ahhh hamman! hmm will the breasts survive?

Bugger! just as I pore last of water over ones self, motherly looking woman in white appears to take me for my traditional Moroccan bath.She looks at the pool of water in my belly button, then at the pool of water I'm lying in, and briefly looks mournful, not to be caught out of nurturing motherly character, the look is quickly put back to one of blissful ignorance, and a helpful hand held out for an aghast me to pull myself up from the sodden lounger, "please don't let her think this is sweat I think," I obviously in great British fashion showered before my bath, god forbid I wasn't already clean and polished. She puts a friendly, but vice like grip around my wrist, guiding me to a mosaic tiled wet room. Scattered with irregular sized tin buckets, as well as a huge orange plastic one. At the end of the room is a rather large sink with ornate taps. besides this there is only a wooden bench on which I'm seated.The lady whom we shall call Fatima (it seems most women here are called Fatima) and she is similar to Whitbread with the exception of slightly less lip hair, and a permanent motherly smile, is Arabic and speaks no Englishhhhh, only a little French, so our conversation is petite.Before I go any further I must fess up - I have breast fed children, no great shakes, they were mine! but, I therefore in my defence, (although why i feel the need to defend my actions is beyond me), deserved new boobs, in addition to this, my man (how dare he) during one of my brief complaints of boredom, had the audacity to suggest I get myself a JOB! personal training ( OK your friends) trying to write for a living, and a 12hour day bringing up two under the age of 3, obviously is not real work, just because it doesn't bring in much of an income "yet" so I did get a job, a boob JOB that is. (another day another blog). However my concerns over how my new puppies (only 3 months old, and not been out much) were going to survive, and getting them out in front (no pun) of Fatima was over shadowing the excitement of the experience.So I'm here, in my robe, in my towel, in my, bikini. Fatima tugs at at the robe, I hold tight, then begrudgingly let go, Fatima tugs at the towel, I hold tight, then begrudgingly let go, Fatima tugs at the bikini top, I hold tight, she tugs again, I hold on tighter, I look up toward the ceiling, white knuckled, Fatima rips the top from my grasp, (almost taking an acrylic with her), I clear my throat and look at her expression, it doesn't change, except the glint in her eye sparkles, "nice tits" I expect her to say, she doesn't.She leads me to the center of the smouldering, hot, room, leaving my bikini bottoms, thank god I think the dimples have been left well alone! Until- she slips a finger up my pants, and scoops them up the crack of my arse, "WEDGIE" hello dimples!, even I who workout no less than 6 days a week, gave up caffeine in the 80s, exfoliates, brushes, only eats crap at the weekend (unless its free chocolate) drinks water for the world and his better half (as you know). Still, sadly, has a bit of the dimpled effect going on, so not fair. but I guess its the vino or the vodka? or both, not in the same glass I hasten to add.So, I'm now encouraged (pushed one might say) on to the beautifully tiled floor. WHOOSH! a bucket of Luke warm water, what, where how? WHOOSH! another. I'm pulled back up to standing, (treatment, more like torture) then I'm caressed, so gently with a bar of exquisitely scented soap, ah, let the pampering begin! This lulls me into a calm new sense of security along with the nurturing smile. Falsely, A huge bucket of freezing cold water is poured over my head, it cascades, and cascades, for a very long time, to the point of almost, being too long, I gasp as it stops, and my lungs re-fill, the gentle sweet scented soap is abruptly abandoned, in place of the salt scrub, and boy does she scrub, I fear the bangers might pop in her big rough man hands. (Dead skin removed the pamphlet read), I feel like the cat from itchy and scratchy, afraid to look in case all I see is flesh and bone.WHOOSH! more water, dare I say colder still, which actually, is a good thing, as my skin or should i say flesh rather feels not just hot but volcanic!Slop slop,slop, an unexplainable soothing, black clay mask is applied briskly over my person, I'm again "encouraged" back up to standing, and left, just long enough to set. WHOOSH! more water thrown over me this time coming in from the right, WHOOSH! the left, I'm quite liking this now, I've almost forgotten about all my imperfections and private bits. Suddenly WHOOSH! that huge orange bucket, of yet more water comes down with such force over my head, that my pants hit the deck, about the same time as my dignity, Brazilian exposed! (anniversary pressie for man) Cesarean scar. exposed! (birthday pressie for my children, god I'm generous). Fatima, who I do believe is wetter than I am, ( ahem, for all the right reasons) smiles, and twinkles a bit, I smile bigger, and twinkle brighter. I feel free and very clean, I feel like I've recovered my virginity, (I say recovered, it felt like a car crash loosing it) another day another blog.I am exceptionally, exceptionally clean, invigorated, rejuvenated.My new breasts have been caressed, cleaned, scrubbed, buffed, and baptised. and, I feel no shame, we have survived.