Calm Down Dearest // Shazam!

Despite the fact that I’m pretty tall, a huge football fan and can grow a pretty mean beard, I’ve never really been what I’d call a manly man. Yes I’m hairy, I find farting hilarious and I’m not very good at keeping eye contact when speaking with women but I’m generally pretty camp. I wear skinny jeans, straighten my hair and have a special moisturiser just for my pretty little face.

This last week I think it’s fair to say that I’ve surpassed all previous gayness by attending a rather lovely O Spa, in London. Firstly, let’s just clarify that it was my actual girlfriend that booked it and not me. Nope, I’m way too manly for that. Ahem. It was a… different experience shall we say but it all started very well. Whilst my girlfriend got taken into a room by a Russian shot putting look-a-like, I was whisked into a room alone with a young Swedish girl. Sweet. She instructed me to get take my clothes off and slip into a dressing gown hung up behind the door (I liked this girl already) and that I could either keep my boxers on or get down to my birthday suit. A tough choice, but I opted to keep my floppy cock tucked securely away whilst she waited outside for me. So, there I sat in a dressing gown as she re-entered and began slowly massaging my scalp, as my feet soaked in some smelly oils.

Then came the moment of truth – “If you’d just like to slip your dressing gown off and pop on the bed for me” (what I’d failed to do that morning, was properly think about what I was going to wear and the fact that a complete stranger would see me in my grundies). So, I dropped the robe… ta-da! That’s right; I stood hands on hips wearing nothing but my “Amazing Spiderman” boxer shorts on full show. Plastered right across my arse was the full Spiderman logo, whilst my manhood was modestly covered with the word “POW!”. I knew that I looked like a massive dick and to make matters worse, I knew that she thought I was a massive dick. Spiderman boxer shorts at my age? Honestly.

Red face aside, I hoped onto the massage table ready for my hot stone massage – a treatment I was told I was sure to enjoy. So as I lay there, the masseur started off slowly working her hands across my neck and back. It wasn’t long until she got some stones out of somewhere hot (I presume it was an oven, but my face was in that hole where all you can see is the floor and the masseur’s dirty shoes). Initially she just used the stones to make her hands that bit warmer, which was rather nice and then she piped up “Right, I’m going to use these hot stones on you now… Just let me know if they feel ok”. With that, she slapped them right on the bottom of my back. HOLY MOTHER OF GOD! They weren’t just hot, they were hotter than the sodding Sun! Christ on a bike! “Are they ok?” she asked. Nonchalantly I replied, “Oh yeah, yeah they’re fine thank you”. Little did I know she’d get another two balls of fire out from her evil foreplay set.

Having been sufficiently humiliated and tortured my massage ended and I was allowed to get dressed. Feeling slightly abused, I tootled downstairs only for my girlfriend and the receptionist to burst out laughing. Well fuck me, having consulted a mirror it was clear that my head was too big for that hole in the massage table because I was sporting some severe facial creasing. So severe in fact that it can only be likened to Marvin’s iron incident in Home Alone. It appeared that looking like a massive ring piece was about to last another few hours. Shazam!

You can find even more witticisms from Eddie over at the Calm Down Dearest page on Facebook. Just make sure you dash back over here every Wednesday, ok?