There is very little foreplay. "Get undressed and lie down." I feel disoriented, slightly off kilter. The rhythms are unfamiliar and I am suddenly uneasy. This is weird, I think. This might not be right.
But it is too late to change my mind. I am touched with hands that are insistent and demanding -- a far cry from the gentle easing that I have grown accustomed to. There is a roughness, an abruptness, that is simultaneously off-putting and intriguing. Let's see, I tell myself. Let's just see how this goes. Maybe a change will do me good.
I find I must give more instruction than I am used to or comfortable with. "Right here. No, there. Not so hard." I am shocked to realize the depth of my former complacency as the new demands placed on me crystalize. Before, how easily my needs had been anticipated and fulfilled, without a word passing between us. How comfortably ensconced and unchallenged I was, before.
Before my masseuse went on maternity leave and left me to the devices of her associate.