I lay back, feet soaking in warm water, as she started to rub my forehead. “Oh, this is going to be good,” I thought.
Then she moved her hands to the top of my head and the pseudo-torture began. First, she dug her fingers into tender hollows that I didn’t know existed. I imagined a baby’s soft spot on the head and wondered if she’d ever punctured anyone’s skull with her deep probing. Then she started pulling my hair, before moving on to dig into my temples. I felt sudden, albeit short-lived, relief when she moved to my arms.
Hands moving along my tendons, feeling like she was attempting to mold a piece of clay that had long ago dried up and turned hard, I tensed my muscle trying to fight against the pain.
As she started on my hands, again I felt a flicker of pleasure. But soon enough she was pushing my fingers back to the breaking point like a bully challenging me to cry, “Uncle!”
I was sure when she moved to my calves that the pleasure would begin. Instead, her thumbs dug into the area between my muscles and bone and for the first time I squealed out loud.
“It ok?” she said.
“It tickles,” I replied.
Tickles? It was the furthest feeling from a tickle, but the unbearability of it, like an obnoxious relative who tickles you until you throw up, brought the word to my lips.
At one point, she begins vigorously rubbing my heel between two hands like she’s trying to start a fire in the woods. I wait for the friction to ignite my foot. I don’t smell smoke, so I begin to relax. Somehow, by the time she starts on my other foot, I’m thinking, “Make fire! Make fire!” It felt that good.
And after, nearly comatose from the feel-good hormones surging through my body, I wondered when I could do this again.
Green Palace Reflexology is located in Lawrence, KS. For only $30, you too can experience an hour of the best torture of your life. You’ll curse me–and then thank me–for the referral.