I’m going to tell you about a gift you really want. There may be no better way to unwind from family, relationship stress, pressure at work, and always thinking about your finances, than a massage. OK, a week in the Caribbean with Evangeline Lilly might also do the trick. But back to the world we live in. . . .

A lot of guys think massages aren’t manly, even if their favorite athletes get them regularly. Like a facial or a manicure, many guys think massages are for women only. Maybe it’s because guys are afraid their masseuse will be another guy (combat that problem by asking for a female when you make your reservation).  Perhaps some guys think it’s a sissy thing to do.  Well, to prove those guys wrong, I subjected myself to the tortuous task of undergoing a full-body Swedish massage. Not only did I live to tell about it, I’ve returned to headquarters to share my harrowing experience so that when you get a massage of your own, you won’t be surprised by the new-agey, bird-chirping, wave-crashing “music,” the cloying aromatherapy candles (does kind of sound sissy, doesn’t it?) or the fact that you may very well be nude. 

While athletes get massages to loosen cramped muscles and relieve general body pain, all folks can benefit greatly from a massage. I’m gonna bet that you sit most of the day, whether it’s behind the desk, in your car, or in front of the tube. When you sit, your body settles and the muscles get knotted. Maybe not so much that you have chronic back pain or foot problems or a stiff neck, but according to my masseuse, Carnice, men in particular can really benefit from both the therapeutic and relaxation effects of a massage.

Now, on to Carnice. Aah, Carnice. How can I forget her? Those hands! Wow! Carnice worked my body like a slow-motion ballet dancer, using her hands to glide over my neck and shoulders to loosen the tension and gently pulling on my fingers (cue the “Pull My Finger” jokes) and toes to stimulate the nerves. On second thought, she was more like a sculptor, firmly working the muscles of my legs as if she were molding clay. No, she was more like a baker, kneading the muscles of my back with a deep tissue treatment to work out the tension knots. . . alright, that was lame. But for real, she was like all three wrapped up in one. 

I didn’t buy this massage for myself; rather my wife, bless her soul, bought it for me. She made an appointment to get a facial while I got my massage (which lasts about an hour, unless you’re me and you start chatting up the masseuse). We walked in together and that was the last we saw of each other. Here’s what happened to me:

An attractive brunette directed me to the men’s locker room to, as she said, “Take off all of your clothes, except your underwear, and slip into this robe.” The locker room was like a large bathroom at Diddy’s place in the Hamptons. After you get undressed, you wait outside the locker room for your masseuse to retrieve you and take you to your massage room.

Once there, Carnice was pretty frank (hey, she does this for a living, naked folk are pretty normal to her).  She looked me in the face and said, “I want you to take off the robe and get under this sheet on the table. I suggest you take off your boxers as well so that I can reach as much of you as possible with the massage.” So there I am, buck-nekked, when Carnice returned with some water a few minutes later. “Drink this. It helps to flush out the toxins in the muscles.”  Sure, let’s flush. She lit some of those sickly-sweet aromatherapy candles and the massage began.

It started with me on my back and her hands just above my face, slathered in rose oil.  She told me to close my eyes and breathe in deeply, and that the rose oil would help relax me.  I was already remarkably relaxed, considering I hadn’t been drinking. As the massage on my neck and shoulders began, I noticed the music. Well, it isn’t what I would call “music”, unless we were in a Brazilian rain forest or an Ecuadorian mountain village. Birds were chirping, panpipes were noodling, some harps were in there, classical guitar, waves crashing…what was that noise?  A baboon?  Yeah, it’s new-age crap.  Just recognize it as such, be glad you have better musical taste, and get back to the massage.

Carnice covered her hands with lotion, worked on my neck and shoulders, then down my arms, and on to my hands. As a guy who types a lot, the hand and forearm work was really necessary. Then some more lotion and off to work on my feet she went, doing some reflexology (massaging pressure points in the feet) and firmly pulling on my toes one at a time to stimulate the nerves. Not violent cigarette machine pulling, more like how you might smoothly pull a cork out of a wine bottle. She also firmly massaged my legs (how’d she know I worked my legs at the gym the day before?) and loosened the muscles in my thighs and hips.

Then it was time to turn over for the back massage and some deep-tissue treatment. I didn’t really realize I had knots in my back between my shoulder blades from hours on end of sitting at a desk. So she very firmly pressed on the muscles there to loosen the knots and truthfully, it hurt. Pretty damn bad.  She suggested I breathe deeply to reduce the tension.  After a few deep breaths, the knot was loosened, and she went to work on my feet again…then my calves…then my hamstrings…then zzzzzzz. 

I came to ten minutes later. Carnice politely and in a hushed voice said, “OK, Mr. Boris, the massage is over now.” I startled awake with a strange kind of bed-face. When you are on your stomach for a massage, you put your face on this donut-shaped padded headrest, face down, and when you wake up, you look a bit like you might have fallen asleep while kneeling at the toilet. Too bad it was over, but I learned one major thing:  I need another massage.

Guys are getting massages more these days as we’re getting a bit more comfortable with the idea of both going to some kind of spa and being pampered. Massages typically run from $75 to $100 an hour, so yeah, it is a pretty luxurious way to blow some dough. But massage is also therapeutic, relaxing and invigorating and Lord knows, there are worse ways to spend an hour.

One tip I have to pass on – a masseuse will be all over your body, almost as much as your girlfriend or your wife. So take heed and make sure your body is clean before going. Be sure you’re groomed respectably before you go, because no one should have to deal with your foul toenails when they’re trying to do something really nice for you.