The therapist’s table

There is nothing quite like the luxury of a professional, full body, one hour massage. It is an indulgence I can rarely experience, but one which I treasure more that just about anything. This evening I found myself on a massage table after spending about a half hour in natural vapor caves. The initial stages of a massage are always a bit weird; lying face down and naked with a complete stranger can be a bit off putting. Sure, I found myself that way a few times with fraternity boys, but the outcomes were rarely as satisfying and never lasted as long.
Tonight I explained to the therapist that I have been battling migraines and actively grieving for the past two months. She said not to worry and to just relax. Within the first 30 seconds I was in paradise. And then for the next 59 minutes and 30 seconds it was nothing but ecstacy. There were no demands. No interruptions. No questions. Just sheer happiness and pleasure -all for me. And quite possibly the best part of it all? I didn’t have to put out afterwards. Nosiree, thank you very much. After all that she said to relax some more and leave when I felt so inclined. All I had to do was tip her.