My lover had chosen the Lily Spa. It was unlike other day spas we had visited in Chinatown in the past. Lily Spa was located in Roscoe Village, on the beaten path in one of Chicago’s more interesting neighborhood; interesting for the fact it had more business like doggy day- cares and bars. Over Easy, my favorite restaurant which is just up the street was discovered while watching a restaurant reviews show – “Check Please”. I would suggest we go for a bite to eat after.
Previously, we’d gone to day spas in Chicago’s Chinatown. They were quaint but always held an air of mystery, an ambiguity. I never knew the outcome of my visits. Would they end with just a massage?
We were met by an Asian woman at the front door. She watched through the store front window as we parked on Belmont Avenue. We were 15 minutes late but were warmly greeted at the door by the woman, who wore a lilac Polo shirt. She led my lover to the cashier behind the register to pay $130 which was the cost for the both of us – a couple’s massage. The cashier also wore a lilac polo shirt and black pants.
I looked around the spa; it was very clean and modern; inside a glass case near the register were massage lotions, gels and creams for sale in sleek glass bottles. “Please follow me,” our greeter said and then led us to a room that was dimly lit. Inside the room were two hardwood massage tables, and on the left of the room near the bed I had chosen were white towels rolled neatly side-by-side and massage lotions on a wooden shelf.
She instructed us to remove are clothing, grab towels, and to climb on top of the tables that were lined with towels and a thin paper, the kind found in a doctor’s exam rooms. She left the room and closed the door behind her.
We lie face down, with heads on face rests, while listening to what I perceived was an Asian classical music. Two women entered the room, I could hear them. I stare at the hard wood floor through the opening on my face rest unable to see them both.
My masseuse immediately began to apply pressure to my shoulders and began to manipulate the membrane that outlined my muscles, bypassing with her fingers the Latissimus Dorsi muscles, she went deeper reaching my ribs capturing each between her thumb and index fingers.
I lie between pleasure and pain. The painful action caused a pleasurable release of pressure. I could hear the release of air, with each of her movements came a light popping sound. She then moved to my lower back her touch more delicate, she apply pressure using both palms, she mounted the table, straddled my hips and apply more pressure leaning in with the force of her weight. I remembered to inhale and exhale. I had stopped breathing for a moment. I began to breathe again.
She dismounted the table and pushed my foot in the direction of my backside, I felt tightness in my thigh and then she released it and moved to the other leg repeating the movement. I breathed.
I could hear him snoring beside me. His masseuse asked him if she was applying too much pressure, he didn’t answer it was just silence except for the music that played.
I was asked to roll over on my back, she assemble my towel so that it cover my torso and resume her effort. I got a glimpse of her before I close my eyes. She was petite and pretty with long black hair shiny black ponytail. I also got a glimpse of the other half, apart of the couple’s massage as he continue to sleep, now face up.
I am Monica Staton owner of Body Language’s Personal Training. My philosophy involves being emotionally excited about fitness and fashion.
I help to minimize figure flaws, conceal them, or both. I am a skilled personal trainer, and style consultant; I bring a high level of enthusiasm to both disciplines. I have studied fashion design at Columbia College Chicago, and I am an Ace Certified Personal Trainer specializing in strength training. I currently write a monthly news-letter “Form follows Fashion,” which specifically relates to physical fitness, and fashion well-being.
I am flexible, fashionable, open, receptive, intuitive about my client’s physical needs, and personal tastes.