What I want, give me
You know I wanna please you
What I wanna do to you
I could scarcely believe the text of the email. At 2pm, massage students would wander from office to office, offering free seated massages to anyone willing to submit to the pleasure that is Shiatsu.
Shiatsu incorporates a mixture of different approaches - ancient and modern. It includes pressing, hooking, sweeping, shaking, rotating, grasping, vibrating, patting, plucking, lifting, pinching, rolling and brushing…I so want to be vibrated, grasped, patted and pinched. I checked myself in the mirror. Should I pull my glasses off, or go for the intellectual look? I search for a breath mint. Nothing. But I do find a half-eaten Dum-Dum. Cherry. Ahhh, yeah.
I’ve seen some of the cosmetology students on their cigarette breaks or whenever I take a group of high school students over for information sessions. There’s one in particular who always eats lunch by herself in her Mustang, the windows rolled up, the music barely audible. She’s just about the most lonely and beautiful girl you could imagine. Not big hair and glittery eyeshadow like her peers, but subdued and classic, smooth, undyed hair and skin unblemished by a tanning booth. She smiled at me once and I saw she had one slightly crooked tooth that melted my heart. I know she’ll fix it one day, and I dread that day when she’ll change, because she doesn’t know how perfect she is, perfect and slightly out-of-place among the other students, perfect and out-of-place like her tooth. I wonder, will she be the one giving me my free chair massage? I perspire at the very thought, a cool sweat not entirely unwelcome, but uncomfortable nonetheless.
A student appears at my office door, interrupting my thoughts, and having fantasized so intensely about the lonely cosmetology student, I am at once confused by her question.
Massage Student: Would you like a free massage? It’s free.
Me: What’s free?
Massage Student: The massage. Would you like a free massage? It’s free!
Me: Oh! Well…
At first I’m unsure how to answer. I do want the free massage, but I wanted it from someone else. From her. The lonely girl in the Mustang. Still, this one is awfully cute, too, and with my eyes closed it would be easy to imagine another vibrating, grasping, patting and pinching my acupoints and pressure areas.
Me: Well, sure, I guess.
I pull up the music I had planned for this little encounter with Mustang girl, in this case a combination of Rufus Wainwright and Ray LaMontagne. I had it all planned perfectly, opening with ‘Instant Pleasure’ and ending with ‘Trouble.’ Grrr.
Me: I hope you don’t mind if I listen to a little…
I start, turning around to see not the fair maiden of iron hands who was my imitation Mustang girl, but a… a… a great big dude.
Karl: Hi, I’m Karl, I’ll be giving you your free massage.
Me: But, but where is…?
It’s obvious he’s answered this question numerous times already today because he gives his response in a sort of monotone drone of someone who’s professionally annoyed.
Karl: Chloe coordinates ‘Free Massage Day,’ she leads the students around, but doesn’t give actual massages.
And before I can object, ‘but I want Chloe,’ Karl has his enormous meathooks around my neck in a passion embrace.
Halfway through ‘Hallelujah,’ my eyes are tightly shut, and try as I might, I finally realize that I won’t be able to daydream my way into her lonely hands.
The application of pressure is the underlying principle of shiatsu. Shiatsu is a Japanese word made up of two written characters meaning finger (shi) and pressure (atsu).Me: Oww! Waaaaay too much shi, Karl.
I am not comforted by Karl’s responding laugh.
Me: You ever interrogated anyone, there, Karl?
Nor am I comforted by Karl’s silence.
As ‘Hold You in My Arms’ begins to play, I realize that I never removed my half-wool/half-poly sweater vest. As the item of clothing would suggest, I am sweating profusely. Each vibration shakes a bead of sweat from my brow, each pat sends a cold chill down my spine, each pinch elicits tiny uncontrollable yelps of hurt and disappointment.
Karl: Excuse me, what was that?
Me: What?
Karl: It sounded like you said Mustang girl.
Me: No.
Karl: Then what did you say?
Me: Nothing, Karl. Just humming along with Ray.
I hate it when they grasp.
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