Today, for the first time in my life, I was reduced to parts. I was reduced to skin, sinew, and muscles. And it was the most sensuous experience of my life.
Today I had my first massage.
For years, I shied away from the idea of a massage. My personal credo was, “Maintain three feet of personal space at all times.” That ended today. My massage came courtesy of a friend who just wanted to say thank you – I told her later I like how she shows her appreciation.
Nervous does not begin to describe how I felt when I walked into the room and he explained how this was going to work. He seemed surprised when I admitted my lack of experience. When I laid down on the table, pulling the sheet over myself to maintain a sense of modesty, a sheen of sweat covered my body.
As he began working his special voodoo magic on my tired muscles, I relaxed to such a degree that no one thought could be contained in my head for more than a moment. He reduced my world to his hands and muscles. His fingers prodded, kneaded, worked my muscles and skin. I could feel the outline of sinew in my arms, shoulders, and neck.
Realizing he was the consummate professional, I only fleetingly wondered if my body repulsed him. I rejected the thought because surely he sees every body type in a given day. I am no different than most women and slightly more fit than others – inconsequential, really. As his hands moved down to my lower back, just above my ass, I used every ounce of will power not to arch like a cat, not to respond.
As his magic hands worked my legs, my pussy pulsed. I hoped beyond hope he could not tell. I kept my eyes closed to block out everything but the feeling of his hands and my muscles. When I turned over, and he worked the tops of my thighs, I wanted to lean into his hands; I wanted to spread wide for more thorough ministrations.
I realized, somewhere between the first desire to arch my back and the second time my cunt throbbed that this was the most physical contact I’d had with a man in months, many long months. He may have been gay. He may have been repulsed. He may have been completely neutral, simply doing a job he enjoys. None of that mattered. My state of arousal increased exponentially as his fingers and hands kneaded and massaged this muscle, that body part. I ached for him to be someone I desired. I ached to be touched by someone I craved.
In the end, I became less than the sum of my parts. He not only gave me a desire for release, he gave me a new perspective on my own body. Taken as a whole, I do not always like what I see. Today, I became simply a delicate neck, a long arm, a strong thigh, a smooth back, and ultimately a throbbing pussy demanding attention.