Bali has always been synonymous with two things: surfing and massages.
I’m still thinking about Surf, in the meantime I am training in preparation for some future waves.
For massage, after the first minute of acclimatization, it was love at first sight.
Here the spa are like ice cream bowls and are always opened.
We tempting and we experience,and experience more and more.
Yesterday a friend gave me the business card of a new spa to try: Devira – The Essence of Relaxation.
The message shines in my eyes as a heavenly vision.
I’m talking about ninety minutes of pure relaxation at the cost of 9 €.
I Book for this afternoon, thinking to the program of the morning that waiting for me to burn the pounds too much accumulated in the world of Advertising: cycling, running, swimming.
“I can also make a hard training, then later there is the mega relaxing massage”, I reflect an extreme thrill of enjoyment through my back.
I like Joe DiMaggio directed to home plate, I do 20km by bike, 8km of running and almost 1 kmin the swimming pool.
Counting calories consumed: around 1,300.
Result on my muscles: a tragedy.
The calf muscles pull as the strings of violin. The quadriceps supporting me only if I concentrate, while the back tilts and creaks alarmingly. On my shoulders seems that are placed two bricks filled with concrete. I try to shake the fatigue, but that’s worse than a leech. Tirelessly sucks any remaining energy.
Never mind, now there is the massage!
I stagger untill the parking lot.
I Check in the mythical Devira. They accompany me in a room with a comfortable bed and a headrest facing a soothing bouquet of flowers in a bowl of water, placed on a wooden floor.
I take off my clothes (except underwear) and I lay face down closing my eyes in the dark.
The masseuse enter and I pull a little on my head to greet her and to see if, by chance, she is more beautifull of the others previously encountered. There is no chance!
She looks me challenger, maybe she wanst to compete to see who has more body hair. I watch as she prepares oil and towels. She weigh sixty pounds. The body is squat, not fat. She looks like a bull, a little less hairy, but she’s just like a bull. I look at her hands. Nuclear energy, maden to absorb the full force of the body … and download it.
She starts from the back, with a little pressure. A thought crosses my mind fleeting but very clear: “ops”.
She sticks her fingers as awls between the shoulder blades. It seems she wants to draw a design on the sand, my body is the sand. My mouth opens in a muffled cry. She goes slowly, she takes her time and she traces.
My rib cage trembles when she passes with her finghers, then takes the correct position. My mouth is open. At the ends she finishes the herringbone pattern path then she collapses with all her weight on the left side of my back. Her forearm exercises the same pressure of a panzer on the wet soil . Now I’m the wet soil. My back form a hollow unnatural. Even I roll my eyes, squeezing them with the rhythm of each passages. She rolls from top to bottom, squeeze from the bottom upwards, going on for about twenty minutes.
Later, she passes to the shoulders.
Her fingers now look like hot coals can cause friction on contact. I lose saliva from my mouth. Where there was wood, there is now a lake. I do not scream.
Now it’s the turn of the buttocks.
She slips down my swimsuite. I am a little bite mbarrassed , but I have not the strength to protest.
“I hope she doesn’t do this even when I will be belly up,” I think with a weak smile. The smile fades. She start by my right gluteus attacking it as a white shark that smells a big, fat sea lion after a diet of anchovies. She strikes, penetrates and crushes it repeatedly. She is a housewife devoted to the dough. I’m the dough. I scream and struggled, only in my mind. The body remains stationary. She also stops and sighs for a while. Then begin with a right jab. Then left. Hitting my buttocks with some fists that even Rocky against a quarter pounder of meatI lose the match.
My face contorts as if she was pulling punches me in the face. KO.
Before fainting, I think, “I hope she doesn’t do this even when I will be belly up!”
It’ s already passed one hour. It seems ten. My legs hurt even before she starts.
The twins are contracted by prolonged exercises. She knows it. She feels them, then she takes the muscle and almost almost squeezes it in her fist.
I begin to fantasize about a possible revenge. “When she is distracted” – I think – I can open her mouth and swallowing down the massage oil! “.
It seems that she perceives my anger and responds. The nails are getting longer. They penetrate to the tendons. Tearing me apart psychologically, then she passes to my feett, hitting them as if they were her worst enemies.
I spend the last quarter remaining, recalling the message on the business card, while I grit my teeth in a carnival grin : The Essence of Relaxation!
What a Fuck!!