Massage can be proxy for relationship
Is it bizarre that I'm virtually naked, lying in a room with a stranger?
l ArtisHENDERSON sandydays@florida-weekly.com

Being single in Southwest Florida requires optimism. And, during the dry spells, a credit card.

One of my favorite quotes on love and life comes from that great pessimist, Woody Allen. "Love is the answer," he said. "But while you're waiting for the answer, sex raises some pretty interesting questions."

Only, in my case, it would read, "Massage raises some pretty interesting questions."

Like, how much to go to second base? As it turns out, $59 for members, $79 for guests as I recently discovered during a trip to the newly-opened Massage Envy in south Fort Myers.

This being my first professional massage experience, I wasn't sure about the prerequisites. Just in case, I showered and shaved, brushed my hair and even dabbed on mascara. I started to put together an outfit, but, given that it was going to come off anyway, opted for the most comfortable option.

When I pulled into the parking lot of the Publix-anchored shopping center at Summerlin and Winkler, I had butterflies in my stomach and that blind date, neverknow what-you'll-get sense of anticipation. Steeling myself, I headed for the door.

COURTESY PHOTO My first professional massage experience

The lobby was coolly modern, with white tile floors and minimalist chairs. I checked-in with the polite, efficient reception staff and chose a chrome-framed chair to wait for my 7 p.m. appointment.

Right on time, David* came from within the dimly lit backrooms of the massage area, smiling broadly and extending a hand in my direction. We shook, my hand clammily nervous, his cool and confident.

I was still marveling at the softness of his hand, the intriguing combination of firmness and smooth skin, as we passed through the frosted glass door into the labyrinth of massage rooms inside. It took a second for my eyes to adjust to the low-level lighting, to take in the aura of warm serenity.

David led me to our massage room and politely left for me to disrobe. I undressed quickly, shyly, and climbed under the waiting sheet and blanket. He tapped gently on the door and asked if it was all right to come in.

We made small talk as he adjusted the sheet and tucked a pillow under my legs,

and all the while I'm wondering, Is it

bizarre that I'm virtually naked, lying in a

room with a stranger?

My sense of apprehension soon faded, however, as he began the first calming touches of the massage. He started at my temple and ran a soothing hand through my hair (gentlemen, take note: most women would kill to have their hair stroked). He progressed down to my shoulders, easily finding the tight spots.

Over the next hour, he poked and prodded other sore areas, touching nearly every tense muscle on my frame. Periodically, he would ask, "How are you feeling?" in a warmly compassionate voice. This sense of genuine concern must be a skill of the trade, like firm hands and deft fingers.

At the end of our session, he again left for me to dress, thanking me (me!) for the experience. I put on my clothes and ran a shaky hand through my tousled hair, not bothering to fix the smudged mascara under my eyes.

In the lobby, David had a glass of cool water waiting and again shook my hand. He disappeared back into the dark confines of the massage rooms as I took out my MasterCard. The receptionists tittered at my flushed face, and my hand shook as I signed the receipt. Weak-kneed, I made my unsteady way back to the car.

It may not have all the thrills of dating, but there is something to be said for defined boundaries and a clear exchange. Yes, I'm paying for the experience, but at least I don't have to wonder if he'll call.

At the heart of it, I know Woody Allen is right and massage is not the answer. But, while I'm waiting for love, I signed up for a membership.

*Some names have been changed to protect

my standing appointment.

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