Touched

I consciously asked for a full body massage. I had been feeling extremely low, weepy and filled with self loathing. When you look in the mirror and can't recognize yourself anymore, it is an awful feeling. I needed to be touched to reassure myself that I was still alive. 

Massages are one of my favourite things in the world. It's no wonder that even the erotica I watch has to do with massages, to be taken by surprise by a touch. I've never been massaged by a man, so the idea of it is unknown and exciting. But my monthly massages have less to do with that and more to do with tiredness and body pain. 

When she massaged the painful knots in my shoulder, I felt myself resisting. Resisting to things comes easily to me, giving in is hard. If I give in to someone whether in an argument or in a task, I must care about you a lot. Because giving in requires weakness, displaying which is not easy for me. If I surrender to your ego, you are probably one of the few people I love. 

When she made circles around my bottom with her palms, I thought of dominating men that I very rarely encounter. It is because I do not attract dominating men. It fills me with a sense of curiosity to think about how it would be to be completely under someone's control. Again, it is an unknown area for me. 

When she reached my inner thighs, I felt a tingle. It is but natural even if it is a woman touching you. I'm not one of those who will deny getting turned on by a woman giving a massage. There are many who will completely act disgusted by the idea of it. I'm not one of them. 

I have not had physical contact for over three years now. But that doesn't mean I do not have desire. In fact, I have more desire than at any given point in my life. 

The only difference is that I have learnt to finally discover my own body. I now know my sweet spots and what gives me pleasure, something I was unaware of throughout my 20s and 30s. 

It was always left to other people to try to make me happy through touch. And they all got it wrong. Till I decided to find out for myself. My body surprises me with its eagerness today and thanks me for finally acknowledging it. My sexuality is something I am not ashamed of. I needed to remind myself that I was just as deserving in this department as I find myself to be in some others. 

When her hands pressed against mine to find the reflexology points, I felt seen, almost like a secret handshake that only the ones involved in can be aware of. A handshake says a lot. It tells you if you understand each other or not. 

When she massaged my stomach and abdomen, I felt ashamed. The wobbly stomach and the C section scars have shattered my sense of physical self worth. I am so ugly, I thought. I don't anyone to ever see this part of me. 

When she oiled my hair, I again felt a sense of relief. I was a child again and someone was doing for me what I do for my children who feel I give the best head massages. 

It changed when she pulled at my hair. Suddenly the pain returned. I did not wince. Pain is something that I know too well, I do not intend to run away from it anymore. After pain always comes acceptance. Hurt me, hurt me more, I am still here, unafraid of hurt. I seem to be a sucker for pain, a masochist. Pain makes me remember I'm still alive. 

But it was only when she touched my cheeks, that I wanted to cry. I don't remember the last time anyone touched my cheeks. It reminded me of how overwhelmed I am with emotions all the time. On the outside I appear numb and dead. But there is a roaring storm inside me. No one knows what is going on beneath my surface. 

When she gently rubbed my closed eyes, I wanted to tell her, don't. My eyes are not the same. They are small and wrinkled. They used to be big and luminous, brimming with light and enthusiasm. But I lost my spark somewhere. Maybe someone stole it from me, maybe I prefer the darkness these days. 

When she was done, she asked me how I liked the massage. I said it was comprehensive. You covered everything, found all my pain. After she was gone, I sat down, hoping to cry. But instead of tears, I found myself to be more tired. Maybe that's what happens after you've purged yourself, you are empty again and have nothing to feel. 

The undercurrents hide below the surface again. I seem calm and in control. I don't want to be touched now. I still want to hide because if I reveal myself, I know it will come with bitterness. The world doesn't need me to be bitter, and neither do I want to be. I go underground, and I rest. 

In the end what you don't surrender
Well, the world just strips away. 

- Human Touch, Bruce Springsteen