#buttmassage

Now I’m not normally that much into spa treatments. Not because I don’t like a good rub down as much as anyone else, but because of the huge price tag that normally come with them (in New Zealand you’re normally looking at around $80-$100 for a standard back rub, right?) but it seems like one of those ‘gotta do it while you’re in Asia’ type things.

I found a 60min Back, Neck and Head massage at a place near the Riverside for $28. Not much by our standards but pretty pricey when that could get me 25 noodle lunches or 56 beers. And I love noodles and beer.

So all was fairly standard, I turned up and filled out a health risk form like you would anywhere in NZ. Then they gave me some bamboo-type sandals to change into. Fair enough, I figured they didn’t want my dirty, dusty traveling boots stomping all over their oasis of air-conditioning and nice, clean smelling things. But once I had taken my boots off the masseuse appeared with a bowl of water, and proceeded to wash my feet in the waiting room, which was lovely but made me a feel a bit weird, what with all the receptionists watching. (Also feeling awkward about the cultural no-no’s around the soles of your feet in Cambodian culture, but I digress.)

(I’ll also just mention at this point that they had asked me if I would prefer a male or female to do my massage. It was only the first time I wondered if I had stumbled into a ‘happy ending’ kind of establishment.)

After the feet washing we went into the massage room we she told me to take off all of my clothes, have a shower and put on a pair of elastic-y fishnet underwear.

Before the massage started she asked me if I would like Medium or Hard. There are two situations in life where I err on the side of caution in an unfamiliar surrounding - Massages and Curries. I’m always going to say Medium because you just never know. And I tell you what, if that was ‘medium’ I feel sorry for the poor bugger who chooses ‘hard’.

This was also the point where I was straddled and my fishnet knickers pulled down to reveal my suddenly shy and nervous bottom. It was more of a Head, Neck, Back and Butt massage, but I tell you what, despite my initial uncertainty, I have been converted. Butt massages are awesome.

Now I do admit that I think entirely too much. I spent the entirety of the massage thinking about whether she had studied massage therapy, or anatomy, or... Or if she had left Cambodia to study or did she learn it all on the job? Did she have dreams of being sports masseuse to famous Cambodian athletes? And now is she left rubbing down big fat tourists, beached upon her table like some kind of Moby Dick-esque white whales for only a few measly dollars an hour? Is life everything she expected it would be? Is she really, truly, happy?

I thought about our future together. I could take her away from all of this. We could be happy. We could get a house in the country and she would only have to give massages when she felt like it, not because it was her only source of income. She could paint still life while I tended to the land. It would be perfect.

And then she did a polite sampeah and said, “Okay, finished now, thank you.”