The Hulk

Well, day two is starting off nicely. So nicely, that we need a nap to sleep off the "breakfast". So, we went to the pool area and grabbed a few lounge chairs. We took turns giggling at all the sober people. A few hours later, it was time for our massage treatments.

My therapist today looked just like The Hulk, but without the ripped jeans and being green. He was massive and strong. He kneaded me in every which way possible. He would grab a handful of my skin on my shoulder, and would knead it until it was soft and buttery.

And painful.

Very painful.

I would cringe and flinch each time he would start on a new area. It didn't seem to deter him at all. I start to whimper. He seems to knead harder. I get tears in my eyes, and he kneads harder. By now, I'm concentrating on a few things: keeping covered under the sheets. Not peeing. Not crying.

Finally, the 45 minutes are over. The Hulk leaves the room, and I slowly get dressed. (It takes me a very long time, since my arms don't want to work.)

I head outside, and lay down next to Ethel.

"So, how was it??"

"Very harsh. I think that guy hates me. I think he hates me because I'm beautiful........Oh, no! Do you think that he could smell the vodka??" I start to panic.

Ethel giggles.

Oh, no. "What did you do!?!" I ask her.

"Nothing!" She giggles some more.
"Okay, maybe I mentioned it to Hans that you liked it really really rough. The rougher the better." She snorts. "Next time, don't eat the last orange."

She giggles so much that she falls off the lounge chair.
I don't help her up.