Ace Moloi writes about his spa treatment in the hands of Mafusi of Ubuncoko Day & Mobile Spa
I held two truths with me on the night. First, I knew I was going to undress. Second, she was going to touch me.
“Oh, it’s my time?” I ask as I recollect my thoughts. My mind is busy wandering and pondering. So preoccupied I actually didn’t hear myself pose the question.
“Yes, sir. It’s your time now,” she entertains the rhetoricity of my question.
When she calls my name, I ask first for the bathroom. I need relief. My bladder is overpopulated. But, I suspect, I want some moment with myself. Restrooms, I remember, are more for self-contemplation than they are for the other business. They are a sacred space.
A friend of mine once told me he can’t start a day without dumping a morning devotional down the sewage. Sometimes we think we’re having a bloated day, when we actually just need the bathroom. But we are not here for this.
As soon as I walk into the corridor, she directs me with her hand to the open door next to her. More like a traffic police officer. But unlike them who tend to wear a frown, her face is bright and inviting. Her uniform, too, is hopeful. It is laid so well on her you’d swear it’s her natural suit. I reach for my belt and begin kicking the heels of my shoes. I left the bathroom having unbuttoned my white shirt already.
When a woman is ready for you, she tears away your clothes in passionate intensity. But she is at her most calm mood. I sense she has never harmed anybody in the history of her life.
“Is this where we are doing it?” I say as I pack away my vest. She nods decisively and clears my shoes on her way. She shyly tells me to climb on the bed, and positions me suitably for the night’s business. I bury my face in the carved space and free my shoulders. By now my heart is heavy with performance anxiety.
When she touches me for the first time I sigh through the opening in the bed—so loud a sigh I imagine vapour hovering around. Upon a smear campaign on my back, she explores it with curious patience. Beginning her trip from my lower back, right on the edge of my waist, she works her way up with diligence.
I am able to attach a face to the sensation I feel. For, earlier, I witnessed her in action, treating one of Miss Heritage SA finalists. I know that she is not passing time with me. This is something she does from the depth of her spirit. It’s a conversation she has with every client that visits the spa. She speaks to your body. She assures it that relief is coming. With her Somatology qualification from the Central University of the Free State, plus her experience, multiplied by her personality, she is able to restore freshness in faint souls.
She has been going up and down my back for minutes now, hitting my tense areas with accurate tenderness. When she rubs my shoulder and neck, something in me wants to tap or moan. But, this being my first spa treatment, I’m not ready to be vulnerable. So, I hold it all in.
Thing is, it’s rare to find a person who massages your back right where it matters, without missing a single area of attention. When I was a kid, my mother used to ask me to scratch her back. But with her I could never strike the right area. Her itch was always elusive. Just when I thought I nailed it on the shoulder blade, she’d redirect me elsewhere. The result: huge amounts of time spent chasing a speeding itchiness with my short-legged fingers. At best, this used to make me laugh, and at worst, I’d down tools.
But Mafusi is thoroughly trained to hit the right buttons—and when she does, something wonderful happens, and I know she touched me.
Ace Moloi is the Editor of ART STATE. He is @Ace_Moloi on Twitter
FEATURED IMAGE: Back massage at Ubuncoko Day & Mobile Spa. Credit: Sourced