When in Turkey, hit the baths

I convinced Jeff to have a Turkish bath and a massage. He had never had a massage, so Turkey seemed as good a place as any to try one.
I selected the “Sultan’s Wife” package for me, and the economy one for Jeff. We went to the spa at the appointed time and upon arriving we were ushered into a room to change. I inquired about robes and I received a nod for an answer. After 5 minutes the attendant came back and was surprised to find us still with our clothes on. I asked about the robes again and this time he came back with 2 narrow sarong type wrappings. Jeff was wearing a bathing suit but I needed another wrap to feel modest in my attire.
We covered ourselves the best we could and followed the attendant to the Turkish bath room. It turned out to be an all-marble spacious room with seats all around the wall and water spouts at many intervals. We each had our own same sex attendant and we were soon showered with relaxing bucketfuls of warm water. We were then asked to lie side by side, spread eagled, on a raised marble pedestal. Movies and an American sensibility brought to mind human sacrificial offerings to some ancient Turk God or Goddess. At least we were going down together.

Not to worry, soon we were covered with soap foam and each part of the body got a thorough cleaning followed by vigorous scrubbing. After rinsing, Jeff was taken to another room for his relaxing massage.
My female attendant covered my entire body with a cleansing mask and left me on the pedestal for 30 minutes to dry my mask out. I noticed it was getting a little stuffy in the room, but like magic a refreshing breeze came into the room. I was enjoying its effects when, suddenly, I remembered I was only wearing bottoms. I became suspicious and opened my eyes to investigate. Sure enough, the door was wide open with me on my marble pedestal, available for viewing by any passerby. Darn it! I should have told the attendant I was NOT European! And to think we went into such contortions at the beginning to be modest. Oh well, when in Rome (Bodrum)!

I was taken next to have my Bali style massage (over an hour). I never saw the masseuse since I was on my stomach when he came. He soon started to vigorously massage my right leg. He was taking so long with that leg, that I started to suspect he had a fetish with that part of my body. I was about to suggest I had a nice back that needed attention, when he took a sudden dislike to the leg and started slapping it.

As it turned out, my “eunuch” (not really, but I prefer to think of him that way) gave equal attention to all the parts of my body. It was a terrific massage. I could get used to being a sultan’s wife.