“And it doesn’t matter that I’m basically straight?”
“Well as long as you aren’t repelled by the idea of a woman touching you, no it doesn’t. Look, have you ever been with someone and realised you’re trying really hard to come and you just can’t? Or you’re trying to hurry up and make the orgasm happen faster because you’re worried they’re bored or that their jaw is starting to hurt? Have you ever compromised the quality of your orgasm because you’re focusing more on your partner’s comfort than your own pleasure?”
She pauses and levels me with a hard look. I swallow and nod.
“Well, Lotus doesn’t need you to perform for her. She’s very skilled, she’s very professional, she’ll have you shuddering your way through a phenomenal orgasm in no time. She’s got an opening on Tuesday evening and I’ve asked her to hold it for you. You in?”
I think about everything Sloane’s just laid out for me. Every scenario she’s just reeled off rings true. I’m not sure I have ever had a truly selfish orgasm with another person. It’s always been reciprocal and I’ve always felt that pressure to come within acertain time frame. Colin used to complain about getting hand cramps for fuck’s sake.
I can’t find any reason to say no. Maybe because I don’t want to sit still long enough to feel the ache underneath it all.
“Ok. Let’s do it.” Let’s go meet a stranger called Lotus and let her finger me. Sure. Why not.
“Perfect,” says Sloane. She clinks her coffee cup against mine in a toast. “To selfish orgasms and new roommates!”
Indeed.
As I leave work on Tuesday, I’m positively twitchy with anxiety. I’ve had an email confirmation from Lotus, and I’ve paid a whacking £180 in advance for my massage. I’ve been given an address in East London, which I’ve dutifully programmed into CityMapper.
Despite it being a crisp day in March, I’m sweating as I get off the train in Hackney and make my way towards Lotus’s studio. The address is in an ex-council block and I have to climb around some kids playing in the concrete stairwell to get to her front door. I take a deep breath as I lift my hand to knock.
The door opens before my knuckles even make contact and I’m met with a beautiful, petite woman wearing scarlet lipstick and a kimono in a matching shade.
“You must be Emmy,” she says, clasping her hands to my shoulders. She’s got a warm Australian accent and blonde hair down to her waist. “Sloane has told me so much about you.” She gives me a long, earnest look and I give her back a slightly stiff smile, wondering what exactly my friend of less than two weeks has told her.
“Hello,” I reply, sounding painfully stilted. “So nice to meet you. And thank you for, er, doing this.”
“Come in,” she says, ushering me into the space and taking my coat. “This is your first sensual massage, yes?”
“Er, yes. I didn’t know it was even a thing until a few days ago,” I admit.
Lotus grimaces like she hears this all the time.
“It’s been a thing since the dawn of time, my darling. It’s only our society’s prudishness that keeps it in the shadows. I genuinely believe we would all be happier if we had access to sensual touch when we needed it.”
I nod in agreement.
“Right, let’s chat through consent and boundaries to make sure you’re comfortable with everything and know what to expect. And then we will begin.”
15 minutes later, I’m stark naked on a massage table, waiting for Lotus to return. Twinkly spa music is playing in the background and there are little electric tea lights flickering around the edges of my vision. I’ve got my face wedged firmly in the hole of her massage table and I close my eyes as she comes in.
“Ready?” she asks, smoothing a hand lightly down my back.
“Ready!” I say brightly, with a breeziness I do not feel. I have let an American I’ve known for a matter of days talk me into getting naked in a stranger’s flat in Hackney. A woman I’ve never met before is about to put her fingers inside me. I am about to come for the first time with a person that isn’t Colin. I wonder if the breakup has sent me temporarily insane. Or maybe it’s just easier to chase something new than to sit with the wreckage.
I repeat three mantras:
I am exploring my sexuality.
I deserve nice things.
This is self-care.
I take a deep breath and relax.
“Good,” says Lotus, sensing the shift. She squeezes my feet in a grounding gesture and starts massaging my leg. So far, so normal. It’s just like being at Nirvana Spa, I think, as she works my calf muscles. My body starts to sink into the flow of her hands making smooth strokes, slick with slightly scented olive oil. Her touch is rhythmic, soothing me into the lulled state of true relaxation.
I’ve almost dozed off by the time she’s nearing the top of my thighs and my stomach flips when she carries on over my buttocks, her confident touch never faltering. I feel my breath start to shift as she massages the tops of my thighs, her fingertips sweeping dangerously close to my pussy.
