It Moved

I'm positive she didn't intend to, but when my massage therapist Jordan was relieving tension in my shoulder using her elbow, her fingertips brushed delicately across the tips of my hairline, and it moved.

My lady has been a massage therapist for a decade. Occasionally I walk in the door, after a long day at work, to find her massage table set up in the living room. This is about the only time I don't feel guilty asking her for therapeutic attention. I know how tiresome work days can sometimes be and I'm usually sitting at a computer. My lady however is on her feet, exerting her muscles in a strenuous manner daily. The last thing I want is for her to reach a threshold over my minor aches and pains.

When I received the text yesterday that she was treating me to a massage, from her favorite massage therapist at X-Sports this weekend, I had mixed feelings. Was she treating me because she hadn't worked on me for a while? Or was it just because she was nice? Going with the later, I joyfully accepted and insisted on paying the tips.

Luckily I was positioned on my stomach, when the incident occurred, but that didn't prevent a panicked feeling from taking hold. Imagined scenarios of her getting an eye full and leaving the session in a huff perpetuated my most certainly flushed face. Men have little control in a situation such as this. For no reason at all, on a daily basis, I find myself happy. Unlike all those times, I was in my birthday suit, and had no means of concealment.

Left to control the situation using my mental faculties, I set my mind to think of something that would surely deflate the situation. The first thing that came to mind was "Dead Grandma." Slightly shocked by the idea, I was elated that I could not conjure imagery to match. I was still in panic mode and without another idea, so I went with it.