feet, both of them, and it was ah-ahhh-amazing!
Don't get your shorts in a wad, I would never let another man touch me inappropriately.
Friday, Mama (aka G. Mama....Mama G. or half of the "prentals") had lunch and than got a pedicure.
Mama was the first person to introduce me to the joy and elation of a pedicure. I immediately loved it. And being that, as I've stated before on this blog, I may not be much of a runner, but my feet show the extent to which I attempt to be a runner.
We arrived and the nail salon was busy, busy, busy. A young gentlemen got us seated, a cup of water, and hot water added to soak our tootsies in. I admit I was hoping that he was just doing the prep work and someone else would take the tools to my hooves.
He sat down and started to slowly and meticulously trim my disgusting overgrown cuticles and dry skin and ill-shaped, home trimmed nails. The nice, twenty something man, masculine, gently chastised me for trimming my nails so short and leaving sharp ends. He's totally right, when I trim my toenails I'm usually doing something else, listening to music or Riddick and not at all paying attention to what I'm doing.
The bliss continued as we got to the massage part. His massage technique was very, very firm. I could feel the tender spot where I slammed my shin into the trailer hitch the weekend before. But the most glorious thing was the moment when he pressed his thumb into the arch of my foot......Oh mercy, holy buckets, it was not as good as sex, not even close, but it was very relaxing.
The whole experience was almost ruined when he actually popped my big toe. I hate having my toes popped, I mean who, besides Riddick and this salon dude, think it's pleasant to give the distinct impression that you are going to rip my toe off?
Other than that minor digression, it was a wonderful pedicure. And I bet when you saw this headline you though I went-a-whoring :-)
Don't get your shorts in a wad, I would never let another man touch me inappropriately.
Friday, Mama (aka G. Mama....Mama G. or half of the "prentals") had lunch and than got a pedicure.
Mama was the first person to introduce me to the joy and elation of a pedicure. I immediately loved it. And being that, as I've stated before on this blog, I may not be much of a runner, but my feet show the extent to which I attempt to be a runner.
We arrived and the nail salon was busy, busy, busy. A young gentlemen got us seated, a cup of water, and hot water added to soak our tootsies in. I admit I was hoping that he was just doing the prep work and someone else would take the tools to my hooves.
He sat down and started to slowly and meticulously trim my disgusting overgrown cuticles and dry skin and ill-shaped, home trimmed nails. The nice, twenty something man, masculine, gently chastised me for trimming my nails so short and leaving sharp ends. He's totally right, when I trim my toenails I'm usually doing something else, listening to music or Riddick and not at all paying attention to what I'm doing.
The bliss continued as we got to the massage part. His massage technique was very, very firm. I could feel the tender spot where I slammed my shin into the trailer hitch the weekend before. But the most glorious thing was the moment when he pressed his thumb into the arch of my foot......Oh mercy, holy buckets, it was not as good as sex, not even close, but it was very relaxing.
The whole experience was almost ruined when he actually popped my big toe. I hate having my toes popped, I mean who, besides Riddick and this salon dude, think it's pleasant to give the distinct impression that you are going to rip my toe off?
Other than that minor digression, it was a wonderful pedicure. And I bet when you saw this headline you though I went-a-whoring :-)
Comments
Post a Comment