Spa me the details!

I wanted a massage and booked one. Here was the spa. Imagine me sipping cucumber water in these environs...




Post-massage. ("No More Drama")


But it's never quite that simple, is it?

THE NEUROTIC BACKSTORY:
After telling me I could "leave my panties on or take them off--whatever you're comfortable with!" my (male) masseur asked me lots of questions.

Like: "What do you do?" Don't want to talk about it. "Have you ever been on TV?" Don't want to talk about it. "Okay and Chelsea...do you want me to massage your gluteous maximus?" Sure. Oh, also could you gross me out before doing so? Thanks. "Would you like me to massage your inner thighs?" Can you rephrase this to be unspoken? "How is it?" Good. "Just good??" Hey, do you think at any point you'll be giving me a massage in the silently professional vein? "And Chelsea if you can move the towel down to where you're comfortable with, I'm going to massage your chest area." Great. Below the nipples is where I feel comfortable with. I don't know why, just for some reason that's where I get really comfortable. "Do you wear heels?" Not much...do you ask tons of creepy questions?

That's when the leg stretching began, in which I had the distinct impression he was stretching each leg around with the goal of getting my poontang to pop out of aforementioned "panties."

A rollercoaster of relaxation!