englishman abroad, marriage

Hot Stone Massage

We’ve been married for just over a year now and my wife and I went to a spa to celebrate. This is the story of how British squeamishness came to a German ‘Wellness Centre’. It all started on the fifth of October, I took my wife out for an anniversary meal at a nice Italian restaurant and she revealed to me that she’d booked something for us as well. That weekend, she revealed, we were going to a ‘Wellness Centre’. Mindful of the catastrophe that befell me the last time we went to a sauna, I asked what we would be doing there. We would be getting a Hot Stone Massage!

“Cool!” I thought, “presumably there is absolutely no need to be completely bollock naked for such an endeavour!”

Here begins the story of how wrong I was:

The evening started in a building near our local swimming pool. Quite modern on the outside but full-blown Buddhist temple on the inside, as it turns out. Candles and Buddha statues and all sorts of associated flim-flam of the hippy-dippy variety. We sat down in the reception area and a hooded acolyte the receptionist lead us to a very charming room with a gigantic bath in it, filled with what looked like milk. Here we were to bathe as Cleopatra did, in asses’ milk. I did feel like quite the ass as it happens, but the receptionist left us to it and it was quite pleasant.

After this, we put on some very nice and fluffy robes and went into an adjacent room for the Hot Stone Massage, the main event. There were two nice ladies.

One of them explained that we were to disrobe and lie naked on the massage tables.

Then they waited.

I waited.

They waited.

My wife disrobed and lay on the massage table as instructed.

“Shit” I thought. “I’m an Englishman, I don’t do nakedness in front of strangers!”

“Please lay on the table so we can give you the hot Ständer – er – Stein Massage”

That Freudian slip there is an interesting lexical mix-up. Stein means stone, Ständer means boner.

“They think I’ve got a boner! I’ll be damned if they think I’m some priapic teenager!”

I begrudgingly half-took-off my robe to preserve my modesty, this did not work; I lay on the massage table and flopped about like a seal in a net trying to get the robe off. I looked like an arse. They saw my arse. They helped me off with the robe and dutifully covered my arse up again. Thankfully, the massage itself was great.

Not ‘hot Ständer’ great, but pretty great.