So, I spontaneously paid ten Ront to be kneaded for five
minutes in one of those massage chairs in a shopping mall, on my way out.
The female assistant who received my money was temporarily
confused by my request to wipe down the chair before I occupied it. “You do know that sweat is really dilute
urine, and that some people don’t wash often or have dandruff or even
ringworm?” I cautioned. She arranged a spray bottle filled with what appeared
to be a window-cleaning product, using a cloth that would probably be green
again after laundering. Nonetheless, I proceeded to climb into the chair
without further comment in appreciation of her effort, and because of her sweet
disposition.
She switched it on.
Gradually it reclined as the knobs hidden in its framework
came to the surface and worked my muscles. I was left in a somewhat confused state,
really enjoying the sensation whilst feeling hellishly embarrassed that the
chairs were facing passing shoppers in their hordes. Why don’t they have them
face the other way, goodness me! I put on my sunglasses to block out the
circumstances and in case my eyes rolled back with pleasure, maintaining my
best poker-face. The leg extensions
squeezed around my calves, whilst my spine, neck and back of my head got
rhythmically pulsed and pounded. It was,
indeed, very effective.
And, then… a singular, large and bellicose knob suddenly
thrust up into my coccyx, and I yelped!
After that, I had the giggles as I covered my face with my hands…
remembering I was in public. The lady
assistant seemed to know exactly what had happened as she said, “What’s wrong,
Dahling… is it the one at the bum?” “Yes!” I exclaimed, “That knob, I can do
without!” Again, peals of laughter…
Buttock bump aside, I’d venture to say… it’s not a bad replacement
for a boyfriend. Good listener and
tireless massage therapist. Comfortable and flexible. Has excellent rhythm. Can
be switched on at the press of a button, and at whim. Just saying. But… naaaah.
