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The 5 euro massage



You know when life just rolls on and you wonder what the hell you’re going to write about on your blog because, well... routine? Then unexpectedly it happens all at once and after letting it simmer for some days in my sickbed, the story is ready to be unfolded before thine eyes:


It all started on a Tuesday afternoon. First of all you need to know I find Tuesday the most random day of the week so it’s always nice to spice up that somewhat boring day with something fun, something fresh. This week I was very excited because I had a massage planned after work. Not just any massage; a 5 euro massage! Reason for the ridiculously cheap price: it’s a massage school. Once in a while they open their doors so the students get to practise on real clients.


I hardly ever treat myself to a massage while very much needing one most of the time, so this was a wonderful discovery. Happily biking there after work I was telling myself even if the massage wouldn’t be great, it would still be good because it’s a massage, and it’s 5 euros. I once saw a fridge magnet which said sex is like pizza, even if it’s not good it’s still good. That magnet never made it onto my fridge but this is kind of how I felt about massages.


Let’s just say I do not feel that way about massages anymore. Even a 5 euro massage can be bad.

Yes, of course there’s a story. Lean on in.


I met my masseuse, a lady who seemed very nervous but I calmed her down (or tried to) by saying I was happy to be there, always glad to get a massage blablabla. I got undressed and laid down on the massage table. There was a lot of very soft touching, more like tickling and I told her I am extremely ticklish. She didn't seem to care. I tried to relax, I really did but getting tickled by someone you don't know while you're nearly naked is not my idea of a relaxing time.


Time to get oiled up. Nice, strong movements, liking it. But then all of a sudden there was a cold drop falling on my body. Another one. Is the ceiling leaking or something? I didn’t dare to ask nor could I check because my face was stuck in this hole looking at the floor. More drops followed, and they seemed to follow her which made me come to two conclusions: this lady is either crying or sweating all over my body and then rubbing it in with the oil as if nothing is happening.


This went on for 30 minutes. Usually I don’t mind speaking up, but it was so uncomfortable and I was still not sure what these drops were exactly. So I didn't say anything. Trying to relax felt like a waste of energy.


Wait. The story isn’t over yet. It gets better.


Suddenly the door opens and a man walks in. Again, I can’t see any of this, I just hear his voice asking the student if all is going well. Interestingly though, as he is asking this, he is touching my foot and gives it a little pinch. As if we know each other. He asks something else and again pinches my foot. I have no idea why I didn’t scream at that point, maybe it was my nearly naked body covered in the masseuse’s sweat (I saw her face when the massage finished and yep, definitely sweat).


I walked out feeling absolutely disgusted and disgusting. I rode my bike home as fast as I could, scrubbed my skin red and wrote the school about my experience. That night I got woken up after just one hour of sleep, sick to the stomach. Running to the bathroom all night, welcome belly flu. For the first time in nearly 30 years I vomited (big vomit phobia here) and thinking of the disgusting massage experience made it easier in a strange way. Out with all the gross. Now I’ve been in bed for four days and I believe it’s all thanks to that 5 euro massage.

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