Simply Portland...Utterly Devine

[*vi*]

Rasta Steve then points to my ankles and comments on how swollen they are and how bad that is. I look at my driver and wonder if he told him I was leaving. I reminded Rasta Steve that I wasn’t getting a massage. He reached down and squeezed my left foot hard. Looked back at me and asked me to reconsider just having my feet massaged to reduce the swelling.

In my mind I was screaming “no”, but “ok” came out of my mouth.

It didn’t feel good. I was uncomfortable from the very first touch. But I stayed focused on the end result and hopefully that was no swelling so I could close the strap on my cute, brown sandals.

That first barely tolerable touch went from toes to my heels. From my heel to my ankles. From my ankles to my calves. From my calves to my thighs. From my thighs to…

Yeah, you get the picture.



35 minutes later, there I sit on the edge of this rock with my legs, arms, shoulders and a bit of my neck area covered with mineral mud and Rasta Steve’s own made mineral oil.

[sammyb]

ohhh Vi

[*vi*]

I could have stopped him long before the knees, but I didn’t. I kept telling myself it’s going to get better…knowing there was no possible way it would. I couldn’t stand the slapping sounds of the heavy, wet towels landing on people’s backs and stomachs. I couldn’t stand the grunts and groans as limbs were being stretched and bent at the joints. I couldn’t stand the sound of the crystal clear water rushing along it’s path by beside me.

Massages for goodness sake!!!! A simple care-free thing, so why all the drama??? yet I hated being a part of it so much.

I knew I had enough when I felt myself getting angry because I was covered with mud. Angry because I was being massaged. Angry and now looking for someone to blame. He asked me if I bought a towel so I could remove my top in order for him to massage me properly. I calmly said “Please rinse me off.” The look in my eyes told him I was about to flip out. The hot water was hot. The cold water was cold. Nothing felt good. Nothing felt therapeutic or relaxing or tranquil. It felt horrible. I felt horrible.

Finally my body was mud free. I can leave.

[Summer]

Rasta Steve then points to my ankles and comments on how swollen they are and how bad that is. I look at my driver and wonder if he told him I was leaving. I reminded Rasta Steve that I wasn’t getting a massage. He reached down and squeezed my left foot hard. Looked back at me and asked me to reconsider just having my feet massaged to reduce the swelling.

In my mind I was screaming “no”, but “ok” came out of my mouth.

It didn’t feel good. I was uncomfortable from the very first touch. But I stayed focused on the end result and hopefully that was no swelling so I could close the strap on my cute, brown sandals.

That first barely tolerable touch went from toes to my heels. From my heel to my ankles. From my ankles to my calves. From my calves to my thighs. From my thighs to…

Yeah, you get the picture.



35 minutes later, there I sit on the edge of this rock with my legs, arms, shoulders and a bit of my neck area covered with mineral mud and Rasta Steve’s own made mineral oil.

Vi, the above bolded is what I detest I say no do not touch me I react stark staring violently crazy......to me this was a ploy to continue. I swear they still remember from kijdergarden to High School arrrrrrrgggghhhhh!!