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An almost lesbian experience

Yesterday was perhaps the closest I got to a lesbian experience.

After a few days of looking around, I finally found a place to go get a rub down as recommended by my doctor.

One of those residences-turned-commercial properties in Bangsar, Cafe Jamu is located at the corner just opposite Bangsar Village. It’s owned by an Indonesian lady, who looks great despite having given birth just two months ago – unlike yours truly.

This place offers Indonesian jamu treatments from RM60 to RM600 depending on what you need. Since I just popped myself, my friend Hazel and I took the Ibu Manja package (RM200) which gave us a facial (one hour), a massage (1.5 hours) and a mandi bunga (1/2 hour).

Now I’ve never done a facial in my life. Always heard horror stories about how beauticians poke blackhead removers at your face as though they’re dipping into fondue. However, this jamu kind of facial is gentle and soothing. The smell from the spices need a little getting used to but all in all, very nice.

Now the massage was surreal. I was led into a dark upstairs room with a rickety bamboo bed which didn’t look very comfortable but who cares – it’s authentic.

I had to strip down to my panties, which freaked me out a bit because, well, I’m 220lbs man.

The back bit was painful but no surprises there. However, I had to turn around and when the masseuse did my front, it all got a little awkward. If my husband was around, he’d probably be in a hacking fit of giggles. It was just plain uncomfortable, her spreading coconut milk and cucumber extract between my breasts. And when she began massaging, I didn’t dare open my eyes. What with the dim lighting, soothing music and all, it was beginning to resemble a French movie.

Anyway, that wasn’t it. After the rubbing, I was asked to go downstairs into the garden for my mandi bunga. Yup, in broad day light. Cafe Jamu has little Balinese huts built into a huge garden where you have bath tubs filled with all types of stuff such as chrysanthemum and orange slices. For the second time in my adult life, a stranger gave me a bath other than my husband (first was at the hospital three years ago after my Cesarian). I sat there, breasts exposed and nipples becoming a little cold and painful from a breeze blowing, stewing in a tub of fragrant oils and kook fa.

Oddly, it was really nice, albeit cars ahonkin’ outside while fake bird and wave sounds try to convince me I’m really in a tropical paradise somewhere in the Pacific. If not for the neighbour’s roof and a ventilator spinning atop it, I would verily swim in the fantasy. Instead, I was looking for windows and lurking eyes. Apparently, Cafe Jamu has cleverly engineered its huts with their leafy roofs to hide just enough without looking like squatter quarters. And I’m not sure of this, but they timed it so I never saw Hazel (in her bogelness) the whole time we were there. It’s like “How BIG is this place man?!”

Regret not taking any pictures. When you’re nekkid and have elephant thighs, you don’t exactly think of freezing the moments.

I am definitely going back for more.

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