*Scarred* Sh!tless

See the thing is, I have scars. (In real life, they are slightly more noticeable than in this pic.)

I have these visible lines proving that something was different at some other point. The source of these scars – the reasons behind them – may not be recognizable at first. It's doubtful that a stranger's immediate thought would be: "That dude used to have breasts! Crazy!" Egh, proally not.

But none the less, I feel a little insecure to be in situations where someone who might not know my history may see my scars. Enter: the spa anecdote...

The other day I took a friend of mine to a spa as her belated birthday present. We were there a month ago as well, and booked another visit for 'touch up' treatments. Since the last time I was there, I have become somewhat friendly with one of the estheticians there. So much so, that when she saw me in the glass enclosed waiting room she came over and gave me a big hug, and started chatting me up as we walked back to the treatment room. It was a nice reception, as usually I feel like some schlubby, smudged 12 year old boy, looking like I'm waiting for my mom, or my inappropriately attractive nanny. Instead, I was there with my good gal pal. So, did people assume that we were together, and she was dragging me to a spa to whip me into shape? Or did they think that she was the hag to my fag(ness), and we were synchronizing spa-ations?

Regardless, I realized something that day: The only thing more awkward than taking my shirt off in front of a total stranger, is taking my shirt off in front of someone that I sort of know now. It was kind of okay the first time I was there, as just a nameless, faceless customer that would probably never be seen again. (Or when I recently got some more tattoos, and my scars made my usual wussy-ass seem tough for a change, as I strutted around the ink parlour sans weathered tee.) But this last time at the spa, I was a 'somebody' – and I was nervous.

There's nothing like being stripped down to your skivvies (under a loose blanket or not) to make you feel a little vulnerable... I fidgeted too much, quietly trying to conceal my scars whenever possible, and found some solace when enveloped by the large white draping sheet. Being able to hide my lateral chest scars (not to mention my 'freaky' intersexed tattoo arm bands) allowed me to finally relax, and settle in to joking around with my new esthetician-friend. We laughed endlessly, and covered every imaginable topic of conversation while she applied streams of fragrant masques, cleansing toners, and aromatherapy oils to the mix.

Honestly, it was the most fun I've had in a really long time, having not laughed that hard in years. (Or at least in the last month, when I was last there...) It was great, and really put me at ease to find someone so exuberant, and able to keep up with my mindless banter. Everything was perfect. Until...

There is a part of the treatment where they massage your scalp, your feet and hands, and even your shoulders. It wasn't until this last part when I began to feel my anxiety creeping back in on me. And I realized how much I didn't want my scars to derail the perfectly hilarious, witty vollies back and forth. She opened the the top of the sheet that had been covering my shoulders, and told me to move my arms down by my side, as I intentionally clasped my hands over my chest while I laid there motionless during the session. It was the big reveal. Would she freak out once she saw my clearly altered chest?

I could have imagined it, but there seemed to be a slight pause in the previously flowing conversation. I was pretty nervous, and coincidentally was talking about a horrible bike accident I was in when I was younger when these unrelated scars were revealed. No questions were asked, but I wondered what she thought.

Since my surgery nearly 2 years ago I can count on one hand the number of people (that I wasn't dating) that have seen me without a shirt. I haven't had the courage to meander around aimlessly in the locker room at my gym, go swimming in a public arena, or pick up some stranger to test the waters and see how people react as it unfolds before me. Yikes! So, all I've had are these spa trips to practice being brave. (Well, that and getting tattooed.) I swear, it's not all fun and games despite what you might think. I've been scared (and scarred) sh!tless... (and shirtless...)