The singing coccyx

The neck harmonizes in alto, and the stomach does a soprano as I sit dripping sesame oil everywhere.

Subsequent to the dilemma described in the previous post, as I hesitantly picked up my call to cancel the appointment, the cell chimed.  “May I come now for the massage, my earlier appointment got pushed back” said the masseuse.  I may have hesitated a moment before I acquiesced – after all, during my 12 hour labor that wasn’t progressing like it should, I had all kinds of people prodding me 14 years ago, just how more embarrassing could a massage be, I reasoned.

Turns out not much.  At least not after the first half hour of “won’t the ground swallow me in my inglorious near-nudity” agony. But let’s start at the beginning.

A very Malayali woman, complete with sandal paste on forehead entered the house, all business and smiles.  “Give me some hot oil and strip down to your underwear”, she said as a matter of fact.    I shrank a few cubic meters into myself and fell face down on the bed, stripped as commanded, with every cell straining at its seams at the abject humiliation of being near-au-naturale in front of a stranger.  But as the hot oil trickled down the offending back and the woman got down to business, the coccyx hummed a melody.

I had expected the coccyx to break into song, but what I hadn’t expected was my abdomen to conduct an entire symphony as it was kneaded like dough. I knew my stomach was bunched up, but never realised just how much how much until she pressed down at the center of the abdomen and I felt every single component shatter glass with its soprano. That’s when the humiliation of near-nudity, the cringe of alien touch on body and the stickiness of oil completely disappeared and the music got louder.

An hour later, I am seated with the laptop on my oily lap, waiting for the stipulated half-hour to end so that I can wash off the oil, and perhaps the remnant stress from the anointed body.

Will I do this again?  Need you ask?



5 thoughts on “The singing coccyx

  1. Maha

    I am so what you have described as yourself in your earlier post. I give hugs but can’t imagine myself getting a massage. The undressing part is the big no no, the second one being the feel of oil to my body – hate it. Good for you for overcoming that.


    1. Gobblefunkist Post author

      I don’t mind the oil on the body – I have been taking oil baths twice a week for as long as I can remember.
      The undressing and the touch are uncomfortable. In fact, that could have been the reason I didn’t find it as divine as it is made out to be, the first half an hour I was trying to get my mind stop singing shame shame puppy shame !


  2. Carol

    It is rare here (at least in my experience) to have a masseuse come to private homes – we go to their salon, where we lie on their massage table, parts that are not being massaged primly covered up. I’ve never had a frontal massage, other than my legs and arms. I love it, but prices are high and budgets are tight, so it’s an infrequent treat.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Gobblefunkist Post author

      It isn’t particularly cheap here either. The salon/spa massages cost ivory and peacock. The one I had was by an Ayurvedic masseuse, and those are cheaper, but not as cheap enough for regular engagement.

      Liked by 1 person


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