The Big Hurt

I'm sure that is some sports hero's name, but for the life of me I can't recall and I'm too damn lazy to go google it. How bad is it when you don't have the energy to click over to a new web page and do a word search?

Today, there is a new owner of the name.

I had a massage scheduled with Heather today. Oh she of the magic hands Heather. Perky cute girl with an amazing touch and ability to ferret out my knots like a French pig ferrets out truffles. I was looking forward to my massage with Heather. Then the call came. Heather has an emergency - can I reschedule?

I couldn't reschedule, so they gave me other therapist options, men and women. "Who can do 'firm' pressure best?" I asked.

"Oh, that would be David," she purred. No, she really purred. Never having had David, I agreed. I mean, she was purring, for heavens sake! How could I say "no"?

Enter "Big Hurt"

"I'm David," came the voice, shaking me out of the reverie of looking through the jewelry catalog. I looked up to see this hulk of a young thing. Easily 6'2" . . . young man, maybe black, maybe Polynesian. Certainly seen his fair share of dinners . . . and a gym.

I followed him to the room - he was at least handsome, so I could drift off to the massage zone with a pleasant picture in my mind. That is until his massive hands pressed down on my back. with his 200+ lb. frame behind them. I felt the air rush out of my lungs as my rib cage collapsed on itself (who knew ribs were so bendy?), the crack of vertebrae the only sound in the room. Then after a quick sweep down my back (where his hands covered the entire width of my body with ease), he came back up to attack the last three weeks worth of travel and stress knots that had turned my neck and shoulders into a pain minefield. I took deep breaths. Tried to let go into his pressure. Tried to make myself jello. All while he tried pry the knots out from under my skin with his bare hands.

He managed to trigger a piriformis spasm in my rear, and then had to spend time smoothing that thing down. Did leg stretches that made me wonder if my legs were meant to bend like that other than in the back of someone's car in college. Found sore spots in my head and on my hand and other places that don't get massaged so often. It was this glorious, sick dance between pain and relaxation, and by the time he was done and was tugging my hair back one last time, stretching my neck to the ceiling, I almost felt compelled to simultaneously yell "Yes!" and "Uncle!" The Big Hurt had had his way with me.

When he finished his torture - wait, ministrations - strike that, torture - he whispered calmly to me.

"Ok, Mrs Chako, we're all done for today."

As I prepare to slip into bed tonight, my muscles are reminding me that we might be all done for a while, Big Hurt.

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife