Monday, April 30, 2007

Israel: Massage and simulated love

If massage were a compulsory therapy (for the elderly especially), I'm certain the national prescription drug bill would be halved over night. This was one thought that passed through my mind after my Abianga sesame oil all-over-naked-body libation this morning at the Carmel Forest Spa Hotel.

Massage is, after all, a variation on stranger sex. Someone you don't know at all - or someone with whom you have no emotional connection - is given voluntary access to intimate parts of your body for a brief period. The massage worker's hands, lubricated with exotic oils, gently slide from your neck, down the torso side to your hip before a leisurely slide south on a leg to the destination of your toes - and then there's the anticipation of the return journey north. There are endless variations on touching. The receiver's body wants to respond to these joyful incursions - I reflexively gripped my masseur's hand this morning when he kneaded his into mine (he's used to it, it seems) - but you know that must not happen. Flesh and tissue and muscle are plied and stroked, and what could be sexual in another context is here therapeutic, calming, reassuring, healing.

It is in short a simulation of love. Afterwards, the two people involved go their separate ways. And there's no need to go through the charade of exchanging phone numbers. The massage worker's number is in the phone book.

I should advise that the elderly (especially) be granted a national allowance for one simulation of love at least per week - I shall have a word with Gordon Brown. Not only would creped skin experience those famously reduced signs of ageing, not only would ligaments and other connectors become taut once again and muscle toned, but this act of simulation would release bucket loads of happy-making endorphins. The body, ignored and untouched for years, neglected as its commodity value diminished with age, would once again zing with all the manual attention. The phrase "loved up" would acquire a new meaning. And should the ancient receiver die on the massage worker, well - what a way to go! Responsible sensuality is the thing most required for wellbeing. This I now realise, thanks to Abianga.

I hope that this posting provokes a responsible, grown-up response. I know you won't let me down.

13 comments:

Duralex said...

Hey, Dinu, come here with your violin RIGHT NOW ! There's a new miracle on Mount Carmel !

Anonymous said...

Phwoarrrr.... That responsible enough for you?

steph said...

..the Queeen will be here in Jamestown, VA this weekend..we look forward to her arrival..she is also visiting the victims from the lunatic massacre here..the student were slaghtered..maybe that will invoke an intelligent blog..and hopefully some love and gratefulness...

steph said...

..excuse my typos, my laptop is back to being under a spell...spelling errors!!

Arcati said...

Well, it was too much to expect that my thoughtful suggestion to bring happiness to our elders would provoke a responsible debate. Steph however has set a benchmark of maturity. Please duralex, behave.

Duralex said...

You're all wrong, Madame, I'm sincere. This is the most wonderful piece of literature you've ever posted so far, and the first article that shows a human face at last. A concentrate of melancholy and despair, looking so personal that it's really heartbreaking. I'll be damned if it's not a miracle... Well, if not, at least it's a beautiful artistic mirage. :-)

Arcati said...

I blush with modesty, duralex. It's reassuring that someone out there intuits the emotional welling that lies behind this blog. I have extinguished volcanoes with my tears - though with sadness or laughter I can or should not say.

The Daughter-of-a-bitch said...

Oh, yeah, that's beautiful indeed. If not at others, Arcati looks at herself with great humanity. We're all crying rivers over her lost youth and painful destiny.

Arcati said...

The Jasper Bitch seems oddly fixated on me. Perhaps she has a longing to wrap her pink moist tongue around one of my creped nipples. I believe there's a word for such an exotic fetish. Perhaps someone would be so kind as to Google a suggestion.

The Daughter-of-a-bitch said...

"Perhaps she has a longing to wrap her pink moist tongue around one of my creped nipples."

If you once have been full of the milk of human kindness (which I doubt) you've long since turned into a creepy dry nanny, that's for sure.

"I believe there's a word for such an exotic fetish."

Exotic much more than erotic, you're right. The only word that comes to my mind at the moment is "berk". But maybe it's just me.

Arcati said...

Yes, it's just you, you sad deprived bitch - personally, I'd drown you in my udder milk, slowly.

Anonymous said...

Did you get a freebie?

Madame Arcati said...

Of course. But I always get more than I'm promised.