Monday Jan. 16
Julie and I awake, and after her morning walk, we take a drive over to Sanibel Island for breakfast and to bike around part of the island. We need to watch our time, as we need to be back to the condo by 2 p.m. for our massages.
We start with breakfast at the Lighthouse Café, where I had lunch previously. We both order pancakes, and I pop for the upcharge on real maple syrup, which costs me $3.50. I also have a side of bacon. My pancakes are very good, but they use a very thick batter which results in “cakey” pancakes that soak up a ton of syrup, and I need about a gallon of coffee to wash them down. I like mine better. On my next visit, I think I will do an omelet or other kind of egg, or maybe some French toast. There are other places on the island that need trying, too!
We then each rent a bike for a couple of hours at Billy’s Rentals for $5 apiece. I take Julie on the same “circle tour” that I did before, but with an extra stop at Gulfside City Park to see the ocean and walk along the beach. It is another beautiful day, and all of this is very much fun. Julie makes it the rest of the way around the circle (which only covers about a third of the island) and this is a good thing because Julie hasn’t ridden a bike in years, and she does have problems with one of her hip joints.
We get back to our neck of the woods, make a quick stop at the Publix for some fruit, cheese, and crackers so I can prepare a little snack platter, then we return to the condo to await the arrival of my friend (Catwoman) for our massages. I also brew a pot of orange spice (herbal; no caffeine) and chill it for iced tea.
She arrives promptly at 2 p.m., and I set up her massage table on the loft level, temporarily removing the two litter boxes and bringing them downstairs. I've never experienced it first hand, but I have to believe that nothing kills the mood of a massage quite like a cat taking a fresh dump two feet away from you. The massage table is one of those portable jobs in its own soft sided carrying case, but it still weighs a good 40 pounds or so, it’s a job getting it up the stairs. She has brought all the other stuff in a large duffle bag (linens, blankets, oils, lotion) so I tote that upstairs as well. We have a brief chat downstairs, and then we get down to business.
Julie goes first, and I take a book and hang out by the pool for an hour. I don’t know exactly why I decide to do this. I guess I just thought it was good manners to give Julie some privacy and let her and my friend talk “girl talk” if they want to, without a guy hanging around.
While out by the pool, I spend some time contemplating my primary concern when it comes my time for my massage: That I will get a hard-on. This isn’t just anyone doing the massage, but someone that I’ve hugged and kissed and feel a physical attraction to. I guess it’s OK, as long as I am face-down on the table. But when it comes time to go belly-side up, the “pup tent” in the middle of the massage table is going to be rather obvious if Mr. Happy decides to become playful.
But you know what? In one of little cosmic moments where the forces of nature intervene and provide a solution, I have suddenly and inexplicably come down with one of the worst cases of gas and stomach cramps I have ever experienced. By the time I make it to the massage table, I am so full of gas that it’s all I can do to keep from farting … so much so that my brain can’t even begin to think about sending any messages to Mr. Happy. By the time I flip over onto my back, with my belly side up, I motion Catwoman a little closer, tell her quietly that I have a bad case of stomach cramps and gas, and please do not press on my tummy too hard, or there will likely be some unpleasant consequences. She nods in the affirmative, and says back to me: “I may be fun, but I’m not stupid.”
So anyway, after the massage, which I have to say was quite wonderful, I excuse myself to go to the bathroom. I turn on the exhaust fan, flush the toilet, and run the taps in the sink and the shower. All in an effort to create as much background noise as I can. Then, I proceed to fart for what seems like five minutes straight. It was epic, and unprecedented in my lifetime. I’m certain if the folks from Guinness had been here, I surely would have set some kind of record. As most of you know, I hold my farts for almost no one. But somehow, the idea of farting on the massage table in front of Catwoman every time she pressed on me, like some kind of bizarre “squeeze doll from hell,” was too ugly to contemplate. And in weird “everything-in-the-universe-tends-to-unfold-as-it-should” kind of way, it solved the potentially embarrassing hard-on issue.
After the massages, my friend breaks down the massage table, and gets all her linens and blankets and other assorted paraphernalia stowed away. Then, the three of us chat, nibbling on fruit and cheese (just what I need), drinking tea, and talking about various things. The two “girls” seem to hit it off nicely, talking about finding shoes and clothes that fit (both ladies are six feet tall), natural healing and remedies, and so forth. We tell Catwoman about our cruise, and a whole bunch of other stuff. Then, we look at our watches and see that it is 7:00 and of course completely dark outside. Catwoman has been here 5 hours. It’s time to call it a night, so I help tote all this stuff back out to her car, and she is on her way. We both thank her profusely. Afterward, Julie and agree it was a very nice massage. Too bad my friend could not make a decent living at this back when she was doing it full time. She has a real gift for it.
It has been a busy and interesting day, so Julie and I hit the sack pretty early.
Expenses: breakfast and tip, $20; bike rental, $5; groceries, $10. Total: $35.
Bruce
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