Reiko and I went for a massage in a really commercial part of town right near where they live. Roppongi is for the most part a bar-strewn, prostitute-lurking part of town but it is smack up against a perfectly calm, quiet, park-filled upperclass housing district, Very odd. So this massage parlor was off a neon-flashing, crowded street, down a tiny ally, up an elf-sized, nondescript elevator that deposited us in a sort of gym with candy and drinks machines, one of which provided us with tickets for our massages when filled with $30. of yen.
I passed my ticket to an odd-looking, yellow-hair Japanese man who looked like a boxing trainer and was led into a dark green colored, rubber-curtained cubicle that contained a towel-covered massage table. He drew a large black cardboard storage case from under the table, drew out a nylon shirt and a pair of Bermuda length training pants and indicted that I was to put these on and place my clothes and valuables into the box. He left me alone and I conducted a whispered consultation with Reiko in the next cubicle.
A middle-aged, prize fighter sized man enter and indicated that I was to lie ‘face down.’ What followed was a most complete massage over every part of my body, not ignoring my head and hands. It was great. The man was strong, gentle and seemed nice. I could hear Reiko talking and laughing with her masseuse and I felt bad that I could say nothing to mine.
We left, Reiko said no to a tip. She goes there all the time so she knows but I wish I could have thanked the man properly.