice scalp/neck massage. She then moved on to my left arm/hand, followed by my right arm/hand. [The masseuse did this trick in which she pulls a bunch of blood into my hand and traps it there for a few seconds, then releases it while simultaneously tickling my palms with her nails and blowing on them, all of which combine for a very cool, tingling effect.]

Clue #5 (sort of)
So things were starting to look a lot more legit, but then, while massaging my right arm, she rested my hand upon her shoulder, so at the angle I was at from lying on the bed, my limb grazed her mammary. Naturally, this gave rise to two worries: a)what if she actually is a prostitute; and b) what if she's not, but she's going to charge me extra for this non-requested "service"? The thought of being charged for sexual services but not actually having gotten any sex out of it really started to bother me.

The masseuse finished my chest and stomach, then did my legs. My thighs were pretty ticklish, especially the upper area near my groin, so I kept tensing up, which made that part of treatment difficulty to enjoy. I think she could tell that I wasn't so much into the kneading of my legs, so she switched to this karate chop type maneuver, which turned out to be more comfortable until she came perilously close to 'the boys', contact with whom would have been immensely painful.

After finishing my thighs, she did my calves (which I liked), then finally got around to my back. During the latter part of the massage, however, she kept answering her cell phone. I thought for that portion of the massage I should only pay half price since only one hand was actually doing its job, the other being employed for personal use.

So it turned out to be a real massage after all. Bummer. (O__o)