Now, we are in Cobourg. It may not be Arden, but at least in Cobourg, you don’t have to pee in the woods.
Katr’s been working awfully hard these days and I sure needed a break from my grueling regime of working at home in my pyjamas, so we came here, to Cobourg, Ontario’s Feel-Good Town, for some R&R. We tried to locate a lesbian b&b, because it’s important to support the sisters, but the ones we found in the Southern Ontario region seemed to be more like cabins in the woods (dangerously close to camping) where they rub cats on you and try to draw the moon into your womb through song. Being allergic to cats (me) and the great outdoors (also me), and being more interested in pampering (Katr) then roughing it (not us), we ended up choosing the next best thing - a gay man b&b. One of the owners is an RMT. They have a golden lab named Dylan who greets guests with an big, fuzzy, red teddy bear in his mouth. They have wireless internet and digital cable. It’s like they’re us, but slim and with a dog and liking the dick.
One of the reasons we chose to come here was that they offer a “learn to give your partner a therapeutic massage” workshop, where one of you gets taught how to massage while the other gets massaged and then - after a short break for tea and scones - for real - you switch.
I’ve never really been into massage, ‘cause I don’t like people touching me. The first time I had a massage was under duress; my back, neck and shoulders were in constant seizure due to the teeth-splintering jaw clenching I’d been doing and I was high on motrin all the time. My good friend Mipa, a girl with strong hands and an advanced knowledge of human anatomy, decided that enough was enough. I was worried that, with so much tension to release, I would become a sobbing mess the minute she started, but really, it just hurt WAAAAAAAAAY too bad to cry. The next day, I felt as if I’d been in a fight but once the soreness wore off, I noticed that my shoulders had dropped back down to their proper place and were no longer crowding my ears. A miracle? Nay. Massage.
I have since come to understand that massage doesn’t ONLY need to happen in an emergency. Some folks, like Katr, have ‘em every couple of weeks, to work out the kinks and keep things loose, in a muscular sense. But for me, it’s something I feel I have to work myself up to, so I like to wait until I can’t turn my head before I pick up the phone.
This is why this workshop is such a great idea. We learned the basics of anatomy, how and where to apply pressure, how you have to yell at me to “RELAX” at least three times before I actually do, how Katr’s toes twitch if you stick your thumb into her thigh at a certain place. They gave us some yummy body butter, fed us some tea and scones and left the table set up so that we could practice. We had a lovely time and the end result is that now I can make KATR rub me for money and I don’t even have to leave the house! HA! Ha ha. . . I mean, just kidding, honey. Ha ha . . . sort of.
An especially deep tissue massage goes out to all you kind and lovely people who voted for this blog over at Blogs by Women.org last week! Thanks to your love and voting efforts, Creampuff Revolution was voted the “Favourite Lesbian, Bisexual, Queer Blog” and is now the featured Blog of the Week. I’m so flattered, I’m three kinds of pink. And for those of you familiar with my colour-coded blush alert, that’s a pretty high level of blush.
