Massage

I’m still in China, and yesterday was another long day of meetings, followed by a formal dinner. This was a typical Chinese event, with course after course brought to the table, but the restaurant was in a huge shopping mall in Shanghai. The mall was impressive – at least seven floors filled with shiny new stores, many of them Western brands, and what seemed like a whole floor of restaurants (no Chick-Fil-A in a food court over here!) Just based on the first impression you’d swear that China had overtaken the States in mall luxury. However, when it came time to take a piss, you realized that the bog was not in the restaurant; it was barely in the mall. You had to walk around the mall and follow a small sign through two fire doors – it seemed like you were walking out to a boiler room – checking as you left that you could get back in again. The toilet was basic, and should you have needed a crap you’d have been in trouble – no paper. I don’t mean the rolls had run out, I mean no paper fixtures of any kind in the stalls. What do they do? Wait for it to dry and pick it off?

I’m digressing: the point is that after a hard day we decided to go for a full-body massage at some place in Shanghai that also doubled as a driving range. This was a proper massage place (no funny business, and no “happy endings”) with both male and female masseurs. We all decided on female (including the female member of our group). Even knowing that there’s no sex involved, I’m sure I couldn’t relax with some Chinese guy rubbing my arse. I was also pleased to note that my masseuse was pretty – again, no real reason other than it made her easier to look at for two hours. Yes, I did say two hours! I could not believe that it would take that long.

The massage started with her squeezing my head in various places, including pushing so hard on my temples that it hurt like a bastard and I thought she was about to burst through to my brain. There was stomach rubbing, leg bending, finger pulling, arm squeezing and ankle twisting; then I turned over and she did things to my back, including (I believe) walking on it. It was hard to tell with my face pushed into the massage table. This girl had steel fingers and could inflict serious pain at any moment she chose. Nevertheless the process was enjoyable and, amazingly, two hours went by in no time. We all headed back to the hotel some time after midnight, more than ready for sleep.

Back at the hotel we walked across the foyer to the elevators. Two Chinese girls in jeans happened to be walking that way at the same time so we got in the elevator together. We pushed the buttons for floors 20, 21 and 22 – they didn’t push any buttons. What a coincidence – they were on our floors! At 20 one of my colleagues got off and one of the girls followed him. On 21 a couple of us got off, along with the second girl. As I walked towards my room she walked up behind me and said “massage?” I declined. I mean, I know she was a prostitute, but even if I was inclined to purchase the services of strange whores it wouldn’t have worked. Firstly her friend who got off on floor 20 was the pretty one. And secondly, what if she actually did have some massage experience? With strength like that in her fingers, if I’d decided to chance a “happy ending” she could have pulled it right off. Try explaining that when you get home!


Copyright 2007 Edward Bison