I was dismayed when I read the sign that said the lift won't work. I'd have to go up three floors to get to my bank. I wasn't sure if my dodgy knees could take it. I climbed the stairs wearily cursing my luck. I felt angrier that I had let myself turn into self-pitying sexless middle aged man.
After much effort I had managed to reach just the first floor. As I stood there catching my breath and dreading the remaining climb up, I saw a glittering signboard for a spa. Curious, I stepped in and was greeted by a pretty young woman. She handed me the menu card. My heart froze when I saw the prices, it was just too much cash to burn for an hour. But then I thought I really didn't have anything better to spend on anyway. Perhaps my body could do with some pampering.
I was lost in these thoughts when the receptionist asked me in Hindi "local or northeast?". I stared blankly at her and absently said local and also chose aromatherapy massage. She smiled at me with a twinkle in her eye and called for a therapist. (I later learnt that masseuses from the northeast did professional massages, so it's easy to guess what the locals' expertise is.)
My masseuse introduced herself as Ruby. She was in her late twenties and had a fair complexion, typical of people from that part of coastal India. She had a cute smile and smelt heavenly. She said she'll be back with the oil and gave me a disposable panty to change into.
I took off my clothes, picked up the panty but was confused. The panty was actually a small triangle of paper-like fabric with elastric strings around and behind. I tried it on and the triangle just about covered my penis and the string behind just slid through my bum crack, like a G-string . I removed it and just wrapped a towel around me and waited for Ruby to come. She entered without knocking and smiled me. She asked if I was ready and I told her that women's panty had mistakenly been given to me. She chuckled and said they have just this for all clients.
