So, Mindy, I understand that you’ll be my masseuse today. Is that right, Mindy? Okay Mindy, let’s get acquainted. I’m a little particular about who rubs my body, so I’d like to get to know you first, That okay, Mindy?

Now, Mindy, where did you get your rubbing credentials? Ah, yes, good school; I’ve heard of them. I’m a masseur myself; maybe you heard already. Yes, I attended a now kaput academy that started in the mid-60s, but got all mushy and serious by the early 80’s. Oh, the name – ah, well, it wasn’t like a school with bricks and stuff, it was more like a movement – actually it was more like a commune. I guess you’d have to call it the “Let’s All Get Stoned and Feel Each Other Up School of Massage”. Yes, well, it wasn’t very professional, I admit, but the tuition was free if you had a stash that wasn’t all seeds. But I don’t do that stuff any more.

Okay, Mindy, enough of me, now let’s talk about me.

I need to let you know a couple of things before we get down. First, about where you can go. On my body, Mindy, my whole body, Mindy, there two places you can’t go. First my feet, Mindy. Nobody touches my feet. My wife doesn’t touch my feet. I have the feet of a Greek God, Mindy, and I’m keeping them for myself. And then there’s my face, Mindy. I don’t like anybody touching my face unless their serious about following through. You’re not interested in following through, are you, Mindy? Okay. that’s good Mindy. Let’s stay away from the face. Anybody who touches my face . . . well, Mindy, you know the expression, “Get outta my face, man!”? Well, Mindy, I started that.

So, how about the rest of my body, Mindy? Let’s get into that. Hands are good, Mindy, but, I need to let you know that I’ll be massaging back. You get into the hands, Mindy, and I’m gonna be all over you. Let me take my rings off now just in case. I don’t want you getting hurt. While we’re discussing the hands, Mindy, if you feel them doing anything you don’t like, let’s not break the mood, Mindy. Just say, like, “Hey, that’s my leg”, or whatever, and I’ll take it that you’re not digging it.

You may have noticed, Mindy, that I have a fresh tattoo on my forearm. It’s a little stingy yet, so you if hear me sobbing, ease off, Mindy. As for the rest of my body, my whole body, Mindy, it’s pretty much free range. My glutes may require some special attention, Mindy. I did a long motorcycle ride the other day and went horseback riding the day before. You can work ‘em pretty hard, Mindy. The turtle won’t mind – she likes it. Light to medium spanking is okay, Mindy, but I’m not into the whips and chains.

Now, as for style, Mindy, I don’t like pummelling, hard slapping, karate chops, or digging in with the fingernails. Remember the motto, Mindy, “Leave nothing but a smile behind.” Smooth, slow, sensual movements are preferred. If I’m moaning, Mindy, that’s good. A little punctuation now and again is also good. Mindy, if you stand on my back and bounce up and down a little and make me go, “Uuuugh“, that’s also good. Stretching is nice, Mindy. I am Pretzel Man. You can dig my heels right into my bum and I’ll just go, “Ahhh.” Twist me and crank me around, Mindy. If you hear popping noises, don’t be scared, it’s just little pleasure explosions, Mindy. If you hear, “Oh, baby!“, you might ease off a bit for your own safety.

Seriously, Mindy, you need to know that I’m going to be an active participant throughout this whole process. It takes two to make a good massage. If you get alarmed, just say, “Woah, easy boy” or something like that, and I’ll settle down.

So, Mindy, here’s the nitty-gritty of it. Your mission, Mindy, should you choose to accept it, is to temporarily paralyse my frontal lobe, dial up Nirvana, not the band, and hand me the phone. Mindy, you must deliver to me an endorphin rush that will make little tongues of pale green fire shoot out of my ears.

Are you up for that, Mindy?

If you can do that, Mindy, then you can stand back from your work and call yourself a masseuse.