What It's Really Like to Be a Celebrity Massage Therapist - Cosmopolitan.com

This article was originally published as "Confessions of a Celebrity Massage Therapist" in the August 2011 issue of Cosmopolitan. The image above is for illustrative purposes only.

For more than a decade, I've worked as a licensed massage therapist, first at an exclusive West Coast hotel and now solo through my own practice. I have a huge roster of regular clients, and a big percentage of those are celebrities who pay me hundreds, sometimes thousands, of dollars to be on call for regular rubdowns.

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I got into this line of work because I enjoy making people feel good. But I think the key to my success with stars is that I'm not a fame whore. I treat my clients with respect, and I really listen to what they want. As a result, they feel at ease with my hands on them ... and they often reveal, sometimes unknowingly, some dark, strange secrets.

No, I'd never divulge all the dirt. But letting Cosmo in on some of the details without naming names won't betray their trust.

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Back when I started my gig at the posh hotel, I'd be sent to a guest's room with my table and tools and treat them to a 60- to 90-minute session. One of my first A-listers was an actor. In his suite, I became a little flustered. Here was a star I was used to seeing onscreen ... but now he was lying in front of me! I had to force myself to focus. When I was finished, he said warmly, "That was the best massage I've ever had."

I realized I had a certain special touch with celebrities when I had another encounter with fame. Months later, I was sent up to a room, and the sexy star of a top-rated television series answered the door. We chatted comfortably while I set up my table, and he slipped under the sheet. I took a breath, told myself to chill out, and put my hands on him. I could tell I did a good job, and he's not only still a client but also a good friend.

Some stars are more standoffish. Their attitude doesn't bother me. I know they're used to people prying into their lives, which I never do. One hunky TV anchor barely spoke when I arrived. He was so robotic and tense, I decided not to push him to talk. But once his body relaxed, he gabbed up a storm, joking with me about how uptight he knows he comes across on the news.

Of course, I accept that I can't win everyone over. A popular singer was frosty and snappy to me for the entire massage. Later, I mentioned her demeanor to a friend of mine, who pointed out why this gorgeous star may have been such a bitch to me: I look exactly like her sister, with whom she competes for the spotlight.

Huge Stars, Huge Perks


Months after establishing myself at the hotel, my appointment books were packed. Musicians, athletes, actors, and politicians came to see me on a regular basis, and they refused to be massaged by other therapists if I wasn't available (which luckily didn't foster any resentment among my coworkers). So I decided to leave the hotel and launch my own massage business.

Now celebs have direct access to me any time of the day or night. And they expect me to be on call for bodywork whenever they feel the need for it. For the most part, no one pulls crazy diva behavior, but they do pull out their wallets and dangle extra money and perks in front of me, like free concert tickets and luxurious vacations, if I'll work them into my schedule as soon as I can.

Once, a hot rock guitarist paid me $1,500, plus a $600 tip, to fly to a nearby city and rub him down. Another client, an incredibly rich man, thanked me for being at his beck and call for years by arranging a six-day vacation for me at one of his own private resorts, even making sure I received daily massages. The total cost: $16,000.

The Inner Life of an A-Lister


My massages are strictly business, but the connection I share with clients is intensely personal. While I'm relaxing them physically, they open up emotionally and tell me their worries. Many complain about fame. One young actor, a popular magazine cover boy, disclosed to me that every time a paparazzo snaps his photo, he feels like he's dying inside.

Some stars have thanked me for being a close friend. It reveals just how lonely and isolated public figures can feel. While giving massages at a photo shoot, I met a beautiful swimsuit model. She was sweet and friendly, and she asked me to show her around my city. We had a blast, so she invited me to visit her in New York, where she lived. Almost every expense connected to my visit was paid for: hotel, restaurants, outings to clubs. The trip was a lot of fun, and I still count her as a friend.

Naked Truth


Although some of the hottest people on the planet lie nearly naked in front of me day after day, I try not to dwell on their appearance, since it distracts me from doing my job well. But sometimes, I admit it's hard not to look — because of either a celeb's incredible physical beauty or something grotesque.

Once, a popular TV actor, who happens to be really overweight, came to see me. He had just returned from a Mexican vacation and complained of a terrible pain in his shoulder. While stroking him there, I noticed a weird red pattern rising along the length of his back and the head of a disgusting parasite-looking thing under his skin! Backing away from the table, all I could say was, "You need to see a doctor immediately."

Not-So-Happy Endings


I am asked out a lot, absolutely, but I've never dated a client. No legitimate massage therapist would. It blurs the line and can wreck your professional reputation.

Still, I'm single, and I've been tempted. A very sexy basketball player, known for his impressive list of girlfriends, invited me on a weeklong trip to an exclusive European island. I liked him, but my career means a lot to me. So I passed. There was also the pretty pop star who flashed her breasts at me and smiled invitingly up from the massage table. I wasn't sure exactly what she had in mind, but I knew I wasn't interested at all.

Then there are all the times I'm hit up for a "full service" massage, as we say in the industry ... otherwise known as a happy ending. I'd never do it, and anyone who asks for it is a total sleaze — like the high-profile mogul who scheduled a session with me and later asked for "abdominal work" while he was on his back and revealing a tent under his towel.

This was my first session with him, and after he stated his request, I calmly replied that I couldn't give him what he wanted. "Name any price," he begged, moaning and writhing on the table. Again, I said no way. But he kept asking and pleading.

I didn't know how to get this guy to quit bothering me with something I would never do in a million years. So I used my phone to Google a number for an escort agency and wrote down what I found on a piece of paper. As I set the note on the table, I said emphatically, "This is the type of massage you're looking for. I'm not a prostitute."

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