I learned a new word today: nut grazer. It is a term for when a female masseuse is giving a man a back massage, and she brushes her hand across his testicles in an attempt to show him that for a few extra dollars, he could get the "special massage," that is, a hand job.
I've learned many things from the King, but the funny little terms he brings home are the best. You see, he's in the Navy. Have you ever heard stories about Navy sailors putting into port and going hog wild, hitting every bar in Thailand with every pretty little thing who happens to be walking the street, and most particularly, finding young women (and maybe a few older ones) who practice the oldest profession and having a little paid-for fun? It sounds like something you'd see in Full Metal Jacket or Apocalypse Now, but never in real life, but I assure you, it happens.
The thing is, there aren't a lot of jobs for women in many of the countries in which the Navy has a port, and one of the most profitable jobs is prostitution. And the King has seen his share of it. I'm embarrassed to admit it, but it's true. He was young, single, and crazy when he enlisted, and he didn't hold back from getting a thorough education in the back streets of every major city in the world. Luckily, although he was wild, he wasn't stupid, and he always used a condom. Thank God.
Now, of course, he's grown up and married, and a wonderful husband. However, he works very hard, and he likes to get massages in the little massage parlors that pepper the land wherever he goes. Myself, I like the day spa in town, with its new-agey music and sage sticks, but to each his own. However, he surprised me last night by announcing that on his last trip, which was to East Asia, he got a massage that included the nut grazer. I think I have a decent sense of humor, and normally I would laugh hilariously at such a thing, which is what he expected. What he didn't expect was the following, at full volume:
"Do you mean to tell me that some other woman touched your testicles?!!! What the hell are you talking about? No man has touched my breasts since we started dating! Are you fucking kidding me??"
He looked like a deer in the headlights. His eyes were wide, his mouth was hanging open, and I know he was wishing he had never uttered the word nut grazer in my presence. Poor thing.
"But baby, I didn't want her to, it just happened. And it's not like I took her up on the offer; in fact, I told her to stop it! And let me tell you, some of those ladies don't like losing the extra money--she yelled at me!"
He looked absolutely terrified. First some strange woman shouting at him for not giving her $50 for a hand job, which she was probably counting on for that week's groceries or new shoes for her kids, and then his normally sweet-tempered wife haranguing him for something he didn't even want. It was all just too much.
So we recovered from the nut grazer episode, and after I stopped yelling, I suggested that perhaps the next time he needs a little back-massagey stress relief, perhaps he should wear his underwear under the towel to indicate to the hard-working young lady that he isn't looking for any added bonuses today.