>
While viewing a Ted McCagg cartoon, Jeffrey Pillow remembers an incident when he was 17 involving a bottle of massage oil, a 58-year-old masseuse, and his penis.
—
“We have a surprise I really think you’ll like,” my mom and sister said.
It was the eve of my high school graduation and I was about to party like it was 1999.
Because it was 1999.
“There’s only one catch. You have to be there at a certain time this coming Saturday.”
Finally, my mom had caved. She was going to sign for me to get that tattoo I had been talking about for so long. I had even drawn out the design: a skull with an old man’s hat with a safety pin sticking out the brim and a pair of dice rolled off to the side. The skull would be smoking a cigarette.
Finally.
Only that wasn’t it. I would learn as much twenty-four hours after receiving my diploma.
“A professional massage,” my mom said. “I figured with all the stress leading up to final exams, you could use one.”
Fuck, I thought. I’m never getting that tattoo.
****
I got there early, arriving at 9:45 AM. My appointment was at 10:00.
“I hope this bitch is hot,” I said to myself, walking up the brick steps. I popped a stick of Teaberry gum in my mouth so that my breath would be fresh.
“Just go in the room right there and slip off your shorts,” the lady said. I assumed she was the receptionist.
She was approximately 58-years-old with a soft face and gray/white hair, cut short like women cut it once they hit 46 and give up on looking like women. She wore light green polyester slacks. She had a fupa. I would later learn this terminology from my well-mannered wife.
“Fupa?” I asked.
“Yeah, Fat Upper Pussy Area,” my wife said.
It was the first time I had heard my wife say the p-word.
“Say it again,” I said.
“Fupa.”
“No, the p-word.”
“No.”
From Urban Dictionary [dot] com:
Fat Upper Pussy Area (aka. Gunt) -You’ve all seen them, most commonly associated with obese burnt out High School Teachers (Good God man, I’ve seen FUPAS swallow an entire desk whole!) and the Wolf Pack (You know who you are).
Causes: Fupatitis P.
Only known cure: Fupandectomy
Used in a sentence:
Biiiaatch, get your god damn FUPA off my desk!!
Mrs. Addis, I mean Da’aaaam! (nuff said)
Look at dem fupers over der eh. (Canadian Fupa sighting)
Bertha’s pouch above her vagina is bigger than the rest of her body. She’s bigger than the Fupapottomaus, she is a FupaSaurus Rex.
I entered the room to change and first took off my shirt and socks. I swished around the Teaberry juice in my mouth to get the flavors all across my palette. I didn’t want to have bad breath. You know, just in case. I’d read many a Penthouse Forum letter about massage clinics. I knew what sometimes went on in these establishments –- and I was 17. A man can dream when he’s 17, even if he can’t dream at any other time in his life. The possibility existed that this adventure might end in ecstasy, and if that possibility existed, by George I would be ready.
As I was taking off my shorts, the 58-year-old woman with a fupa opened the door.
“What’s taking you so long?” she asked peeking over at me. She had two small white towels in her hand.
Jesus, give me a second, I thought. I’ve only been in here two seconds.
“Well, let me know when you’re ready. I’ll be waiting in the lobby when you’re done.”
She’d be waiting? Shouldn’t she be at the front desk answering the phone?
****
I was lying face down on my stomach when she entered, my face peering through a hole cut out in the bed. I saw her clean white shoes as she entered and those green polyester pants. A towel was over my bottom. The 58-year-old woman was not the receptionist. She was my masseuse for the morning. She squirted some massage oil in her hands and began by rubbing my shoulders and neck then worked her way down my spine. Such soft, delicate hands, I thought, yet so strong.
Oh God, this feels so good. Why have I never had a professional massage before? Knead the bread, I thought as she took the muscles of my back into her hands. Just knead the bread.
Who cares if she’s not a stunning 18-year-old brunette?
“Any areas of special interest you’d like me to work on?” she asked.
“All over,” I said. “But if you could do my calf muscles and legs for a little bit that would be great. I play basketball religiously.”
She squirted some more massage oil in her hands and worked on my calves first then my feet. Then she made her way up my hammies. They were so tender. Man, I really underestimated how good this could feel.
Holy shit, she’s getting close to my thighs.
Oh my God, I’m getting a semi.
Breathe deep.
Fat women. Fat women.
Fat women in purple leotards. Fat women in purple leotards.
Fat women in purple leotards riding unicycles.
Oh my God, she just graced my perineum.
I’m sure it was an accident. Definitely an accident.
She went down my hamstrings again and to my calves.
Then she came back up.
Oh my God, it wasn’t an accident.
She just touched my perineum again. And my balls.
Oh my God, she touched my balls. Oh my God, my penis is getting swollen. Oh my God, she’s going to hit my penis with her hand. It’s facing my knees. It’s facing my knees.
Red alert.
I should have worn boxer briefs. Boxers was a bad idea.
“What is wrong with you Jeff?” my internal narrator Jason said to me. “She’s 58 for crying out loud!”
I’m very well aware of this, asshole.
“Say something.”
Like what? Excuse me, you just touched my balls and now I have an erection?
“She knows what she’s doing,” Jason said. “What are you going to do when she tells you to flip over?”
Oh no, I hadn’t thought of that.
I had to figure out a way to position my penis so it was lying flat on my belly.
There was no way to be subtle though I tried. I lifted my crotch from the table and positioned my penis flat against my belly.
This is humiliating.
“Just go with it,” my penis said.
Hey, fuck you buddy. She’s gotta at least be 58. She’s wearing green polyester pants.
“Grass on the field, play ball.”
“Penis,” Jason said. “SHUT . . . THE FUCK . . . UP! This woman’s vagina is up to her belly button.”
“Mmm,” penis said. “Vagina.”
“Alright,” the masseuse said. “Flip over so we can get your front.”
Then she began working on the front of my shoulders and arms.
She’s gotta know, I thought.
Then she began massaging my chest and ribs.
Oh my God, the towel just moved.
“Reporting for duty, sir,” penis said.
Flaccid. Become flaccid. Oh please become flaccid.
She must have seen that. There’s no way she didn’t see that.
This is the worst day of my life. Someone’s grandma is getting me hard.
****
Fifteen minutes later, the massage was over. She left the room and I stood up, erect as a newly placed statue in the town square. I put my t-shirt on and pulled my shorts up, positioning my swollen, aching penis under my waistband. I walked to the front desk with my gift card.
“Thank you,” I said to the 58-year-old woman with a fupa.
“Thank you. Come again,” she said with a smile.
That bitch is mocking me, I thought as I walked out the door and down the brick steps.
****
“How was it?” my mom asked as I entered my home.
“It felt really good,” I responded. Then I went upstairs to my bedroom and locked the door.
[Insert happy ending here]
Oh my god, I was laughing so hard at this.
WHY did she touch your balls? Is that necessary?
And FUPA?? Over here we call that a GUNT. I’m sure you can figure it out.
Eleven years later, I still try and convince myself she touched my balls by accident. But in my heart, I know the truth. Granny was getting her feel on. It was subtle. But after the first two times you swipe my balls, you know where they are. Between my legs.
(Accidentally posted this below)
Gleefully incorrect. Thank you.
I was inspired by Ted McCagg’s humor and Wes Craven’s horror stories.
So wrong in so many ways.
The inner dialogue with Jason, your penis’s inner voice = brilliant.
I’m still laughing.
I figured it was about time my penis made its debut on TNB with a speaking role.
The internal dialogue here is hysterical. I also enjoyed the foray into the Urban Dictionary.
As a professional Massage Therapist, I am totally freaked out that she touched your 17 year old balls. (But as an unprofessional, salacious writer, I’m entertained that you liked it.)
You’re freaked out? Holy hell, I’m still traumatized by this event. I haven’t gotten a professional massage since. I get my wife to do it — who I get to role play that she’s the 58-year-old masseuse from eleven years ago on occasion. (Just kidding)
Haha! Good laughs here. I’ve never had a professional massage, but this reminded me of the sex-with-masseuse scene in Temple of my Familiar (last Alice Walker book I made the mistake of reading). Glad to hear from Lisa that testicular pounding is not standard procedure because, really, that does not sound at all pleasant, even with soft, gentle hands involved?
Oh, you should definitely get at least one professional massage. The ones with AARP memberships really know how to work it best.
Eleven years later, I still try and convince myself she touched my balls by accident. But in my heart, I know the truth. Granny was getting her feel on. It was subtle. But after the first two times you swipe my balls, you know where they are. Between my legs.
I heard the word “gunt” about six years ago and decided it was the least pleasant word I’d ever heard. I was satisfied, though, because I thought my friend had coined it. I didn’t know it was something that could come back to haunt me years later.
This story was hilarious, though. I’m sure every guy has a story that would fit this title perfectly, but most of them wouldn’t be as great as this one.
Gunt was a new one for me too. I hadn’t heard that until I did an Urban Dictionary search on fupa, and then Zara said that’s what they call a fupa in New Zealand. David, you need to find out what they call it in Korea.
re title: Indeed. I have a pretty good sequel to this too but I’ll hold off for a month or so. It involves a mental breakdown, a physical/testicular examination, and an Asian physician.
That sounds alarmingly familiar…
Doesn’t it just? Can’t wait.
Oh gunt is just awful. Once I had it in my head it just would not go. The horror, the horror.
On a similar note, my sister used to call me a queef when I was like eleven years old. (I had no idea what it meant and didn’t for at least two years) Every now and again, I’ll see one of her old high school classmates and they’ll say, “What’s up Queef?” It’ll never die. That word will haunt me till death.
Good piece, Jeffrey. Every boy’s worry. And I agree that the dick’s inner voice is great.
My first professional massage was from a woman who turned out to be my son’s new best friend’s mother (I had only met the father).
Was it awkward meeting the dad?
“Hello, very nice to meet you. Your wife gave me an erection. Such hands . . .”
Haha, love this! Massages are already loaded w/ potential for awkwardness, and this experience of yours had some great ‘extras’ that were bound to spice the whole thing up. (You wrote it really well, too. Hilarious.)
Thanks for making me laugh out loud! JEEZ–When you had to leave the room and tuck “it” in your waistband. Fat women in purple leotards…
That FUPA/GUNT deal–never heard of it. I have to say, my vocabulary is improving because of TNB. What does GUNT stand for? (I might not want to know, right?)
You don’t want to know…
I’ll take your word for it…
Thanks for the well written laugh fest.
I’ve had the same massage therapist for 10 years. She’s brilliant.
Can’t really comment for long, Jeffrey. Everytime I try, I get the giggles. Way hilarious “silent” dialogue goin’ on in that massage room!
This makes JD Salinger’s coming of age novels downright dull.
Love your wife’s role in this, too, especially when she refuses to answer further.
Okay, Jeff. This is hilarious. I love the internal dialogue.
““Mmm,” penis said. “Vagina.””
Epic. Just epic.
Dude, I laughed at this both times I read it. I’ve delayed commenting because I really wanted to include a picture of some shirts I designed and sell on stage occasionally. I’ll have to do that in a separate comment though.
They say FUPA though, but it looks like the PUMA logo. And the Puma has a little Fupa. Hahahaha. I should just take a picture.
Nice one, dude. This one definitely made me smile. And, oh yes, if you ever need anyone to utter the P-word into your ear, just shoot me a call and I’d be more than happy to oblige. Or, if you’d rather hear it uttered from the lips of a lovely woman, I’ll see if I can track down Lenore. I’m sure she’d be more than happy to help you out.
BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA – this was just what I needed this morning to get me moving. Hilarious story. I freakin’ love massage stories. I think we should have “Massage Week” at TNB, where we all post our best one.
And I’ve seen Slade’s T-shirt with the puma with the fupa. It’s everything he claims and more.
I’ve had a couple of massages, and each one has triggered a little inadvertant tumesence. Fortunately, each one was only performed on my back, so I was able to conceal it while lying face down.
However, for putting the word ‘FUPA’ into my brain, I’m going to have you hunted down and killed.
many laughs, but the conversation with your wife was my favorite:
just: NO. haha!
I love perverts. They remind me of me. I mean…
BAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
I discovered ‘Gunt’ this year, courtesy of a certain Zara Potts…
I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry!
HAHAHAHA fucking hilarious! And I was surprised to think Allison was the one to tell you what a FUPA was, lol.
That sounds like it would have been one bitchin’ tattoo, Jeff.
Which is to say that I think your mother may have done you a favor by not signing the parental release form.
Haha! This was funny as hell! This also happened to me several times – the therapist accidentally touching my balls.
Of course you had a hard-on. A young guy seeing even an old cunt will do it.lol