Hurts So Good by Tanya Bowers

Photo by Hans Vivek on Unsplash

I have a crush on my massage therapist.  It’s not that I am particularly attracted to her.  She’s good-looking, but she isn’t my type. 

At the beginning of our standing appointment, I describe my physical ailments. My lower back and knees always hurt. My IT bands are continually tight. I have sustained an injury in my left upper arm. I hold so much tension in my neck and shoulders that migraines are an issue.  

After the massage therapist closes the door, I undress, hop onto the table, and crawl under the cover. She has already turned on the heating pad to warm the padded table surface. My eyelids immediately close. I breathe deeply and scan my body. I send each inhale to areas where I notice myself clenching.

Then she touches me from head to toe, sometimes lightly, sometimes hard. Earlier in our professional relationship, I had asked her to increase the pressure. Now I appreciate that soft touch can heal as much as deep tissue massage. 

Otherwise, we don’t talk during my treatment. Making conversation, whether small talk or meaningful exchange, distracts me from enjoying the experience.

As she presses her elbow or fingers into my tight muscles, it kills. Normally I’m expressive. An “ow,” or “ouch,” may indicate that the sensation hurts or that I don’t like it, but these noises don’t mean she needs to stop. I know that the momentary pain will ultimately benefit my body. I realize that my sounding can be misinterpreted. She always apologizes when I vocalize, so now I take deep breaths to help bear the discomfort. 

It’s like speaking up in a relationship. When I say nothing, I often don’t want to continue engaging with that person, but with her even when I keep silent, I come back.  

She wraps the sheets around my torso and my limbs, tucking them under my armpits or my buttocks to cover my crotch and my chest. 

Often, I can’t tell where specifically I’m being touched. Remember that childhood game where you shut your eyes and another person creeps their fingertips on the inside of your arm, from your wrist to your elbow? You’re supposed to say “stop” when you think they’ve reached your elbow, but invariably you’re never close. Is she near my areolas or my anus? I know she would never violate the ethics of massage certification, but I wonder if she wants to. At that moment, I want her to. I can empathize with men who request happy endings. I would never ask for that; though, I can fantasize.

In the past when I received a good massage, I felt indebted to the bodyworker. Once I dressed and exited the massage room, the therapist invariably asked, “How was it?”

I sighed in relaxation. My first words were, “I want to marry you.” 

This sentence may have been more inappropriate when I was single. My profession of gratitude meant that I wanted a partner who made me feel as good as they just did.

My spouse also sees my massage therapist. Upon witnessing my changed state post-appointment, he requested that I book a treatment for him. After a few of his sessions, I queried whether he found her massages as exhilarating as I did. He said that the massages were good, but no, he didn’t. I told him that I hoped to give him the same type of pleasure through touch that I received from her. Not understanding how profoundly moved I had been during my massage, he laughed.

I only feel as marvelously as I do with my massage therapist when my husband and I have sex, but he gets me to attain that state by stimulating my erogenous zones. My massage therapist doesn’t touch my privates, and she has never brought me where he takes me… not in her physical presence anyway. My husband has an unfair advantage; it’s a bit like cheating.  

While I settle my bill at the front desk, I ask how she knows where to touch me. Like my beloved, she is intimately familiar with my body, how it responds, and what it needs. She says my body just tells her. Her ability to read me like a book is one of the things that sets her apart.  

Should I confess the extent of my arousal during these massages to my husband? He is very possessive of my affections and feels threatened by my romantic or sexual connections outside of him…even though they preceded our relationship.  

As frustrating as it is for me to censor my feelings, his discretion is probably why I knew he was the one. The ritual with every prior relationship involved recounting stories of past loves. This never took place during our courtship. My husband made it clear that all that mattered was him and me. This made me feel more prized than I ever had.

Does my crush violate my marital commitment to a monogamous relationship? These feelings are normal… like transference with a psychotherapist. Patients fall in love with their shrinks all the time. They project qualities onto these professionals because together they’ve established a safe space. Sharing the infatuation with my husband would keep it inside our marriage.

When I think it through, I know that what goes on inside my head, between my ears is best left there… and, maybe, on this page.

Tanya Bowers lives in eastern Washington. Her writing on identity, culture, and wellness has appeared in Bi Women Journal, VIBE and YogiTimes magazines as well as the New York Times and Los Angeles Times. She has been featured in Mademoiselle and has appeared on the Wolf Blitzer and Connie Chung shows. Read more or subscribe to her Substack: https://tanyabowers.substack.com