I was very busy in Bali in January; drinking, writing and maintaining my vagina’s hygiene and happiness.
It was a pretty intrusive experience, not so much the smokey sauna part where my girl got suffocated by the exhaust of burning fruit, but more the pressure-point leg massage that kind of turned me on a bit.
I arrived at the salon and was led to the back area where air conditioning didn’t exist but privacy was my friend. I was given a long satin skirt that reminded me of my teenage goth days and was directed to put it on and be panty-less when she returned. I followed instructions without question because I had come to receive this “beauty treatment” with no prior knowledge of what was actually going to happen to my lovely lady.
Face-front down on the massage table I felt my masseuse’s soft hands slip up the bottom of my skirt and onto my calves. It was good because I’d been to beach bootcamp that morning and doing burpies in the sand was a blow to the old pins. But as it went on, the skirt slowly rode up didn’t it. She was pushing on pressure points I didn’t know existed and before I knew it my skirt was hitched up over my backside and apparently it’s full of feel-good pressure points too.
Now get this, I’m flipped over onto my back, and the process is repeated. She didn’t go for any pressure points between my legs but there was absolutely no reason why my gem had to be out. I could have worn underwear, no one would have been offended.
So after the getting-to-know-me part of the V-Ratus beauty service, it was time for me to at last sit on the lonely wooden potty that had been looking at me from the corner. The masseuse lit up the dried penang fruit in the bowl inside and left me to sit alone, sweating like a rockstar in the Balinese heat. I could smell the sweet scent of burning herbs, which I assumed to be gently smothering my most intimate organ. But not being able to actually feel anything, I just had to trust that she was having a good time without me.
V-Ratus, or “vaginal fogging” originated from the ancient Javanese custom where women would beautify and cleanse their princess before their wedding or special occasion. A bit like you get your toe nails done I guess. It’s to do with feminine health and hygiene, and although it’s become pretty tourist-ified in spas across the country, it’s still a traditional practice for the Indonesian ladies.
When she returned after 20 minutes, I was allowed to get off my smokey throne and slip back into the privacy of my underwear. I was directed not to wash for a few hours, I guess to the let the smoke work its magic on all the evil things I don’t want living in or around my hoo-ha.
I can’t say that I felt anymore clean or cultured after the treatment, but I’ll do anything for a story these days.