The Spa Day Read Free

then I’ll start with the bamboo sticks.’
    ‘OK.’ That’s just about all I can manage. I often wonder if
they can hear you when you’re talking to the floor. I don’t know what oil he’s
using, but it smells fabulous. Could be lime. He walks over to his table and
takes one of the big bamboo sticks.
    ‘I’m going to start with the small of your bag, then slowly
work up to your shoulders and neck. You must tell me if it gets uncomfortable
or painful. This is like a Swedish massage, really, but the sticks make it less
painful. It’s a much deeper massage, as well. Don’t be surprised if you fall
asleep; lots of people do. I’ll poke you if you start to snore!’
    As soon as he starts to roll the bamboo stick up and down my
back, I can feel the tension starting to melt away. The fact that the sticks
are warm makes it a really, really pleasurable sensation. After two minutes, I
start to think that I’d like this to be done to me every day, though I don’t
think I earn enough to make that a genuine possibility.
    ‘How’s that feeling? Not too painful?’
    I think I’m saying ‘It’s great’, but I think it comes out as
‘ Mmm .’ He moves further up my back and rocks the
stick to and fro as if he’s using a rolling pin. Gradually, he increases the
pressure and it seems as if my vertebrae and back muscles are starting to separate.
When he gets up to my shoulders blades, he stops for a moment.
    ‘Hm. As you said, you have quite a bit of knotting up here.
I’ll need to put the pressure on a little bit. Not too much. That OK?’
    ‘Sure. Just do whatever it takes. I’ll scream loudly if it
gets too much.’
    ‘Just shouting out get your hands off me! would be fine. The
louder the better.’
    He pushes harder and I close my eyes really tightly to
absorb the pain and to stop myself crying out. I can feel the bamboo roll over
the knots and it really fucking hurts. I’m glad he can’t see my face. It can’t
be a very pretty picture; eyes tightly shut, teeth clenched, biting my lower
lip and silently mouthing ‘fuck’.
    I don’t think Clive has ever given me a massage in all the
time we’ve been seeing each other. Isn’t that what couples are meant to do?
Sometimes, at least? I gave him a book on sensual massage a couple of
Christmases ago – just as a subtle hint, you understand – but I don’t think I
ever saw it again. He probably didn’t read it. Maybe he binned it.
    James is moving up to my neck and shoulders now and it’s
even worse. As he hits a knot the size of The Titanic, I allow myself the
luxury of shouting ‘ Ow !’
    ‘Sorry. We’ll come back to that area later on.’
    ‘It’s alright. I was enjoying it.’
    ‘That’s what they all say.’
    He places the towel over my back and moves down to the soles
of my feet. I’m terrified it’s going to be ticklish and I’m going to make a
fool of myself by laughing, but the pressure is so firm that it bypasses the
tickle zone altogether and feels great.
    The back of the legs is another matter altogether. I don’t
think that the muscles there are used to this sort of treatment and it’s pretty
painful at first, but the warmth and, well, sensuality seems to over-ride that,
and I get used to it fairly quickly. I decide that I could live here, as long
as I could get Domino’s to deliver once a week!
    I’ve completely lost track of time and melt into a sort of
bamboo-sage haze. He works on the back of my thighs and on the sides of my
hips, this time using a different, thinner stick, which he also uses on my arms
and hands. He moves the towel from place to place so that only the area he’s
working on is revealed. I’m feeling so drowsy that I only just notice that he’s
stopped.
    ‘I’m just going to return to your knots and give them a
little extra pummelling, then we’ll have a bit of a break if you’re still
alive.’
    I can hear him moving around and look up to see him
returning with a shorter, but thicker bamboo