Halfway through my massage Manny (I figured we were close enough now to use nicknames) indicated that he wanted me to turn over. I figured if things got out of hand a big naked man would come dashing thru the curtain to my rescue and in truth I was not getting the freaky perverted vibe from Manuel, so I concentrated on the surf and the massage continued. But the third swipe down my back when Manuel spread my butt cheeks was a bit awkward, but still not too alarming since my husband was a mere 6 feet away. Now modesty is not really an issue for me since I basically had to get undressed in front of 15 other people almost daily when I was in massage school. When Manuel approached me he politely removed my towel, folded it into a triangle and shoved it between my legs, thus giving me the appearance of the plumber butt crack. Our drapes were beach towels which we strategically placed over our posteriors. Next door Hubby had a similar conversation with Manuel's wife before he got on his massage table. Manuel asked me what type of massage I wanted and after a not so English friendly conversation he left the room to let me get on the massage table. When we got to the massage room there was a rope tied to two posts and a gauzy cloth draped over the rope to separate the massage "treatment rooms". After a wee bit of haggling we agreed to 2 90-minute massages for $160 American US dollars. Our masseur and his wife brought over a catalog to show us their massage services and suggested prices. If you have seen a commercial for Corona beer, this was one of the locations that was featured in their advertisements, so we felt it would have been down right poor manners if we didn't have a Corona or two while we were there. The lower level of this shack was a bar and the upper level was reserved for massages. After about 30 minutes we arrived at our destination.a very poorly constructed shack that would make the huts on Gilligan's Island look like decadent grandeur. When I expressed my concerns to my husband he rolled his eyes and kept on truckin' at the sensational speed of 15 mph. I was just sure that Mexican Banditos were lurking behind the greenery just waiting to rob the stupid Yankee tourists. The ride out was a wee bit scary for me as there was nothing to see but very tall, bushy foliage and poorly paved roadways. We donned our dorky helmets and were on our way. The temperature was nearly 100 degrees Fahrenheit and I didn't feel safe enough to drive my own scooter so I rode behind Hubby, thus adding a little more heat to our already balmy trip. After tipping our rental clerk in "American US dollars" (American Express checks were not welcome and of course this was mostly what I had to spend) we were advised of a secluded beach that offered massages by the surf. Last year we took our first cruise and for one of our shore excursions we decided to rent a scooter for the day so we might take in all the tropical splendor.
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