Sex and the Massage Therapist

A revelation floated in through the large window. The room was simple and open, empty but for several plants, a young woman rubbing oil between her hands and the large, naked man lying prostrate on a massage table. It held the woodsy scent of vetiver, brightened with a touch of lemon. The revelation, thin and delicate, descended slowly, watching the scene with the apathetic freedom of uncultured perspective. The man's great bulk occupied the table.  His back was covered with thick, dark hair. The woman applied oil to his body.

She was generous with her touch, leaning in as she glided along the lateral aspect of his left leg. Lips pursed gently, eyes half closed, she attempted to quiet the buzz in her brain. The exchange leading up to this moment made it so that the trajectory of thought was specific to her sexuality, in particular, how to negotiate it in this moment. 

The revelation observed her, listening to the tremble of insecurity in her chest and the song of her mind.  It did not plant itself, but danced with featherlike indecision around the two people, waiting for an entry point.

 ***

She practices massage therapy in the city. Yesterday she had a first time client. On the phone Rob told her he prefers to be nude. She told him it would be fine, informed him that being nude not only makes for a more connected session, but allows access to the release of parts of the body that can be major contributors to pain. Treatment work on the gluteal muscles and attachment points for hamstrings can be extremely helpful for relieving discomfort in the lower back.

***

They met at her studio. The space is new to her and lovely. High ceilings open the room. An oriental rug spreads across the wood floor. On fair weather afternoons, sunshine spills in from a southwesterly direction.

She swept her arm around in a gesture of presentation, welcoming him inside, happy to offer spaciousness in the density of this city.  Enter, kind patron, she thought, take a deep breath. Soon you will be transported to a place of healing and relaxation. 

His reaction was unexpected. He eyed the setup, or rather, the colorful blanket folded neatly atop her state of the art titanium table.   

"I like to be fully naked," he said. "Undraped."

Oh.

"Would that make you uncomfortable?"

She told him straight away, "This is not a sexual massage."

"Of course not, no, no, I'm sexually satisfied. I don't need a sexual massage. I just like to be free. I simply want to be able to enter a space that is unlike the reality of my day to day life."

It seemed innocent.  She wanted it to be innocent.  Having grown up in the woods, naked more often than not, she understood the desire, in a heavily peopled cityscape, to have an alfresco experience of the body.  In truth, she would love to be naked more often.  Perhaps this was an opportunity to offer a space for nudity unassociated with sex.

She told him it would be okay if he were naked for the massage and encouraged him to tell her if he became cold.  She then began the typical intake - injuries, pain, areas on which to focus, pressure tolerance, etc…

"No pain, no particular focus. I only like very light pressure. Very light."

Her throat tightened as she left the room to wash her hands.

***

Shortly after beginning the massage, he spoke, "You've got such a nice touch.  Just a bit lighter please. You know, maybe you could give me a little tease."

A tease?

She coughed.  "I don't offer that kind of bodywork."

"Listen," he said with the unmistakeable punctuation of a learned business negotiator, "I'm not looking for sexual release here. This is just a way of relaxing."

"No Rob, she said, "This is not a sexual massage."

"Please, please. Now I'm begging. Just a little tease, you know. It will help me relax. This is not erotic, I just want you to bring your hands along the inside of my thigh and very close to my balls."

Actually Asshole, she thought, this constitutes as erotic.

She could feel a performance taking over - one of righteous frustration. How dare he?  Who does he think I am? It was the only way she knew how to respond to this exchange. She took a deep breath and was about to regurgitate lines for this scenario, when she felt the diaphanous presence of a revelation. 

***

In massage school, this situation was touched upon briefly. "Professionalism" was offered as an abstract idea that completely cut sexual energy out of any massage. It was her experience that without being discussed in depth, she and her fellow students were expected to adhere to the rule of partition between sexual energy and true healing work without asking why (a trend not uncommon for many educational programs). There is a conditioned assumption that sexual energy can not be allowed as part of "therapeutic" bodywork. But where does it go?  She wondered.  How does one cut sexuality off?

***

Revelations love questions. This one listened to the inquisitive shape of her predicament and entered. 

Perhaps the sexual connection is always there. Regardless of repeated attempts at closing off sexuality during a massage (or any interpersonal encounter for that matter), it is never gone, but merely slips into the realm of subconscious.

Her awareness floated up to the perspective of this once was disembodied revelation. From there, stripped of social meaning, she was able to observe the scene without the weight of her formal education. 

If a person were to explore energy in this context, its build and foray into the realm of sexuality, how might it be?  What might happen? Could healing still take place?

***

"Come on, a little tickle. I like the tease. Just there, along my butt and into my inner thighs.  I don't want you to touch my dick. Really, I'm not asking for anything erotic."

"I won't tease you," she said, though now she was conflicted. While she might not be tickling the exact locations he requested, she was massaging his naked body, refusing to give him what he wanted, in essence, tantalizing him even when she said she wouldn't.  Is that not the definition of a tease?

"Rob, this conversation is one of semantics. How you describe the session is irrelevant if I am uncomfortable. Whether or not tickling and teasing you with the tips of my fingers is erotic, I am not willing to spend my time deflecting attempts at coercion."

"Hey, hey, look, no coercion. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I just thought, you know, when I requested to be nude, that you knew what I meant."

He didn't ask again. He remained respectful, though the air was tinged with the awareness that what he was receiving was not that for which he was hoping. She was uncomfortable.  Both with the knowledge that she might be offering some form of unintended sex work as she massaged his body and with her newfound curiosity about sexuality in this setting.

When the session finished and he had redressed, he asked her if she would consider for the future, practicing the kind of massage he requested.  She shook her head.

However, she was uncertain.  Not about working with him in the future, but about other things.  The previous hour and a half had been awkward and murky.  She was angry with herself at having been naive about his objective.  But she wondered about exploring (rather than ignoring) sexual energy within her work.

Oh confusion, she sang quietly in her head, harmonizing with the revelation.  Certainty is ignorance is bliss.

***

Once attracted to the curious encounter in an open room, the revelation now turned itself inside out and paraded in a costume of questions.  How does one consciously explore sexual healing within a professional massage setting?  What are the lines between sex and physical intimacy?  Where does erotic begin?  Where and how do we hide our sexual desires when we are not supposed to acknowledge them?