After my brief dalliance with a married man via massage I decided to leave Houston and head to NYC, the best place for distraction and massage money. I arrived on a Saturday morning and was booked for the weekend by the time I checked into a hotel on 42nd street.
I started the work day massaging two typical NYC businessmen. By typical I mean physically fit, five minutes early and hard through the entire massage.
My third client of the day was a very thin twenty-something who was all knees and elbows. He walked in wearing a knitted orange skull cap. While he was undressing he explained that he'd tripped while he was drunk a few days earlier and sliced his scalp on a yield sign. He removed everything but the cap and hopped onto my table.
"I have three staples holding my scalp together and even the wind is painful, so I'd prefer not take the chance of you accidentally brushing against it. I have to wear this cap outside to avoid infection. It's always a bit painful to take off so I'd rather just leave it on if that's okay."
"No worries." I preferred he kept it on.
Not two seconds later he shifted his entire weight on the head rest which then snapped under his weight. Trying not to face land into the table he instinctively grabbed his head, pulling the skull cap backward. He let out a sound that was synonymous with extreme pleasure or advanced pain.
He was immediately off the table hopping around on his toes like a cartoon villain sneaking up on his prey.
"Oh my God! Oh my fucking God! Fuck! The thread from my cap got caught on the staples. Ugh!"
Resisting the urge to say it was stupid to wear a knitted cap with staples in your head I offered my help.
"I understand it hurts but if you can stop hopping maybe I can help with the cap, or does the hopping help?"
"It's a reaction to the pain and yes it helps." He was now irritated with me and the orange cap. "This is exactly why I didn't want you going near the cap."
"I didn't," I said, simply.
"No shit! And this is why I didn't want you going near it. I knew this could happen."
Realizing he was just looking for something to blame I just sat there, quietly annoyed, thinking about my tight work schedule and how Frankenqueer was throwing it off.
He let out a couple more curse words then adjusted the treacherous cap in the bathroom mirror.
"You stopped hopping. Are you ok now?"
"Yeah, but I'm not up for a massage anymore. I'll still pay you for thirty minutes though."
"Don't worry about it. This one's on me. Are you a Yankees fan? Maybe a baseball cap would be better." I couldn't resist.
"Maybe," he said, then left.
My next client arrived on time. He was attractive and wearing a baseball cap that he pulled off, running his fingers through a full head of wavy hair and smiling like we were old friends, happy to see each other.