'Massage' or 'Falling in love'

I got a massage yesterday.  Ninety minutes of rubbing bliss.  The massage therapist's voice like fairy dust on my ears, her hands pure magic.  I wondered if she fell in love with every body on her table because I certainly fell in love with her a little bit.  She knew where I hurt, she anticipated my needs, she connected with me.  Especially when she rubbed my feet.

I don't even remember when someone rubbed my feet last; it's such a loving gesture.  What I do is fucking.  No one cares about me and I don't care about them.  If someone rubbed my feet, it'd mean I was being seduced, romanced.  Someone was plugging in.

And that's not how I roll.  I can't roll like that.

I pulse, I throb, I emanate, I suck, I fuck.  I am not tender or loving.  I am hard and horny and fuck like I mean it.

So when the masseuse rubbed my aching arches and [lovingly] tended to my twitching muscles I relaxed and floated away on a cloud of prostituted love.  L-O-V-E.  And wondered (again) when I would ever be ready for this from a single man.

But until I'm ready I'll continue to hide in the crowd, among throngs of men.  When I'm feeling lost (or just plain feeling) I cast my net and some kind man will send some 1s and 0s and I feel real again.  I can't quite explain this "alone with everyone" concept any better except to say if I stop moving, I feel like I'll die.  I'll fucking die from pain and sorrow and the scabs that are slowly forming will never take hold and I'll be this broken wounded woman for the rest of my life.

Each man in my life, however fleeting or however entangled, is part of a patchwork salve to my psyche.  He encourages my carnal side, my vulnerable sexual self, he endeavors to coax out my tender side, he is steadfast, he is fickle, he is there.  The He in his many forms: tall, short, big, small, near and far.  Of course I'm most thankful for the ones who have become parts of my life over the longer term, but even the ones that have come and gone have played their parts.

I don't want to say anything as ridiculous as, "The day someone rubs my feet is the day I fall in love," because that's just plain stupid, but the day someone thinks beyond my pussy and caters to (and wins over) the side I keep so staunchly hidden and protected, will be a big day in my life.

A part of me might just be resuscitated.