Ahhhh

Teresa calls me back. The room is dim. The music is very zen-like. The atmosphere is radiating peace. The woodwork is dark, the sheets are neutral and super-soft. And so Teresa visits with me as to where my trouble-spots are. I explain the knots I continually get in my shoulders and upper back. She ummmhmmms and writes some things down. Then she says you may get undressed now and crawl onto the bed and I'll knock and come back in. I like to be in control of my situation. I'm actually not a very private person. The youngest of three, I didn't think much of shutting the door in the bathroom (unless they were doing dishes and then I really needed to spend time in there - reading Archie's and having my brother pound on the door to stop getting out of work). I digress. Do you really want everything off? Well if it would make you feel more comfortable, you could leave your panties on, but the bra should definitely be taken off. So I undress and slip between the sheets feeling a bit vulnerable. Teresa soon walks in and asks, 'are you comfortable?'. Well actually Teresa, no I'm not. I like clothes on. Especially in public places and when near someone I know only by name. Sure, I'm good! So she proceeds to have me lie on my belly and soon she begins to work. It was painfully wonderful. I transcended into a state of I don't know what. I was almost asleep, but not. I would listen to the music and imagine the people (or computers) that make the sounds. I wondered if Teresa really hated all that smoothy-woothy stuff and really wanted to listen to Rush or maybe even Eric Clapton. She continued to work and spent most the time on my upper torso. She never did go below the waist (and so I'm very thankful I wasn't lying there in just my altogether). At times it almost hurt (so good). One time I felt her breath as she leaned close. I may not have said this before, but I HATE the feeling of breathing on me. When our children were babies, I liked it. But with adults, I find it really... icky. It started when I shared a bed with my sister as a kid. I would literally hold her face the other direction so she wouldn't breathe on me. Then when we got married, Duane liked to cozy up behind me and zowser, I just went nuts. Don't do that! What? What? Breathe! What? You don't want me to breathe? No! You can breathe, just not on me. So we have an unspoken pact... he doesn't face me (or tries not to) when we're sleeping. It does happen, but then I just give a slight poke and he flips (now after nearly 14 years... in his sleep). Anyway, Teresa did a good job and offered a nice water bottle at the end (when I had my clothes back on and felt safe and comfortable again). She then suggested I see them more often than once ever 13 years... and so maybe I will! Only if she doesn't breathe when she works.