My head is in a bit of a muddle. No, not because of my current status, that has become pretty standard. I’m trying to work out what ‘base’ I got to last night.
Who defined what ‘bases’ really are? Is there a regulatory board? A guide book?
In primary school holding hands was first base. Holding hands with interwined fingers was second base. A kiss on the cheek was third and a kiss on the lips well, that was a home run. And, well,, I’ve always been a home run kind of girl.
Now it seems the game has changed and my bases are jumping all over the place. As such my mind is muddled. Inadvertently my body is completely relaxed. Like jelly, really.
Last night Mr. Complicated and I spent the night doing something that really has no base. In some circumstances it’s completely platonic- even medical- but last night it was by no means clinical. At least I don’t think it was. Don’t worry, there were no scalpels involved. I’m talking about massage.
It started innocently enough. I was complaining about a sore neck. The next thing I knew I was naked on my bed, with Mr. Complicated perched atop my buttocks.
He started slowly, dripping oil across my back. The small, sensible part of my brain was wishing I hadn’t put my new 1000 thread count sheets on the bed, the other was tingling with excitement- shivering at times. He warmed up his hands and started smoothing the oil over my body. All the way from the small of my back up to the tops of my shoulders. All of a sudden my bedroom smelled like a Moroccan spice market.
Satisfied my sheets would come out on top, I began to relax and enjoy each sensation. Up and down my spine he moved in small circular motions, expertly easing out knots, tending to my reactions, and causing me to murmur small sounds of satisfaction.
Just as I was settling into this scenario he moved to my legs. Luckily I’d shaved that morning. Again, up and down, in long swift motions, getting closer and closer to the top of my legs. It was soft, and light and delicate and almost unbearable.
Just when I thought I couldn’t take anymore of the inner thigh attention, he flipped me onto my back (goodbye, sheets) and declared he was done.
Done? Really? With the massage, right? I thought we were just getting started.
But despite my objections, Mr. Complicated, staying true to his name, was up and out the door.
So it wasn’t exactly a home run. In fact I think I might have struck out. But I slept like a baby- or a log- whatever sleeps the most, and my shoulders haven’t felt this good in years.
It got me thinking that maybe I should spend more time enjoying the sidelines, in the barracks, or perhaps next time I should just buy the edible massage oil…
Till next time.
Ruby Jones x
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