Stripped

I slowly take off my clothes and look at the little strip of cloth handed to me. The cloth felt like paper, and it was held together by a string. It resembles a fundoshi, a Japanese garment typically worn by men. It is, frankly speaking, a thong.

I look at the thong.
I slowly put my clothes back on.

Then, midway through pulling on my pants, I thought, fuck it. It's not like I can run away now.
I take off everything again, and put on the small piece of fabric. I have never felt more naked. In fact, wearing that piece of probably recycled paper made me feel more naked than wearing nothing.

I turn to the little bed that was waiting for me. I lay down, and wait, heart thudding. It is all happening too fast. I hear the sound of feet shuffling next to me, but I shut my eyes, too scared and embarrassed to keep my eyelids ajar.

You often see charts at the dentist's or the doctor's office, which ask you what level of pain you are feeling, on the scale of 1 to 10. If I could convert that chart from a chart of pain into a chart of discomfort, I would indicate a level of 17 at this moment. Level 17, because I have, what feels like, a piece of paper stuck in my ass, and I am naked other than that piece of paper stuck in my ass and barely covering my crotch.

Level 17 discomfort, because not soon after, a woman comes in, and starts rubbing warm crystals into my chest, and mind you, I have boobs. She's just doing her thing, rubbing my boobs like it's what she was paid to do.

Okay, yeah. She is paid to do that.

Today, I went to get a massage that felt more like a violation of my no-no square, which left me quite listless. I didn't realize this treatment involved a... Frontal body massage. Usually, the back is quite enough for me, or the legs. But today. Oh, today is something different.

As her hands moved across my body, all I could think was oh, not there. Noooo, don't go any further up. Okay, hands off my ass. Hands off those boobs too. Oh god. Think happy thoughts. Impossible. What happy thought could possibly run across my mind when some woman I don't know is invading my no-no square. Come to think of it, it would be even more disturbing and uncomfortable if someone I knew is invading my privates. Essentially, I would prefer people staying out of that area.

After two hours of torture, I was allowed to put my clothes back on. I felt more exhausted than before the massage. I thought massages are supposed to be relaxing. I thought massages would be a little vacation for my knotted muscles and tired body. I thought wrong. This massage was a cruel work out. It was painful. It was tiresome. I was tense and awake, feeling that level 17 discomfort for the entire period I was on that little table.

Not to say that the lady who did the massaging was doing a bad job. She loosened up the muscles on my back, which feel a lot better. But I could have gone with less contact with my privates, and possibly a little something more to wear other than a thong.

I'm often told that I am pessimistic. I suppose I could look at this massage in a more positive light. My thong virginity has been broken. My threshold for humiliation probably went up several notches. I'm out of positive thoughts.

On the bright side, I've realized how much I hate intimate, physical contact. The next time someone makes a move into my no-no zone, I will give him/her a black eye, a kick in the crotch (believe me, it'll hurt for a girl too), and I would maintain a 10m radius around that person for the rest of my life.