Not Your Ordinary Rub

If you're near the Village, stop by Avalon and treat yourself to an hour and a half with Hamlet.

The first thing I noticed was that the table was a little low compared to most massage tables I've been on, and there have been several. No worries, he's not that tall and I'm sure he knows what he's doing.

Boy did he.

The table's set up low to the ground because he uses his feet as well as his hands. That sounds weird, I guess ... but it's no weirder than the first time you realize you've got one masseur and more than two appendages on your body. He hoists his leg up on the table, wedges his foot behind my heel and uses his leg to stretch mine, all the while working over my back and leg with his hands and forearms. I was pulled and rubbed, twisted and turned, all the time being coaxed in a European accent to "exhale." He'd manipulate me into a pretzel, use most of his body weight for leverage and stretch every bit of tension out of me. It was like getting a massage and a yoga class all at the same time, but he did all the work. Brilliant.

The only other time I've had somebody work so hard to give a massage was a Thai Massage up at Paul Lebrecque -- but that's fully clothed and on the floor. And the gymnast-bodied, Bel Ami-esqe Russian boy who did that was way hotter, but that's another story. Well, the story's only in my mind, but ... *oof* ... he was a dream.

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This afternoon is our company's summer outing in Central Park. Forced socialization, picnic food and softball with co-workers. It's in the high 70's with 90% humidity and a 60% chance of thunderstorms. Joy. Can't I just go back to the spa?

I have to leave that early, get dolled up and head to Le Cirque for cocktails. Diversity is everything, right?