Kendallkasey's Blog











{April 4, 2010}   A Massage To Remember

Often times I am asked if I am ever tempted to walk out during the middle of a massage once my client is fast asleep, and while I have been tempted more than 50% of my career, I refrain and continue the massage as if I was just as content in my dark and boring room as my sleeping client. If I were to leave with a guarantee there would be no waking up from Sleeping Beauty then why would any massage therapist consider staying in the room in that situation? They wouldn’t. This scenario actually taking place is almost impossible because it seems that people are only in a twilight sleep, and as soon as the person is not being touched they would wake up, realize they are getting screwed out of a massage, and would storm out f the room in a fit of anger. With my luck, they would forget to put on their clothes as their nude body was jiggling in places no one should have to see.  

Well, the other day something hilarious happened. “You had something funny happen in massage?”, you ask.  Yes, it’s hard to believe, but I did. I was sitting in my office hanging out with my husband and kids, and I get a call from the front desk informing me that I would soon be left alone with the intern that knows how to do next to nothing and I would have to bring my next clients back myself. Then she added, “They’re old.” Before I could protest, she hung up and I heard the staff minus the intern leave the office.

I know what you must be thinking. “What’s so bad about old people, Kendall?” Well, I’m not talking about the people who can perform activities such as getting on the table, dressing themselves, and going poo – that kind of thing. Really, if a child isn’t potty trained, this statement would include them as well. As of now, my children can wipe their own asses, my husband is self-sufficient, and my parents and in-laws are young, spry, and can fully function on their own. I am uncomfortable around people who can’t tell me when they have to use the bathroom, who don’t know their names, who could fall off the table at any time, and basically make me work any harder than what I already do while I give the massage.  I am not a baby sitter. I am an educated practitioner, and my primary reason for going to school was to avoid doing the work of a nursing assistant. It is what it is, and you can think of me what you will because I don’t care. If I were writing this to make everyone happy there would be no point.

I walked to the lobby and there sat the couple that looked to be in their nineties. They were both cute enough with their matching mustaches, and as I approached them they looked up and stared at me with squinted eyes.

“Who is up first?” I screamed. They said nothing, and kept staring. Shit, this wasn’t good. I could already tell this wasn’t going to go my way. I rescreamed the question as I walked closer to them.

“She is”, the man coughed out. His teeth came loose, but he promptly got them back in without the use of his hands like he was doing a senior center party trick.

The woman stood, handed her purse to her husband but he grunted and shoved it back at her. Hmmm, so men never agree to carry the purse. I always kind of thought they gave in after a certain age. I offered to take it from her, and she not only handed me that but she took off her jacket. I took that too, but then she made the motion indicating she was about to take off her shirt.

“NO!” I commanded. She refrained, and began her shuffle walk down the hall following me to the room. Once there I showed her exactly what to do by pretending to take off my clothes (don’t get any ideas guys – it was so not sexy). I actually climbed on the table as she stood swaying in the corner, not even paying attention. After getting somewhat of a confirmation she understood, I left her to get ready while I said goodbye to my family who were patiently waiting for me.

While I was in my office with them, I heard the door open. I peeked around the corner just in time to see her naked. Crap!

“Was I supposed to take all of my clothes off?” she huffed the question.

“YES! I’ll be in in a minute – go lay down!” I screamed as I tried to motion lying face down while I was standing up. Don’t try that, by the way.

I got my children out of the office before their virgin eyes weren’t so virgin anymore. I walked into the room, and my new best friend was still standing there naked. I guess trying to explain what “face down” looks like while I was standing wasn’t so helpful. I got her up there finally, but she just didn’t get it. I began the massage as best as I could, and after five minutes she propped herself up and said she wanted to take her hearing aid off.

“It’s not working anyway”, I told her. No response. I was right. I placed it on the shelf and continued on.

Five more minutes passed and she simply yelled “OFF!”. I jumped back quickly.

“Is it ova? Are you done?” she inquired.

I decided to have her roll over, but that was a huge mistake I will never fully recover from. Let me ask you. Did you know that boobies really do eventually rest on the top of the thigh when sitting upright? I did not know this. I thought it was a funny joke that card series from Hallmark makes with their character “Maxine”. This is no laughing matter, and I will never buy one of those cards for someone again. I have seen this phenomenon, and I am actively trying to prevent this from happening to myself and loved ones.

She was now successfully lying on her back – almost. It looked like she was going to fall off any minute, but I was in the home stretch and I wasn’t turning back now, or so I thought.

“You know I need a pillow when I’m lying on my back!!” she coughed out. Damn it! I left to get a flipping pillow. I was gone for a millisecond, and when I turned back around she had quickly shuffled up behind me so her naked body was too close for comfort.

I got her back up AGAIN, and finished the massage. I cut her time because she was now relieving herself of gas in both ways. My room smelled, and I had enough of the up and down and rolling over. She told me that the massage was wonderful, and after playing charades to show her what to do next, I left the room.

I cringed when I heard the door open because I thought I would see the nakedness again, but she was clothed. I shuffled her down to the bathroom, and walked to my office to find a Valium. I couldn’t believe what I heard next.

“I’m here for my massage.” It was Princess Saggy Bosoms, and she didn’t remember the massage that I would never forget.

My receptionist left her, and I met her in the hall with her answer before she even had to ask.

“Yes, she did have her massage already. Please make sure you walk her to her husband.”

I couldn’t friggin’ believe that the one time I could have left, I didn’t.



{April 2, 2010}   Moan and Groan

I typically work late into the evening, and beyond 6pm I am all by myself. I’m asked continuously if I’m scared of being attacked by creepy men, or women for that matter, but I am very careful and selective when it comes to my evening clients. There was this one time this guy somehow slipped through the cracks, but he was referred by several of his coworkers I massaged so I thought he would be okay.

My first impression of this guy wasn’t the best, not because he was creepy, but because he was so rude. I walked into the lobby and approached the chair he was sitting in with an outstretched hand to introduce myself. I received nothing in return but an index finger pointing to the sky telling me to “hold on” as his acne scarred face looked down at his cell phone. Hold on? Seriously? I stay here until ungodly hours of the night, and all I get is a hold on? Oh, you have got to be kidding me!

I walked the asshole back to the massage room as he made a phone call right in the middle of a question I was trying to ask him. Once we were at the door to my room I told him exactly how I needed him to undress, well you know, so there would be no expecting the sex – “sexpectin”. I was almost out of the room to go find some Valium, but he called me back in to ask if I did “specific nude gluteal work”. Haaaaa! Where the Hell did he think he was?

“No there will not be any “nude gluteal work” done here – EVER! Which coworker told you that could be a possibility?” I screamed. He jumped back a foot.

“None of them”, he said. “You don’t have to mention this to any of ’em, okay?” he was practically begging he sounded so desperate, and was looking sort of sweaty all of a sudden.

I left him to get ready, and I took a while coming back in hopes of his sweat seeping into his pock marks, leaving me with a dry back to work on. I walked into the room and he said,”I thought you’d never come” in this deep I’m trying too hard to sound sexy voice. I thought I might vomit, but swallowed it back. This would be a long hour.

I should have done some preliminary work before using massage oil on his back because he came well equipped with his own bodily secretions. As I worked my way down his spine, I’m sure I looked like a Jeep going off-road as he was the bumpiest weirdo I had ever laid my hands on. Hell, he was the bumpiest person, weird or normal, I had ever touched! I guess I shouldn’t fault a man for something he probably couldn’t control, but his whole persona made me dislike him, and when I dislike someone I naturally attack something they really can’t help. I’m kind of a bitch like that, but then again, if you aren’t weird, creepy, an asshole, mean, stupid, etc. then you have nothing to worry about.

As I was coming back up to finish off one of the most wonderful massage moves ever created (seriously almost orgasmic) I thought for a split second he did have an orgasm. What came out of this man’s mouth, diaphragm really, was almost embarrassing, for both of us. “OOOOOHHHHHHAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHMMMMMMM YEAH!” he screamed. He sounded like a really old, ancient vacuum cleaner being powered down. At that moment I was so happy it was only he and I because the sound that came from somewhere deep within him made me feel so wrong, and I can only imagine what others would have thought on the other side of the door.

The moaning and groaning continued for what seemed to be an eternity, and every time I heard another horrible, exaggerated explosion of his pleasure being released for my listening enjoyment, I knew he really thought highly of himself. Suddenly the mood of the massage shifted, and he actually began a conversation. Although it was about himself, talking was so much better than listening to him make barbaric noises every other second. He propped his disgusting, oil laden body up and looked right at me before he spoke.

“I have a great group of people who I would love for you to meet, and I mean, they have just helped me so much. I know that with a lot of time with this group you will be able to break free from all of the negativity I can feel in this room. You don’t even know how much is pouring out of you right now, I didn’t know how much I was carrying around with me, well, until my group set me free”, Moan and Groan so eloquently explained as he cried. “My dad and I have reconnected after too many years to even count, and that’s just amazing. They will offer you so much, and I will pay for your first meeting just so you can see how awesome these people are,” he cried on.

“Dude, I don’t have to pay people to be friends with me, and the only reason you feel all of this negativity you speak of is because you are on my table right now. I’m not comfortable with such loud expressions, I guess you could say. That’s not proper massage etiquette, just to let you know”, I told him.

He was still crying. There are situations when it’s totally fine for men to cry, for instance, on his wedding day, or the birth of his child, but at a massage? Not only that, but, the first time he has a massage with the therapist and the tears start flowing with no end in sight is just odd. I can totally believe he didn’t have a relationship with his father because if he did, his father would have told him to man up and save the tears for something to really cry about. (See, I am a real bitch when you aren’t a normal person to begin with). Moan and Groan got a little testy then.

“You DO NOT pay these people to be friends with you! This is an organization that purifies one’s outlook on life.”

“Okay, the massage is over. I will meet you up at the front, okay?” I walked out of the room so he couldn’t say another word.

Once at the check out counter, “Moan and Groan’s” mood changed again. This dude was as bad as Britney Spears when she’s PMSing, maybe even worse since he didn’t bother to wipe the tears before he approached me. Oh, wait just a minute! Those were fresh tears, and I could sense yet another lecture about letting go of my anger.

“I do apologize about that back there. I, uh, know I got carried away, and I came on too strong. I really want you to know how sorry I am, but I would like to make it up to you by paying for your first class.”

“Look, I appreciate one’s passion and ability to commit themselves to something, anything really, but I am not going to your group counseling.” I figured if I related it to psychological help he would get pissed and never come back, but instead he smiled and pulled the “kill ’em with kindness” routine.

“Okay, that’s okay. I would like to make another appointment because I am not giving up on you. Do you have anything available next week?”

I set him up with his appointment, and he was on his way as I immediately began thinking of reasons I could use to cancel him. Yes, massage therapists do that all of the time. Wouldn’t you?



It’s 7am, I’m barely awake and annoyed to be back in my massage room so soon after leaving at midnight the night before. My client is already asleep, and I was nodding off as the music and low lighting was sending me into dreamland. Just then I heard a noise that reminded me of air being let out of a bicycle tire, but it quickly stopped, and I was right back to nodding off. Not sure of how much time had passed, I woke up to what sounded like a BB gun firing a few quick rounds, but unlike the air being let out of the tire, this gunshot sound was accompanied by a smell like no other. I just knew if I took in too much of this horrid odor I could die, and I had too much to do for that nonsense.

I decided to ask what it was I thought was going to kill me, but before I asked, I practiced inquiring in the most courteous manner possible. What came out was far from courteous, in fact, I was so rude.

“Did you fart?” I fired the question at her like the BB gun I thought I just heard.

She snorted herself awake, then I thought she snorted some more, but that was just how she breathed. “What did you say? Did you ask me if I farted? I don’t know why I would be doing that, I mean, the only thing I ate last night was chili,” she answered before I heard another snore/fart combo.

I have massaged people who have had intestinal problems such as the one I dealt with at this appointment, but they all excused themselves or even cancelled hours before they were supposed to see me. This wonderful woman basically told me my nostrils meant nothing to her, and continued to pass her disgusting gas for the duration of the massage. I am not one of those therapists that tries to cut people short of their time, but I had to. I could not breathe, and I seriously thought I was going to pass out on top of her.

Once out of the room and in clean air again I swear I could think more clearly about my next move, but before I could do this she dressed in record time and was farting her way down the hall to our nearest bathroom. I didn’t see her again that day which was fine because I have no idea if I would have the ability to make eye contact with someone who had capabilities to clear a room that quickly.

It’s fine when it’s just one and they’re done, but almost an hour of that in my face was just too much. She never excused herself, apologized – nothing, and the next appointment she acted as if nothing happened. The “incident” was never mentioned again.

My name is Kendall, and I’m a massage therapist. I’ve decided to write a memoir on my first three crazy years as a massage therapist, but before the book comes out my goal is to entertain and entice you with a blog about my typical day to day experiences.

This entry is to all of you who have ever asked me or any other massage therapist, “Do people fart in their massages?”
Obviously, the answer is yes, yes they do!



et cetera