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The only image I had of massages was lying face down on a table with a towel over you.
With taps ringing the room, and beautiful star cut holes in the ceiling for light, the hot, steamy place smelled like fresh soap with a touch of fear. People are naked all the time, people are even born naked. Checking to make sure my own itty bitty towel was nice and secure, I found a little corner to sit down and wait, closing my eyes and letting the steam relax me and open my pores (that’s what saunas are for, right? I bought one of the same towels in the markets, they are so incredibly soft It kinda looked like this except the room was way bigger and nicer, and it was all woman.Fresh faced, shiny and pink, she ordered me to lay back down again. Round two On my back, nervously eyeing her like I was preparing for surgery, she began to soap up her bare hands. As she soaped up my stomach, I could feel my ab muscles clenching and getting tight and my face turning beet red. Like hear the word “tickle” and I start to giggle and say stop it. Squeezing my legs tight and trying not to laugh, I said, “no feet, no feet” in as clear English as I could muster.What if it tickled so much and I did the unthinkable and peed my pants?! I was in the middle of an OCD nightmare; it was one thing with the loofah, but another thing with bare hands.“No, on your back,” said Ayla, gesturing for me to turn over. With my hands clenched into fists and my body as tight as a bow, I rolled over, humiliation complete.Breathing out, I watched as she poured warm soapy water all over me, and slide her hands into big exfoliating mittens.