Please read Massage Therapy: The Good, The Bad, and The Really Good first. This section is a continuation and the “rest of the story”. Enjoy.
A few minutes later, James knocked on the door and came in. I scrutinized him as he walked around the table. Maybe he was gay, I thought. That would be good.
He was at least 20 years younger than me, so I was sure he had no interest in anything other than giving me a professional massage.
Of course. I was just being silly, wasn't I?
I couldn’t see whether his eyes still looked shifty in the darkness, I was too busy looking the other way -- gazing at storage boxes, heart pounding.
After turning on some New Age music, James came around and stood at the head of the table. He dipped his hand in some sort of oil, lotion, or whatever, and began massaging my head starting at the temples.
Being a chronic migraine sufferer, that part of my head was quite tender so I wasn’t sure I even wanted him to touch me there.
But, my boyfriend’s words echoed in my head, “A good massage may help your migraines.” He was usually right about these kinds of things, so I closed my eyes and attempted to relax.
As James massaged my temples, my forehead, behind my ears and the back of my neck, I had decided that, “Oh yeah,” this has to be good for migraine headaches, because it felt reeeeally good.
His masterful, yet professional hands continued down my shoulders and arms. I felt my body loosen up a bit.
When he pressed his thumb into the palm of my hand and massaged each finger, I asked myself why I hadn't done this years ago.
This was the most wonderful experience and yet I had waited until now to have my first massage. What was wrong with me?
He moved down to the foot of the table, uncovered one leg to my hip and tucked the sheet in between my legs. My tension returned. Was this part of of the massage or was this when he’d molest me?
He started with my feet.