A Story With No Happy Ending
on A Canuck Amuck (Bangladesh), 09/Jun/2013 02:28, 34 days ago
As I approached the entrance of the massage and beauty salon, I began to have some misgivings about my latest exploration of the Laotian experience. Even though many massage enterprises are perfectly legitimate now, the parlours of yesterday still colour them as dens of sex and decadence. But I had been assured by my female colleagues at dinner the night before that nothing could be farther from the truth in the places they had attended and approved. This did seem a bit at odds with their great interest in whether I would be offered a special finale as a man.“We want a full report afterwards,” said one. My proposal to record the event on my iPhone received an overwhelming thumbs-up from the gals. “Better than a thousand words”, they all agreed.So, as I walked through the door with Chloe, the intrepid UN intern who was equally determined to see what the fuss was about, I could be forgiven for thinking I would be walking straight into Sodom and Gomorrah, a palace of crack pipes and obese mayors. Instead, I was greeted by the sight of two middle-aged women blissfully getting their feet massaged, which was disturbing in a different way. The manager welcomed us and stood patiently as we examined the price list of options. The Lao Massage had come highly recommended and at 60,000 kip (about $8) for an hour, it seemed quite a bargain. Chloe pointed at the menu and was quickly shuffled out the back. Then it was my turn, and I was beckoned to come along as well.Reaching the second floor, I found a maze of walls that revealed themselves to be sliding doors concealing private rooms. Heads poked around corners as I was led to my room, which consisted of a single mattress sitting on the floor. Maybe I pointed to the wrong option, I thought.“Take shirt off” my usher instructed me, “and put this on”, pointing to a pair of shorts lying on the bed. Greatly relieved, I jettisoned my clothes into the corner and put on the shorts, which would have fit a water buffalo. Wrapping the tie-string around me a couple of times, I decided I should lie down on the mattress, which presented its own problems.How best to lie down while awaiting my masseuse? Lying on my back seemed a bit overeager and vulgar. Switching to my stomach seemed standoffish and cold. So, I opted for the jaunty move of laying on my side with one arm propping up my head. Friendly, but not too bold, I decided. Tom Hanks would lie on the bed like this. And did, in Forrest Gump. My struggles for positioning on the mattress must have been noisier than I thought, as Chloe soon piped up from the other side of the wall next to me to make sure I was OK. We decided we should have a safe word in case things got out of control. I was going to suggest“Bananarama” when I was interrupted by a knock at the door.“Yes, do come in” would have been the suave response, but instead I squeaked out a “Yes? Hello?” which somehow made me sound both paranoid and unaware that someone should be joining me. The door slid open and revealed a young Lao women. I greeted her with a smile and a friendly “Sabaidee”while being careful not to let my head slip off my arm. Clearly amused with my impression of Forrest, she motioned for me to lie flat on stomach and then suddenly slid the wall back to reveal Chloe on another single mattress. Thankfully, she was still fully dressed, so it didn’t reveal too much.Apparently, the couple that lays together, stays together. Deciding that an explanation that we were just platonic friends would be a bit beyond our handlers, Chloe just asked, “Um, can we slide the wall back?” and we together pushed it back in place, eliciting a chuckle from my masseuse who likely thought our relationship was doomed.On our own again, it was time to get down to business. Lying as I was, I couldn’t see what was coming, which was probably best. The masseuse began by spreading some oil on my back, a concoction that smelled like Muskol. Fair enough, I thought. Maybe they have a problem with mosquitoes in here. Spreading the oil around was a pleasant sensation and I began to relax. And then the real massage began. Digging in with her fingers like she was trying to reach my internal organs, the masseuse proceeded to twist and pull each and every muscle along my spine. I was glad to have my face buried in my pillow, to muffle my whimpering. Crying out in pain this early on seemed distinctly unmanly, especially with Chloe within earshot, so I gritted my teeth and prayed for an earthquake to bring the session to an early close.Finishing with my back, the masseuse did a quick flight over my rear and landed on my legs. Literally. Climbing on top of me, she drove her knees into my thighs.“Mmm-uhhh” escaped my lips, which I hoped she would take as an expression of enjoyment. Making her way down to my feet, she grabbed and twisted them like they were screw tops. If she ever gets tired of being a masseuse, I thought, she would make one hell of an interrogator. If she had asked me at that point, I would have happily given up all of my PIN codes to make her stop. Stopping for a moment, I thought I was in the clear and was about to say thanks so much for decreasing my mobility. Instead, she crossed my legs at the ankles and proceeded to try to make my feet touch the back of my head. I felt like I was auditioning for Cirque du Soleil. I cursed myself for not learning the Lao phrase for “I really don’t bend like that” beforehand. Giving up on her quest to turn me into the letter U, she let my legs drop to the mattress and proceeded to tap me on my right leg. Finally, Ithought. Something that doesn’t hurt. The tapping continued for a couple of minutes before I realized that she was actually trying to get my attention. Looking over my shoulder, I saw she was motioning for me to turn over so she could assault my front.Lying on my back, I no longer had the protection of my crying pillow to cover up my grimaces and silent calls of Bananarama, so I did my best to maintain a neutral expression. Not an easy thing to do when someone is slowly crawling on top of you and putting her full weight on your legs. Putting both hands on my hips, she paused while pushing down hard enough that I was sure dislocation was sure to follow. Taking a pass on bruising my belly button and pulling off my nipples, she moved up my body and twisted my arms behind my head, so that I looked like I was well on my way to a backwards somersault. Ordinarily, I would have been self-conscious about the pipe cleaners that pass for my arms, but at this point, I was beyond caring about muscle tone. The arms received mercifully short attention before she moved on to grabbing each of my fingers and hyperextending them, ending with a knuckle crack that I was sure would shake Chloe from her reverie next door. Or maybe pull her out of her blackout, if she was enduring the same session as I was.Arriving at my head, the masseuse moved behind me and carefully positioned my head on her lap. As she lightly drew circles with her fingers on my temples and around my eyes, I felt some relief of the tension and settled in to enjoy the moment. Then, Whack! Whack! Whack! Suddenly, she was slapping my forehead like a bongo drum. It was like we were the leads in a Three Stooges film. Dropping my head back down on the pillow, she quietly said,“Finished”, bowed and left the room. The infamous Happy Ending that figures into the lore of massage was never offered and I was pleased about that on many levels. I had a raft of excuses at the ready to avoid that particular experience, including “Sorry, I’m Canadian” and “No work downthere”, but I was glad I didn’t have to trot any of them out. And after the past hour of my first Lao massage, just having any ending to it at all made me quite happy enough.