Earthy, But Sexually Deviant

Thursday was crazy with madness and craziness in spa massage. I really dig having only a handful of people in our "class" as it forces us to very quickly bond and get comfortable with one another, seeing as you're practicing techniques on the same people over and over. And the folks in my class are a strange but lovely variety--there's M, a middle-aged woman whose mouth talks faster than her words and is always asking 1500 questions. There's S, a gal a bit younger than me who is the bubbliest but nicest person I've met there and who calls everyone "hon" all the time. There's W, a fellow who says cutely flaming stuff every two seconds (this week, he started fanning himself and squealing about how he thought he was having a heart attack) and who coughs a lot and instead of just letting it go (so as not to be any more disruptive than the coughing) always has to say really loudly "Oh, excuse me! Sorry 'bout that" every time it happens. And there's J, the salon-owning fellow with the thick southern-Ohio-esque drawl who is short but built like the thick trunk of a tree and has a tribal tattoo that starts on each forearm and crawls up both arms and apparently onto both his chest and his back.

And so it was that all of us who were quickly beginning to bond learned on Thursday how to give an herbal wrap. And this is where all the crazy madness comes in.

I happened to have my bathing suit on under my scrubs (since he told us to make sure to bring it with us in case we got to the body paraffins), so I got volunteered to be the one he demonstrated on. Which is no big deal--it's always more fun to get a technique done on you by an instructor rather than a student since they already know what they're doing.

Despite me being the guineau pig, he insisted I follow them around to find out where everything's located before they "experimented" on me. The preparation for the herbal wrap is freakishly complicated and drawn out, requiring thick rubber gloves and lots of fricking patience. On the massage table, you lay out a sheet and then a towel and then another sheet and then a mylar sheet and then a plastic sheet. Then you lay out a wet blanket that's been soaking in herbs in a 180-degree herb bath and cocoon your patient up in that along with the overhang of most of your lower-layers of sheets and mylar. And then you wrap up 4-8 hot-packs (that have also been soaking in 180-degree water) in towels and place them at various areas on the person--ankles, hips, shoulders, etc. Hence the need for rubber gloves. And then you wrap them up the rest of the way in the cocoon and then lay a blanket over them. The idea is to get them to enjoyably sweat out any toxins and to relax all the muscles in their body.

After all that was explained to us, my instructor told me to go back in the room and take off my scrubs and put on a robe. (*bow chicka bow wow--and then the cable repair guy showed up and asked if I needed him to "fix my cable"--ah, but I kid*) Anyways, I did, and then a few of the female students reentered the room donning the infamous rubber gloves and the large herbal blanket that had steam billowing off of it. They stretched it out over the table, and then my instructor told me to remove my robe while they stepped out and lay down on it--they returned and proceeded to cocoon me up in the lovely warm layers of tea-smelling earthiness. We'd already been in class for about 3 hours, so everyone was reaching that slightly-cracked out giddy stage of night, so people were jokey and goofbally and grinning and giggling at me as they wrapped me up so tight that I could no longer move and my head was the only thing sticking out, making me look like a human burrito. And then they layered on about 4 hot packs, a couple by my ankles and two on my hips. And as they did so, I could feel a sudden and unexpected wave of panic and claustrophobia wash over me. My throat and chest tightened and I tried to calmly breathe and contain myself. The sensation passed quickly, thankfully, and the warm cuddliness of the blanket sunk in.

My instructor reminded everyone that you should always check back on your client after about 5 minutes or so and make sure that the hot-packs aren't burning them. He told me they'd be back in a few to do so and in the meantime, they went and set up another room for W (they were demonstrating on one woman and one man).

As I lay there quietly, the hot-packs on my hips slowly started to increase in intensity. I pondered this. A second later, S peeked in and asked, "How ya doin', hon?" I told her that my hips were starting to get a bit hot, but that I'd give it a little bit longer because maybe the heat would level off. "Ok, hon. We'll come check on you again in a few."

The heat didn't level off though. Very quickly my hips began to burn. Fuck, I thought. But then I reminded myself they'd be back shortly to check and I'd just ask them to adjust the hot packs then. Minutes passed. My hips continued to burn even more violently. I sucked in my gut to try to get the heat away from my skin. This worked for a few seconds, and then not so much. I tried to wiggle my hands down to that area to pull the heat pads up. No such luck. So I just lay there and sweated and burned. For minutes and minutes and more minutes. Apparently the other students were so wrapped up (no pun intended) in the other fellow's herbal wrap that I'd been forgotten. And then, thank jeebus, M walked back in again.

"I sure don't like the smell of the herbal stuff on these blankets," she mused. I tried not to shriek as I responded, uncharacteristically high-pitched, "Really? Yeah, I kind of like it myself. It's kind of earthy and nice-smelling." S entered. M said, "Yeah, you SEEM like an earthy kinda gal, so I could see that." (And so goes the dirty hippie stereotype again--even more mind-bogglingly so, seeing as they've never even seen how I dress outside of scrubs.) "Yeah, down-to-earthy," S shouted, grinning. "Um, yeah. Can you get these hot packs off of me, cuz they're burning my hips?!?" I finally blurted out. "Oh my god, yeah," both women said and scurried around as my instructor came in and asked what was going on and helped them replace the hot packs on my shoulders instead of my hips. Sweet motherf-ing relief.

But then our instructor started in on the claustrophobia stuff. "Another thing you want to be aware of is that some people can get really claustrophobic when they're getting this done, enough so that you'll come back after 5 minutes and they want out and that's the end of the session." My heart started a-thumpin' at the reminder that I was completely incapable of moving and/or freeing myself from the sweltering hot burrito I was cocooned in. I began to feel like something out of a really lame sitcom as my mannerisms began to coincide directly with his comments. I started to breathe heavily and tried to calm myself down by attempting to ignore his words. "If you come back into the room after five minutes, and the person's eyes are wide open and gaping..." S____ looked down at me curiously, my eyes bulging nervously... "...and they don't look like they're relaxed at all..." S___ glanced at me again; my muscles had started to tighten, and I was trying to talk myself out of hyperventilating--I know I'm claustrophobic when it comes to crowds, but it was news to me that I'm apparently not a big fan of enclosed spaces--"You may want to ask them if they're ok and/or feeling claustrophobic and whether they would like to be unwrapped." S____ peered at me again and then whispered hoarsely, "Are you feeling claustrophobic, hon?" I nodded my head vigorously (though sheepishly) and told her not to worry, that it should pass. Meanwhile, I was using the last of my willpower to quell the increasing urge to explode into a panic attack, complete with hyperventilation and struggling and screeching to "Get me out of here." My brain was no more than 30 seconds off from this when, thankfully, right then, they all scurried out of the room back to W____.

I talked myself back down and after a few minutes began to feel much better. Powerful, the power of suggestion, apparently.

Tattooed J peeked his head in my room a short while later and then snuck in, adjusting my hot packs as he chuckled at me. "How is it in there? Was starting to get you claustrophobic, huh?" I nodded my head as much as I could, given that I was wrapped up to my chin in blankets. "Yeah, I never realized it, but I guess I'm not very fond of being wrapped up so tightly that I can't move at all." He chuckled, "At least not at school," he murmured in response. My glasses were off, so I couldn't see him--but I could hear the big fat grin in his voice as he waited for his words to sink in. And then they did and I laughed out loud. "Yeah, exactly," I said, and he dipped back out of the room laughing to himself. Despite the blandness of the scrubs, apparently I wear the mark of a sexual deviant on me like a scarlet letter A.

A short while later, they returned to my room and (gloriously, joyously) unwrapped me and then rubbed me down with all sorts of lotions. (There is a thin line between massage school and p0rn; another thin line between massage school and harems.) And then finally I was done. And I was chilled (even after putting my scrubs back on). And I was damp (from the blankets, weirdos).

I threw on my hoodie, shivering, and shuffled around, helping folks clean up so we could leave. A couple minutes later, I suddenly felt particularly clammy and reached down to the ass of my scrubs only to find that my bathing suit trunks had soaked straight through and it looked like I'd majorly wet myself. I was peering at them as J rounded the corner, and he burst out laughing when he saw my ass. Ah, comraderie.

I grinned at him half-miserably, thinking of what a fun ride home it was gonna be, my burnt-hips throbbing (I had red welts all over them when I got home), my wet ass soaking into my car seat, a loaf of bread blooming in my pants from all the excess moisture. And of course, on my way out, ass sopping, I ran into my A&P crush of an instructor from my first semester. I looked so damn attractive, shivering, a bit high-strung as I came down from the claustrophobia panic-attack, hair askew, ass dripping, I'm not quite sure how he was able to control himself enough not to jump me.

But he somehow managed.

Herbal wraps--awesomest ever.