A Spa Treat

 

Spa day. Wife’s idea.  Ugh, panpipes, whale music and a trickling fountain that makes me want to wee.  I lay on my stomach and inhale the scent of patchouli oil.

A woman approaches the massage table, unfolds the soft, fluffy towel covering my nakedness and splashes something warm onto my back. Must be oil.  I relax.  And oh?  Where’s she putting it now?  Really?  I didn’t think it was that kind of place.

“It’ll sting a bit when I rip it off.”

“Rip what off?”

“The wax.”

“What wax? I thought I was having a massage?”

“No, your wife booked you in for a back, sack and…”

A tearing sound, the aurora borealis flash through my head, her words drowned out by something between a banshee wail and wolf howl emitting from me. I leap from the table, run naked to the swimming pool and plunge into its soothing waters.

The wife’s poolside, reclining on a sun lounger. From her smug expression, I’m guessing she’s found out that I’ve been having an affair…

 

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