Friday, January 20, 2006

A great massage the other day. I asked him for a firm decisive touch and thats what i got. I felt him squeezing me it was as if he was defining my limits my real space. I go thru life in a drift thinking im some how out there, but the pressure from his hands shows me where I am in my slowly aging flabby body. Yes this is indeed where I am m, a saluatory reminder.
vita brevis, ars longis
The art of massage is to kneed and move the muscle mass, slowly in harmonic rythm, so that id doesnt turn into a rub. I prefer massage from a man. More forceful. And with a woman, well if shes the slightest bit attractive, then my mind wonders in that downward direction, rather than laying back and enjoying the massage. and if shes totally unattractive , then whats the point?
My wife is not any good at massaging me. Shes a a rubber not a kneeder.
The best massage I had was from a guy in Karlsbad. He manpulated me with consomate skill, poetry. I felt he was about to tear me apart like a spring chicken or maybe rape me, but I didnt care. In 25 minutes it was all over and I slid back into my skin.


Post a Comment

<< Home