Sunday September 2nd
8:00pm
So I've been reading this 50 Shades of Grey business, and quite frankly, it's bullshit. Ladies,(and gentlemen, I don't hate or discriminate) if you want to be aroused, just go to an Indian spa. Use that worthless excuse for a steamy romance novel for kindling to make a sexy fire that you'll want to roll around in front of on a mink rug after experiencing what I just experienced. It was not my intention of course, to get aroused at the spa, I simply felt that after two months of dealing with a shit dance studio I deserved a little lovin. To escape the bullshit and pretend for a day that I was on vacation. Well let me tell you, I got much more than I bargained for...
First of all, lest we forget I am still in India so prices may be cheap but with them come minimal customer service. Minimal effort period for that matter. For $150 I received a 60 minute full body hot oil massage, a 60 minute facial, a much needed brazilian wax, even more necessary eyebrow threading (I basically have only one right now), hair spa (translation:deep conditioning treatment), and a manicure. Today I would be getting the body massage and the facial, the rest will be saved for closer to when I leave so I don't return to Canada looking like a Yeti. I arrive there and they have everything mixed up and my appointments are all over the place. I am not surprised. Regardless of it being a "high standard" spa, again, I am still in India. So I wait another half an hour on top of the 15 minutes it took for them to even register the fact that I was here waiting in the first place. Finally we are on track and I am summoned for my massage. Now this massage was chosen for it's anti migraine benefits; a 40 minute head massage with a constant drizzle of hot oil on the forehead, followed by 20 minutes of full body rub down.
I enter the room and am given a potato sack in disguise as a robe. I nude up and sack on and sit on the side chair and wait. Wait for the unexpected. A woman enters, another woman enters. One woman heats up oil while the other woman stands there, they are both blabbing in hindi. The oil woman brings over a bowl of oil and literally dumps it on the top of my head while I'm sitting in the chair. She starts massaging. And I am really trying desperately to keep an open mind and praying to god that this is not the 40 minute "oil drizzling" head massage. I am sitting in a chair, with a bowl of oil on my head, dripping down my face, listening to two Indian hens jibber jabber. Ah yes, relaxation at it's finest. She rubs my head a bit (perhaps she is just warming up?) because finally she tells me to lay down on the table. Thank god. I was really getting worried there. I am spread on a wooden massage table underneath a giant pot with a funnel on the bottom. The oil lady wraps some gauze like eye piece around my eyes and everything goes black. Blackness and hindi jabber. I wrongfully assume that once human meets massage table the hens will shut the fuck up. No. The entire hour I listened to them talk. At least it was in Hindi. They could have been talking about me for all I knew. Stupid white girl.
But back to my massage. Once I managed to tune out the Indian cast of The View, I was actually able to enjoy myself. Do you even realize what a constant flow of hot oil on your head feels like? I get all hot and bothered just thinking about it. It's incredible. Mind blowing even. And they move the pot so the drizzle changes from still, to back and forth, to figure 8's and circles. It's tantalizing. And on top of this you are getting a complete head rub down. I have a lot of head. This woman, I swear, grew 3 more pairs of hands, cuz she was all over that shit. There were parts of my head she caressed that I didn't even know existed. I was in heaven. There is no other fitting way to describe what was happening north of my body. And of course because I am in India, the masseuse misunderstood what she was supposed to be doing and gave me a full 60 minute head massage. So when they said I was finished, I was all uh hell no. So on top of this, I also got my 20 minute full body bliss (despite the masseuses reluctancy to continue... she was pissed. Lovely, an angry masseuse, hot oils, and a naked, helpless Chelsea.)
This is where things got heated. I mean heated. Now granted, I have only ever received one professional massage prior to this, so perhaps I'm a tad naive (but still smart naive, not stupid, pansy ass Anastasia naive... if we're still comparing this to 50 Shades), but I'm not confident what went on from this point on is even legal...
I am now standing in the room alone with the masseuse. She throws me some paper granny panties and tells me to lose the sack. So I do. Lay down. My lack of experience makes me ask on my back or front? Back. Well this is odd, but ok. So there I lay, back down boobs up. Lady Masseuse turns around to face me, her eyes go wider than her sockets and she yells EXCUSE ME! OTHER SIDE! Like I'm some pervert assaulting her with a titty show. Lady you said on my back, come on now. So now it's awkward. I've now angered and offended her. Hello 3rd degree burns and unnecessary pressure points. But to my ever so pleasurable surprise, her 4 pairs of hands showed no hatred. Just a whole lot of sexy times...
She started at my feet, worked her way up to the calves, check, thighs, check, buttocks... alright, quite thorough, check, back, shoulders, arms, hands, neck, check, check, check, check, check. Ok turn over. Oh really? So now you're cool with seeing my boobs. This country really is bipolar. So I turn over and the process repeats face up. Feet, check. calves, check. And so on and so forth. Have you ever had your stomach massaged? There is something so incredibly sensual about having your stomach rubbed. I don't know if it's because it's seldom touched, or perhaps it's due to some baby making hormone signals that surge through a woman's body when your uterus is being stroked, but sweet lord is it sensational. But then this happened. The stroking continues onward and upward and I suddenly find my breasts her next target. Yes, for the second time in India, my boobs have been grabbed without my permission. Grabbed is an understatement. Grabbed, tossed, rubbed, jiggled, milked..insert any adjective here; she did it all. Of course I was caught off guard, how nuts is this? But I mean... it's been 3 months people, the girls could use a little lovin and really, this is the most recognition they've gotten since they sprouted some 10 years ago. They deserve a little spotlight. All breasts aside, it was incredibly fantastic. I've never been so lubed up and rubbed down in my life. I could have mounted a rocking horse and been happy at that moment. Ok calm yourself Chelsea, it's over. Now pull yourself together, it's facial time. Now I'm a facial virgin, and I'm not ashamed to say it. So again, perhaps I'm just inexperienced but I am not sure I was ok with what went down in that room. I do not think I liked it. But then I did like it. And then I reeeaaally liked it.
It starts with goop. Ridiculous amounts of goop, all over your face. The first layer was not good. It smelled of something that belonged in my dance bag. Old, sweaty mildew and decaying ballet shoes. And it's not like I could avoid the smell either, the woman practically suffocated me with her mildew goop drenched fingers. Her process was constant, vigorous finger strokes over my face, focusing mostly around my chin and lips, meaning directly under my nose. She kept swishing her fingers back and forth under my nose covering my nostrils to the point that I literally could not breathe. And she shellacked my mouth shut so no help there. I thought for a moment I might die. That moment was when, on top of depriving my body of oxygen, she put some kind of sauna like heat lamp directly in front of my face. So now I'm hardly breathing, and any air I am grasping at is hot, steamy sauna air. Cause of death: vanity. I'm sure I can see the heavens about to open up when she finally frees my nose. I can feel the colour purple slowly leave my nearly deceased face as I struggle to regulate my panting.
The next layer of goop was pleasant though, borderlining on delicious if you could eat smells. This goop was super thick, gobs upon gobs being smothered over my face, the rich smell of peppermint welcomed by my expanding nostrils. It reminded me of peppermint frosting and I imagined my face a giant chocolate cupcake as she swirled the frosty goop in circles and loops, a line of drool escaping my shellacked lips and forcing its way down my frosted chin. I'd be embarrassed if I wasn't so wrapped up in the idea of a chocolate peppermint buttercream bliss of a cupcake. And with sweet, sugary carbs on the brain, the face massage that followed became that much more R rated. Now maybe it's just me, but the only thing more seductive than getting your belly rubbed is the caress of one's eyebrows. Don't even knock it till you've tried it. Ok, granted, my idea of sexual might be a bit tainted considering I've pratically been revirginized over here but I swear to you, you let a woman rub a brow and you'll never know such pleasure. I moaned. I did. I moaned. Ecstasy in the form of a fresh face and a limber bod. Screw Christian Grey and his wench of a cry baby. You want sultry, go to Pachouli. I don't even know what that translates to, I assume so sort of soft core prostitution ( I did pay a woman to touch my boobs) And hey, if it's really the S+M that turns your crank, just schedule a brazilian first. Done. But be warned... they will wax your ass. And I don't mean the standard back door business, they will wax you cheek for cheek. I felt robbed. But I guess smooth as a baby's bottom has a whole new meaning now...
And the best part of all of this? When you're done you just walk right out of there and leave without hearing anyone say "laters baby". Who writes this shit? Honestly.
8:00pm
So I've been reading this 50 Shades of Grey business, and quite frankly, it's bullshit. Ladies,(and gentlemen, I don't hate or discriminate) if you want to be aroused, just go to an Indian spa. Use that worthless excuse for a steamy romance novel for kindling to make a sexy fire that you'll want to roll around in front of on a mink rug after experiencing what I just experienced. It was not my intention of course, to get aroused at the spa, I simply felt that after two months of dealing with a shit dance studio I deserved a little lovin. To escape the bullshit and pretend for a day that I was on vacation. Well let me tell you, I got much more than I bargained for...
First of all, lest we forget I am still in India so prices may be cheap but with them come minimal customer service. Minimal effort period for that matter. For $150 I received a 60 minute full body hot oil massage, a 60 minute facial, a much needed brazilian wax, even more necessary eyebrow threading (I basically have only one right now), hair spa (translation:deep conditioning treatment), and a manicure. Today I would be getting the body massage and the facial, the rest will be saved for closer to when I leave so I don't return to Canada looking like a Yeti. I arrive there and they have everything mixed up and my appointments are all over the place. I am not surprised. Regardless of it being a "high standard" spa, again, I am still in India. So I wait another half an hour on top of the 15 minutes it took for them to even register the fact that I was here waiting in the first place. Finally we are on track and I am summoned for my massage. Now this massage was chosen for it's anti migraine benefits; a 40 minute head massage with a constant drizzle of hot oil on the forehead, followed by 20 minutes of full body rub down.
I enter the room and am given a potato sack in disguise as a robe. I nude up and sack on and sit on the side chair and wait. Wait for the unexpected. A woman enters, another woman enters. One woman heats up oil while the other woman stands there, they are both blabbing in hindi. The oil woman brings over a bowl of oil and literally dumps it on the top of my head while I'm sitting in the chair. She starts massaging. And I am really trying desperately to keep an open mind and praying to god that this is not the 40 minute "oil drizzling" head massage. I am sitting in a chair, with a bowl of oil on my head, dripping down my face, listening to two Indian hens jibber jabber. Ah yes, relaxation at it's finest. She rubs my head a bit (perhaps she is just warming up?) because finally she tells me to lay down on the table. Thank god. I was really getting worried there. I am spread on a wooden massage table underneath a giant pot with a funnel on the bottom. The oil lady wraps some gauze like eye piece around my eyes and everything goes black. Blackness and hindi jabber. I wrongfully assume that once human meets massage table the hens will shut the fuck up. No. The entire hour I listened to them talk. At least it was in Hindi. They could have been talking about me for all I knew. Stupid white girl.
But back to my massage. Once I managed to tune out the Indian cast of The View, I was actually able to enjoy myself. Do you even realize what a constant flow of hot oil on your head feels like? I get all hot and bothered just thinking about it. It's incredible. Mind blowing even. And they move the pot so the drizzle changes from still, to back and forth, to figure 8's and circles. It's tantalizing. And on top of this you are getting a complete head rub down. I have a lot of head. This woman, I swear, grew 3 more pairs of hands, cuz she was all over that shit. There were parts of my head she caressed that I didn't even know existed. I was in heaven. There is no other fitting way to describe what was happening north of my body. And of course because I am in India, the masseuse misunderstood what she was supposed to be doing and gave me a full 60 minute head massage. So when they said I was finished, I was all uh hell no. So on top of this, I also got my 20 minute full body bliss (despite the masseuses reluctancy to continue... she was pissed. Lovely, an angry masseuse, hot oils, and a naked, helpless Chelsea.)
This is where things got heated. I mean heated. Now granted, I have only ever received one professional massage prior to this, so perhaps I'm a tad naive (but still smart naive, not stupid, pansy ass Anastasia naive... if we're still comparing this to 50 Shades), but I'm not confident what went on from this point on is even legal...
I am now standing in the room alone with the masseuse. She throws me some paper granny panties and tells me to lose the sack. So I do. Lay down. My lack of experience makes me ask on my back or front? Back. Well this is odd, but ok. So there I lay, back down boobs up. Lady Masseuse turns around to face me, her eyes go wider than her sockets and she yells EXCUSE ME! OTHER SIDE! Like I'm some pervert assaulting her with a titty show. Lady you said on my back, come on now. So now it's awkward. I've now angered and offended her. Hello 3rd degree burns and unnecessary pressure points. But to my ever so pleasurable surprise, her 4 pairs of hands showed no hatred. Just a whole lot of sexy times...
She started at my feet, worked her way up to the calves, check, thighs, check, buttocks... alright, quite thorough, check, back, shoulders, arms, hands, neck, check, check, check, check, check. Ok turn over. Oh really? So now you're cool with seeing my boobs. This country really is bipolar. So I turn over and the process repeats face up. Feet, check. calves, check. And so on and so forth. Have you ever had your stomach massaged? There is something so incredibly sensual about having your stomach rubbed. I don't know if it's because it's seldom touched, or perhaps it's due to some baby making hormone signals that surge through a woman's body when your uterus is being stroked, but sweet lord is it sensational. But then this happened. The stroking continues onward and upward and I suddenly find my breasts her next target. Yes, for the second time in India, my boobs have been grabbed without my permission. Grabbed is an understatement. Grabbed, tossed, rubbed, jiggled, milked..insert any adjective here; she did it all. Of course I was caught off guard, how nuts is this? But I mean... it's been 3 months people, the girls could use a little lovin and really, this is the most recognition they've gotten since they sprouted some 10 years ago. They deserve a little spotlight. All breasts aside, it was incredibly fantastic. I've never been so lubed up and rubbed down in my life. I could have mounted a rocking horse and been happy at that moment. Ok calm yourself Chelsea, it's over. Now pull yourself together, it's facial time. Now I'm a facial virgin, and I'm not ashamed to say it. So again, perhaps I'm just inexperienced but I am not sure I was ok with what went down in that room. I do not think I liked it. But then I did like it. And then I reeeaaally liked it.
It starts with goop. Ridiculous amounts of goop, all over your face. The first layer was not good. It smelled of something that belonged in my dance bag. Old, sweaty mildew and decaying ballet shoes. And it's not like I could avoid the smell either, the woman practically suffocated me with her mildew goop drenched fingers. Her process was constant, vigorous finger strokes over my face, focusing mostly around my chin and lips, meaning directly under my nose. She kept swishing her fingers back and forth under my nose covering my nostrils to the point that I literally could not breathe. And she shellacked my mouth shut so no help there. I thought for a moment I might die. That moment was when, on top of depriving my body of oxygen, she put some kind of sauna like heat lamp directly in front of my face. So now I'm hardly breathing, and any air I am grasping at is hot, steamy sauna air. Cause of death: vanity. I'm sure I can see the heavens about to open up when she finally frees my nose. I can feel the colour purple slowly leave my nearly deceased face as I struggle to regulate my panting.
The next layer of goop was pleasant though, borderlining on delicious if you could eat smells. This goop was super thick, gobs upon gobs being smothered over my face, the rich smell of peppermint welcomed by my expanding nostrils. It reminded me of peppermint frosting and I imagined my face a giant chocolate cupcake as she swirled the frosty goop in circles and loops, a line of drool escaping my shellacked lips and forcing its way down my frosted chin. I'd be embarrassed if I wasn't so wrapped up in the idea of a chocolate peppermint buttercream bliss of a cupcake. And with sweet, sugary carbs on the brain, the face massage that followed became that much more R rated. Now maybe it's just me, but the only thing more seductive than getting your belly rubbed is the caress of one's eyebrows. Don't even knock it till you've tried it. Ok, granted, my idea of sexual might be a bit tainted considering I've pratically been revirginized over here but I swear to you, you let a woman rub a brow and you'll never know such pleasure. I moaned. I did. I moaned. Ecstasy in the form of a fresh face and a limber bod. Screw Christian Grey and his wench of a cry baby. You want sultry, go to Pachouli. I don't even know what that translates to, I assume so sort of soft core prostitution ( I did pay a woman to touch my boobs) And hey, if it's really the S+M that turns your crank, just schedule a brazilian first. Done. But be warned... they will wax your ass. And I don't mean the standard back door business, they will wax you cheek for cheek. I felt robbed. But I guess smooth as a baby's bottom has a whole new meaning now...
And the best part of all of this? When you're done you just walk right out of there and leave without hearing anyone say "laters baby". Who writes this shit? Honestly.
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