We were booked for the treatment at 2 and as we waited in the dayroom in our white toweling robes I began to wonder if I should just have chosen a facial. The woman in white called our names and led us away. My paper knickers rustled as I walked and I suddenly felt horribly self-conscious. She took us into a tiled room, warm and humid like a rainforest. In the middle were three bowls of mud, white for the face, red for the front and black for the back. She left us. We looked at each other and sniggered. Even though we had shared secrets and even a bed in the past this suddenly felt incredibly intimate. Still, in for a penny... I put my hand in the black mud. It was warm and unguent and it oozed through my fingers. I smeared it delicately on Kate’s back and she shivered and then giggled. Next I took a little white clay and made myself a mask behind which I felt my inhibitions melting. Soon we were both entirely covered in the healing mud. It was in my hair, under my nails, everywhere. It felt good to let go.
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