She beat the crap outa me… & I liked it

Sorry. If you were hoping for some lesbian BDSM story, this is not it. 

Yesterday, an incredible masseuse dug so deeply into my muscles that I’m surprised my back isn’t covered in bruises. The weight of the world (figuratively, as my life rocks in so many ways) was pulled from my shoulders. It’s crazy the affect those nasty knots and kinks of muscle can have on daily life. I found myself skipping workouts and snapping at family and Scott. Slept restlessly. Sore and angsty at the office. Writer’s block at home.

As her fingers dug into my back, the pain tightened muscles fought back. “Spaghetti,” I reminded myself. “Be the noodle. Be the limp noodle.” Deep tissue massages hurt. I focused on how good those muscles would feel when it was all over to stopper my instinctual reactions. “Be the noodle.”

The moment I jumped off the table, my energy returned to me. I felt like bounding from the room. As I dressed, I felt the negativity fall away and optimism work its way back up, dragging along a bit a shame for that week’s miserable behavior. As I called each person I had been short with, I came to a new realization.

Maybe it’s simply part of growing up. At some point, you have to accept that ‘treats’ change form over time.  There are things like $55 massages that you shouldn’t hold out on like you would for that $150 pair of jeans. It’s not like running to the spa for a manicure. It’s not treat anymore for me. There is significant physical and emotional change from someone beating the crap out of your tight muscles. Every once in a while, when the knots grow like weeds through my back, I’ll swallow the cost and let her take the ache away.

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