I have squandered my resistance for a pocketful of mumbles, such are promises.
I hadn't ever had a professional massage.
I don't know why. I've always been big on massage; it's always been a big part of just about every relationship that I've ever been in. I've received hundreds, I've given thousands, but it just never occurred to me that one would pay for a massage, because they're one of the things that are really exceptional when done out of friendship or love, or as a precursor to sex. (Not to be crude, but ...well.. ok. to be crude, massages make very succesful foreplay as long as the subject doesn't fall asleep.)
Having said that, on tuesday, rydot purchased a massage on my behalf from teaa, and it was obviously worth every penny. (I mean, really... If you haven't hired her for a massage, you ought to.) It was an outstanding massage, but Teaa astutely observed that my back has more knots than Boy Scout convention. (Ok, so she didn't use those words precisely, but you get the drift). Clearly, to release any significant amount of the pent-up tension that remains stored in my back like a coiled spring, professional massage therapy would need to be a frequent indulgence. If I had the money, I'm sure would just hire someone to just follow me around all day, massaging my back whenever I sat down, or rubbing my temples while I'm on the phone, etc.. You know.. sort of like a massage butler. I bet there'd be good money in that line of work.
But I digress. This post is not about the massage I got tuesday, but rather what I was thinking about whilst i was being massaged. Like I mentioned, massages have been a big part of the vast majority of my relationships, and the memories came flooding back to me as I lay face down on the table, listening to Portishead playing in the background, smelling the un-scent of the massage oil.
Even unscented massage oil has some scent, and it reminded me vaguely of my favorite massage oil, which had the somewhat ambiguous name of "Strength". I can't easily describe the smell, but suffice it to say that it smelled like unscented, but way stronger than that. At any rate, that bottle of oil lasted me for years, and some of the best memories I have are of being with the girlfriends that are connected to the smell of strength. Since then I've been trying to find another bottle of strength, but like a number of other times in my life, I've come up empty.
I think back to when I was 14 or 15, and there were precious few things that were more exciting than finally being alone with the object of my affections, and I suddenly clearly visualized the stark contast of the professional massage with the intimate massage. When you're paying for a massage, it will be good. (or, it SHOULD be, since you're paying for it.) However, on a much deeper level, the intimate massage always feels better, even if its a worse massage (or rather, not worse.. just the technique is less polished).
Touch feels good. And the tuesday massage felt good, but as it proceeded I really felt saddened by the passage of time, and I wish I could go back to the times when the excitement of a simple massage with someone ou care for was, frankly.. better than sex. I lament the passage of the days when I didn't have to think about how I was portraying myself, and I could rely on people perceiving me the way I really was rather than who I had chosen to make myself out to be.
I'm the youngest one in my family, and still I feel so old sometimes with the weight of what I feel were wasted moments along the way, that the memories are often so overpowering that i need to halt whatever I'm doing to stop and embrace the past. At times, I feel I'm drowning in the emotions that I've never let surface, and I have this sense of seething regret that I never expressed those emotions to the people who needed to hear them most.
Stupid, stupid decisions have been made, and often I regret that I won't have to opportunity to rectify the times that prevented me from acknowledging the way I felt to the people I felt that way about.
You don't realize quite what you've got until it's gone. Maybe one day I'll write a book about how to fuck up a relationship, but I'm pretty sure no one would ever need to read it.
So, I guess what I'm trying to say, is that if you decide to get a massage, don't choose the oil that reminds you of love.
I don't know why. I've always been big on massage; it's always been a big part of just about every relationship that I've ever been in. I've received hundreds, I've given thousands, but it just never occurred to me that one would pay for a massage, because they're one of the things that are really exceptional when done out of friendship or love, or as a precursor to sex. (Not to be crude, but ...well.. ok. to be crude, massages make very succesful foreplay as long as the subject doesn't fall asleep.)
Having said that, on tuesday, rydot purchased a massage on my behalf from teaa, and it was obviously worth every penny. (I mean, really... If you haven't hired her for a massage, you ought to.) It was an outstanding massage, but Teaa astutely observed that my back has more knots than Boy Scout convention. (Ok, so she didn't use those words precisely, but you get the drift). Clearly, to release any significant amount of the pent-up tension that remains stored in my back like a coiled spring, professional massage therapy would need to be a frequent indulgence. If I had the money, I'm sure would just hire someone to just follow me around all day, massaging my back whenever I sat down, or rubbing my temples while I'm on the phone, etc.. You know.. sort of like a massage butler. I bet there'd be good money in that line of work.
But I digress. This post is not about the massage I got tuesday, but rather what I was thinking about whilst i was being massaged. Like I mentioned, massages have been a big part of the vast majority of my relationships, and the memories came flooding back to me as I lay face down on the table, listening to Portishead playing in the background, smelling the un-scent of the massage oil.
Even unscented massage oil has some scent, and it reminded me vaguely of my favorite massage oil, which had the somewhat ambiguous name of "Strength". I can't easily describe the smell, but suffice it to say that it smelled like unscented, but way stronger than that. At any rate, that bottle of oil lasted me for years, and some of the best memories I have are of being with the girlfriends that are connected to the smell of strength. Since then I've been trying to find another bottle of strength, but like a number of other times in my life, I've come up empty.
I think back to when I was 14 or 15, and there were precious few things that were more exciting than finally being alone with the object of my affections, and I suddenly clearly visualized the stark contast of the professional massage with the intimate massage. When you're paying for a massage, it will be good. (or, it SHOULD be, since you're paying for it.) However, on a much deeper level, the intimate massage always feels better, even if its a worse massage (or rather, not worse.. just the technique is less polished).
Touch feels good. And the tuesday massage felt good, but as it proceeded I really felt saddened by the passage of time, and I wish I could go back to the times when the excitement of a simple massage with someone ou care for was, frankly.. better than sex. I lament the passage of the days when I didn't have to think about how I was portraying myself, and I could rely on people perceiving me the way I really was rather than who I had chosen to make myself out to be.
I'm the youngest one in my family, and still I feel so old sometimes with the weight of what I feel were wasted moments along the way, that the memories are often so overpowering that i need to halt whatever I'm doing to stop and embrace the past. At times, I feel I'm drowning in the emotions that I've never let surface, and I have this sense of seething regret that I never expressed those emotions to the people who needed to hear them most.
Stupid, stupid decisions have been made, and often I regret that I won't have to opportunity to rectify the times that prevented me from acknowledging the way I felt to the people I felt that way about.
You don't realize quite what you've got until it's gone. Maybe one day I'll write a book about how to fuck up a relationship, but I'm pretty sure no one would ever need to read it.
So, I guess what I'm trying to say, is that if you decide to get a massage, don't choose the oil that reminds you of love.