The Brazilian.

Sometimes, instead of jumping off a cliff, I go on Groupon and buy myself a massage.  So, last week, I used my Groupon and got a massage.  I arrived at the place Downtown, and was very interested to find that it was hidden in the back corner of some tiny little plaza.  I turned some corners, walked up some stairs, and crept into what looked like the reception room of a 3 person office.  The lamps had strange fabrics hanging over them, the light was a little too dim for my comfort, and there were butterflies decorated across the room.  One word ran through my brain the instant I walked in: sketch.  Then again, that’s what I get for using Groupon.

Anyway, I was instantly greeted by the man I had talked with on the phone in scheduling my appointment.  I recognized him because he had a very distinct Brazillian accent (I only know the accent was Brazillian because I asked him.) We did the whole check in process, whereafter he said HE would be ready in a few minutes.  My dumb little self assumed that he was off fetching the real massage therapist–I don’t know where I thought another person could possibly be hiding in that tiny little place–but alas, he was not.  He returned to where I was sitting, and led me to a dimmed, warm room.  It was then that I realized I was about to receive a massage from a Brazillian man.

Now, listen. I have had a few massages in my day (#firstworldproblems #grouponforever).  And my masseuse has always, always been a woman.  I think I requested a woman the first time I got a massage…I think it was like my 18th birthday or something…but after that I never thought to request a woman.  Nevertheless, I have always received a female masseuse.  And therefore I feel justified in always expecting one.

So, I was a little surprised (and not gonna lie, a little nervous) to discover I was about to get a rub down by some random guy.  Most of my nerves came from the fact that we just had a case in the firm I work at dealing with a woman who was raped during a massage in San Diego.  So, of course, my mind instantly started playing with the possibility of me getting raped during my massage.  And when I wasn’t thinking about that, I was still running through a number of thoughts: Is he going to see me naked? Is he going to be massaging my butt? Is he gay? 

And, at the risk of having every reader picture me naked, I will relate the events that followed after he left the room:

As customary, I stripped down and lied onto the massage table, face down, with as much of my body under the sheet as I could manage.  Homeboy knocked and came in soon after. I kept my head down on the massage table, because I knew as soon as I raised my head and saw him seeing me, I was going to feel awkward.  After playing around with some of the massage oils, he proceeded into this speech about how I “just needed to relax.”  That was it.  I was definitely getting raped.

He started the massage, and after the first few minutes, I quickly got over the fact that a guy was massaging me.  After all, he was doing a fantastic job.  As he worked deeper into my back, I fell deeper into relaxation….until….

“JUST RELAX” 

…came WHOOSHING into my ears.  Literally.  The guy put his lips right up to my ears, and whispered in a very soft, very foreign, and very trying-to-be-sexy-but-not-working voice the words “Just relax.” What on earth was going on?  Being woken up by that type of noise right in my ear is supposed to put me at ease?  And don’t worry, this didn’t just happen once. If I had to guess, I would say the creepy foreign sexy-but-not-really voice was right up to my ear about every 5 minutes or so of the entire massage. But alas, sometimes the voice varied and would say  “JUST TAKE A DEEP, DEEP BREATH.”  First, I thought I was being Punk’d.  This was just too weird.  After I realized that Ashton wasn’t coming out, I came to terms with the fact that I was going to just have to spend the rest of the time actively holding back my laughter.

Then came the part when he massaged my legs.  Again, he starts out doing a fabulous job.  But then, I realize my legs are being lifted off the ground and wrapping around this guys head.  I couldn’t tell you what exactly he was doing other than trying to get me into some yoga pose.  As the sheet I was under danced on the verge of exposing all of my lower half, the more I focused my thoughts on convincing myself that the man massaging me was gay.  Especially when his hands got further and further up my legs, I was screaming inside my head, “YEP AUDREY, HE’S DEFINITELY GAY. DEFINITELY. YOU ARE DEFINITELY BEING MASSAGED BY A GAY MAN. NOPE, NOT A RAPIST. NOT AT ALL.” The fact that he had a foreign accent definitely helped convince myself that he was gay.  However, it definitely did not help my theory that he wasn’t a rapist.

After the full hour or so, my massage was over.  Although there were definitely some weird parts, lots of breathing, and lots of him all up in my ear, nothing inappropriate happened.  In fact, he did a good job (especially considering the price I paid.)  Moral of the story: Don’t let the stuff you hear about in the legal community make you paranoid about the world.  Just because someone else suffers a crime, or is involved in a lawsuit, does not mean that you ever will.  And just because I had a massage during which a Brazilian whispered sweet nothings into my ear the entire time, doesn’t mean you will hear sweet nothings when you get a massage.  But if you do, I promise, it will be a real treat.

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