Friday, August 27, 2004

Zen and the Art of Foot Massage

Look I'm sorry. You girls are ganging up on me just as I was sure you'd love a foot massage then you go and ask for something else, Road Rage for Chrissakes. And I'm doubly sorry to Anni because this will be too tame for that particular little minx . Anyway I promised Del I'd post this next........... OK I admit it I haven't actually written the Road Rage story yet. What with the beer festival on and this weekends many gigs to perform I haven't had time and wont have time until next week. So until then here's this weeks story...............

Zen and the Art of Foot Massage

I’m in Worcester visiting Rebecca, an old girl friend from University, and we’re waiting for her boyfriend to arrive. But that’s OK we’re mates, always have been, always will be. She’s five foot six, slim with long unkempt dark curly hair. She looks like a gypsy or someone on a flake advert. Bob arrives looking flustered.
“Sorry I’m late. Had to drop the wife off at her friends, then ditch the car and catch a bus.”
Rebecca didn’t even flinch, she obviously knew all about it. I stayed cool as if it was an everyday tale of everyday folk.
“That’s alright Bob, Mikels only just arrived himself. So where are we going?”
“I thought The Coach and Horses, it’s a half mile walk but the beers good.”
We walked and chatted all the way to the pub and went in, ordered some beers and found a table. It was a lively pub with four or five elderly gents standing round a piano belting out songs “My old man said follow the van……..” and “underneath the arches down paradise road…….”. A few punks were sitting near us huddled over their lagers. The landlord leant over the bar and shouted “Keep it down boys you’re disturbing these young men.” It did seem a little odd that the rowdy ones were the pensioners. The singing continued. We had more beer and kept chatting about old times. Eventually it was chucking out time and Bob suggested we stop off at the offy to stock up for a night cap or five. Bob chose the strongest lager he could find in the biggest special offer tins. Being a little wibbly already I chose the weakest I could find.
Back at Rebeccas we chatted some more and drank some more until Rebecca jumped up grabbed Bob and said “That’s it, I can’t stand it anymore, Bob you’re coming with me, Mikel, mi casa est tu casa, do what you like, we’re going for a shag.”
“Fair enough. I think I’ll just crash.”
So they cleared off upstairs and I pulled the cushions of the settee slung down the duvet and fell into a coma.
I’m woken later, I don’t know how much later, by shouts. Rebecca is screaming, at Bob presumably, “…….and don’t you ever come back again.” Followed by the door slamming. I went back to sleep it’s just an everyday story of everyday folk.
The light comes on in the sitting room and Rebecca comes in “Are you awake Mikel?”
“I am now?” I say struggling to open my eyes.
“I’m fed up. I need someone to talk to and as you’re the only one left in the house I guess it’s you.”
“OK. No problem. What’s the matter?”
“I’m fed up and stressed, I could rip a phone book in half.”
“You need to relax.”
“I’m too stressed.”
“Then what you need is a foot massage.”
“I’ve never had one of those.”
“Trust me. You’ll love it.”
A foot was massaged. The reaction was immediate, Rebecca is going “mmmm.” A lot and “don’t stop, this is incredible.” And I’m thinking this has never happened before.
I did the other foot and she’s still mmmming like crazy. Then she says “Do you do a back massage as well?”
“Yeah it was covered in the course I did. No problem.”
So she lay face down on my cushion duvet bed and the back was massaged.
“This is no good.” She says “I’ll have to take my pullover off.” So she did, nothing on underneath. I carried on with the massage. You see I’m a professional. You don’t take advantage of your customers when you give a massage, it says so in the manual. Well she then turned over. She was laid there on her back, her long curly hair all over the pillow, and two perfect breasts. For chrissakes! How many clues did I need? The manual went out the window. Who needs professionalism when confronted by this.
We woke the next morning, heads aching and looked at each other. Then remembered what we had done. “Ah. We didn’t did we?”
“I think we must have.”
“But we’re mates, you know mates. Mates don’t shag.”
“well perhaps if we pretended it didn’t happen, then we can still be mates.”
“Good plan.”
So that’s was the plan it never happened again and we’re still mates. So if you’re reading this Rebecca, hi mate and thanks for a fabulous night, you were great. It’s our secret OK?


Petal is on holiday so she's had a sneak preview of this story. She wanted me to make a comment for her.

"What's wrong with having a shag buddy? I've got a couple of friends who don't want a proper relationship and they just call their shag buddy when they want a shag. The shag buddy obliges and that's that. They then go about their usual lives."

Now there's a thought. Having a long term shag buddy, seems to be a great idea if you like being single but don't want the hassle of looking for a date, who turns out to be the creature from hell, along with all that other unpleasant stuff. Followed by a trip to the clinic. Stalking. A protection order. the list goes on.

Stay safe buddies


Rock on!


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