TMI Thursday: Naked in a room with strangers

I know Lilu isn't doing her TMI Thursday segment anymore, but I had this post swirling around in my head and it's Thursday, so why not?

I've been getting a lot of massages lately.

I've been doing Insanity since the beginning of August, and it's six days a week of crazy hard workouts.  It's intense and difficult and results in much soreness and exhaustion.  And around the time I started the program, I signed up for a couple of Groupon-type email services that send you coupons for different local services like restaurants and carpet cleaning and spa treatments.  Lots and lots of spa treatments.  Every week I get at least two offers for discounts on things like mani-pedis and facials and massages.  So I decided to try to use them to get a massage at least once a week.

It's been great.  It's relaxing and therapeutic and rejuvenates my muscles so that I can keep up with the workouts.

This week the workouts ramp up to a higher level of intensity.  As hard as I thought the first month was, month two is ridiculous.  The workouts are longer and everything is just more.  More jumping, more crazy combinations of push-ups and sprints and squats and punches, more time.  So I'm burning an assload of calories and my muscles are screaming and I'm sore and tired.

And did I mention the push-ups?  Jesus H.  Christ on a fucking breadstick.  Endless push-ups, and in more varieties than I thought possible.  Moving push-ups, side push-ups, push-up jacks, push-ups push-ups push-ups push-ups.

So even though it was only Wednesday, and my rest day isn't until Sunday, my pectoral muscles and arms were killing me and I knew I needed some relief.  A friend of mine owns a massage school and his son just finished his training and is looking to start up his business and build a clientele, so he's doing in-home massages for a great discount.  So I scheduled 90 minutes for last night.

Now, one of the things about massage that always strikes me is the level of trust involved.  Every week, I go to a strange place where I meet someone I've never met before, and I take off all of my clothes and this strange person puts on some music and rubs their hands all over my body for an hour or two.  Or a stranger comes to my house and I take off all my clothes and this strange person puts on some music and then rubs their hands all over my body for an hour or two.

Either way, it's a lot of nakedness and rubbing and strangers.

And the trust has to go both ways.  I trust that the therapist will respect boundaries and keep the sheet strategically placed and not be an axe murderer or a serial rapist.  And he or she has to trust that I will likewise respect boundaries and not make an inappropriate pass or request and not be an axe murderer or a rapist and that I will pay the right amount when the service is rendered.

Last night my friend's son did a phenomenal job.  He really paid attention to the areas that needed work, was very thorough and professional, and played great music.

As I lay there on the table, naked except for a thin sheet, with a young man with big, strong hands working me over, I felt the good pain of sore muscles stretching and relaxing and releasing lactic acid.  But then the relaxation brought on some gurgling in my belly.  A build-up of gas.

Oh dear god, I thought.  Please.  Please don't let me fart in the face of this cute young boy whose dad is my friend from high school and whom I see socially.  Please.

In the end, with much effort and difficulty, I didn't.

Trust.