Who would have guessed that a full-body massage in Croatia also meant being in full-body view. There are moments in the retelling that we can't get the words out for the laughter. I dressed and quickly exited the spa.īarb's experience was equally awkward: She tried crawling under the paper liner on the massage table! But once over, the massage experience became funny. The massage ended without incident but I was tense and uptight, I was soaking wet and the paper sheeting on the massage table was in wet tatters all over the floor. I took a deep yoga breath, squeezed my eyes shut to avoid the embarrassment of eye contact, flipped over and positioned the towel over my breasts. This time, all my guy had was a hand towel. At home, the therapist holds up the sheets and blanket in a tent-like fashion while you turn over onto your back. All I could think about was what would I do if his hand went where it should not go?
My muscles were getting tighter and tighter as the minutes wore on. My masseur was skillful but I could not relax. When the therapist entered the room, he showed surprise that I was wearing panties but thankfully allowed me this small modicum of dignity. I lay face down and attempted repeatedly to adjust the tiny towel, but finally accepted that it wasn't going to cover up much anyway and left it rumpled on my shoulder blades.ĭid I mention I was sweating … profusely? The paper sheeting was disintegrating. I climbed onto the table feeling very naked with just my panties on and a hand towel for modesty. I took a deep breath and reminded myself that when in Rome, do as the Romans do. I wondered how Barb was doing with all of this. With a touch of disdain, he fetched me a towel from the hot tub. The thought of being naked on this naked table had me quickly following him out the door to inquire about cover-ups. The therapist excused himself to give me a few minutes alone to disrobe. I furtively glanced around the room looking for the sheets, blankets and pillows. It was bare except for a table covered with a strip of disposable paper. I ended up with a handsome, fit young man. Although there was a little bit of a language barrier when we went to the spa to book our appointments, Barb and I ended up choosing a full-body massage.īarb drew a young woman as her therapist. Tough cycling but an amazing experience.Īt the end of the second day, my friend Barb and I decided to treat ourselves to a massage in our hotel, a five-star beauty in the small coastal village of Postira on the island of Brac. This is a travel story that I'm called upon to tell over and over again, particularly after a few drinks and when the crowd longs for a good laugh.Įvery two years I co-ordinate a cycling trip for some friends. Tripping columns offer readers a chance to share their wild adventures.
I started to trawl websites for 'gay massage', 'gay friendly massage' 'male massage' Sensual male massage'. I looked through it and it didn't appeal, but I couldn't get my mind off the subject. Sometimes things don't go as planned – and those moments often make for the best stories. It was about a 50-year-old guy who was offering male massages in the North West.