Massage

I’ve had more massages than most humans. This is probably true both of “massages” and of massages.

The other day, while I was having a massage (as opposed to a “massage”), I found myself thinking – as I have on occasion – about the odd way we relate to sex and sexuality, and to genitalia, in massages. I mean, here I am, lying on a table, covered by a sheet. I’m in my boxer briefs (because this particular modality of massage is done in underwear) and nothing else. My masseuse, over the course of 90 minutes, touches every inch of my body. Well, almost every inch. She leaves out, say, 5-6 inches on the front of me, and a slightly wider region on my backside.

I understand all sorts of practical reasons why this is so. But I want, for a moment, to entertain the possibility of a world in which a full-body massage might, actually, be a full-body massage.

Ok.

I did.

Winking smile

 

Wicked Wednesday

5 comments

  1. Oh oh oh, I so get this. I’ve had quite a number of massages and then I am naked. Totally naked. When massaged, they carefully avoid touching my breasts and my crotch, but they come close. They run their hands between my breasts. Damn, that’s erotic and makes my nipples harden every time. And when they run their hands down my legs, passing over my stomach and my hips, I can feel myself go wet. But, every time I had a massage, they touch my buttocks and that’s good 🙂

    Many times I have said they can just as well touch my breasts because that will be a lot less erotic than not touching it.

    I so get your thoughts!

    Rebel xox

  2. Rebel’s comment made me chuckle actually… sometimes the bits you don’t touch can be just as erotic if not more erotic than the ones you do…. the thought of hands ohhhhh so close but not quite close enough, there is something very sexy about that

    Mollyxxx

  3. This is something I’ve been thinking about recently. I’ve had massages (and one very memorable couples “massage”) but it’s seeing my osteopath that’s gotten me pondering. He spends a lot of time working my gluteal muscle in my arse, with the long slow (nearly painful) press and the careful touch to determine where it needs working. He’s touched me more intimately than many partners – and my arse loves it! Shame it’s all entirely fully clothed …

    xx Dee

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