I was going through a phase awhile back where I kept saying ‘no’ to opportunities when the barest whisper of discomfort or a little bit of anxiety crept through. I started to think what am I missing out by saying ‘no’ all the time?

So I decided to start saying ‘yes’ more often. With mixed results, possibly. One of the things that I did say ‘yes’ to was meeting a man who was a professional masseuse for a happy ending massage. It seemed completely out of character for me but I feel like I struggle all the time about an idea of who I am as a person and that that person is mostly sensible and doesn’t take risks and so on. So I wanted to do things differently. And I did.

He was an older man, trained and worked as a masseuse. We got on well within our messaging. Mostly talking about women’s sports following his hobby coaching his daughters’ sports teams. He mostly just seemed quite normal and not scary at all so I felt okay taking this huge risk with him.

We decided to meet up at a local pub near his house first. We ended up having dinner together as we talked more, getting used to each other. Or me, really. He seemed fairly at ease. He talked about how he had gotten into massage. How his work in a hotel in another country led him into some more risque situations and environments. But not in a crude way, his storytelling method seemed more of a ‘isn’t this all quite humourous?’ and that made me comfortable.

After dinner, he asked if I was still interested in a massage? And with just a moment’s hesitation, I said ‘yes’. Nerves kicked in slightly when we got to his place, and he’d laid out the massage table all ready with towels and things. He left the room for me to get undressed with a towel to cover my ass as I laid on my front.

I figured, this is why I’m here, just do it already. So I did. I got naked. Laid on the table. And waited. My breathing was a little off and my heartbeat was racing but I was ready for it. Excited, even. And he didn’t disappoint. He had also undressed and came back in wearing just his underwear. But then he started with the oils and there were moments of the massage where I could just melt into the sensation of it and stopped overthinking it. It became just the delicious pressure against my skin, the feel of these long stokes along my back. My shoulders, my arms.

There’s something so relaxing about a full body massage. And there are very specific erogenous zones on my back and shoulders. I remember thinking this almost feels like a professional massage? Until I could feel his erection brush against me. And it was a million of these little brushes against me, touches that got just a little bit nearer, the tease of it.

What I loved so much about it was how much the anticipation built. It was very steady with the actual massaging, and he gave me just enough glimpses into what more there was that by the time he’d asked me to roll over onto my back I felt fully relaxed, pliant even. I was ready for more. I felt like I was aching for more, that my arousal was at breaking point. Patience is also not something that I feel like I’m very good at.

I kept my eyes closed for most of the massage. Everything already felt so overwhelming with everything going on. But it all felt so good. I wasn’t sure how vocal I would be about my own pleasure. But certain places that his fingers dug into felt amazing. Areas that I didn’t think would feel good being massaged felt great. My thighs, my calves, my hands. He pressed his fingers into the arches of my feet and that nearly ended me.

But I could feel when things were coming to an end. When he was spending more time circling my nipples, my inner thighs. Positioning my legs so that they fell open. And it was welcome. I was very much just arousal and need by this point. My eyes flew open and I gasped when his soft tongue gently stroked up the length of me. I was expecting it and I wasn’t.

And just like he had taken his time stroking my entire body, he took his time with this too. He really seemed to be enjoying himself, taking his cues from the way my breathing changed, the little moans I was making. At one point it felt like he was going to change position and I held his head in place, keeping him where I wanted him, and with the pressure I needed.

If anything, I sort of wish now that I’d just ended things there. That I pulled myself together enough to roll off the table, get dressed and tell him thank you for such a nice evening. But I didn’t. I felt so … relaxed and happy and giving, I guess. That I ended up asking if he had a condom. I hadn’t needed to do that, we hadn’t discussed it going any further than we’d done.

But he got up, took my hand and led me to a bed where we fooled around a bit more (he really enjoyed using his tongue and who am I to say ‘no’ to that?) and then somehow he was on top of me, his face in a bit of a grimace, looking like he was in so much pain that I almost stopped him to ask if he was okay. It was blessedly short and despite this part being a bit of a disappointment, we ended up lying on his bed for awhile longer talking about French literature until he walked me back to my car.

I’m mostly glad I said ‘yes’.