Love is patient and kind. It does not envy and is not proud. Love protects, trusts and perseveres. But love is also fiercely jealous. That one rarely makes the ceremony. On a recent weekend afternoon, the Captain surprised me with a romantic treat: couples massages. I took a sip of green tea and tugged at the sleeve of my robe. The Captain laughed.
Two women came into the room to fetch us. They were non-threatening, dressed all in black with their hair pulled back in tight ponytails. We followed them into a room with dim lighting and two massage tables set side by side. We disrobed and slipped furtively under the sheets covering the tables. The masseuses knocked. The women moved to our separate tables. I closed my eyes.
The masseuse draped an eye pillow across my brow, shutting me in darkness. Often when one sense is limited our other senses heighten, so that as I became sightless my hearing cranked up. I lay on the table and listened to the massage session across the room, where the Captain received a rub down from a woman who was decidedly not me. While I had feared some buxom blond β a Swede with a penchant for naughtiness, perhaps β it turns out that any woman would have been a threat.
When the hour-long session drew to a close, I was relieved to rise off the table and slip back into my bathrobe. After changing, the Captain and I made our way to the parking lot, where I slipped my hand in his. I was newly aware of his desirability, suddenly alert to the precariousness of any relationship. The experience was anything but relaxing.
Yet it served as a great reminder: that what we have is precious and worth guarding jealously. Even from massage therapists. Leave a Reply Cancel reply Your email address will not be published.
