CONTENT WARNING: DEPICTIONS OF SEXUAL ASSAULT
I remember you, my first and only masseuse, in your 30s or 40s, maybe children or a wife at home. Dark brown almost black hair shaved on the sides, letting it grow in the middle. I remember a sort of scowl that left a mark on your forehead, deep history covered up by a smile on your face. I remember sitting in a couch-like chair, with my mom in the one next to me. I didn’t look at the man who was placed with the responsibility of touching her body for the next hour. We had ordered legs, back, and shoulders to be fixed because both of us had taken the consequences of redecorating.
I remember a bucket of hot water placed by my feet and with you pointing towards it, they sank in. I remember you leaving and by the time you got back the water was cold, but you started anyway and began to massage. I think it was around the time you got to my thighs it started to feel off. I remember thinking it was weird to go so high, it felt like you were going close but not enough to get sued. I remember thinking maybe this is normal, I mean it’s my first time and maybe legs mean the whole legs and not just the calf. But, it was when you got to my butt I definitely knew something was off. Last time I checked, I didn’t ask for that.
I didn’t say anything. Not a word came out of my mouth because I was scared that you wouldn’t understand me, I would have to repeat myself, you would judge me, or that you just wouldn’t listen. You moved up towards my back now, and asked me to take off my flannel, I was wearing a tank top and leggings after that. I was comfortable with that level of undressing but I guess you weren’t because without my permission you unhooked my bra. I remember being scared when you pulled the straps from my shoulders, that you would go too far, but I guess you didn’t. After “massaging” me, you had me flip. One specific move I remember is you going slightly above my armpit and towards my breast, repeatedly. And maybe this is some sort of technique, but it didn’t feel like it. Once again I stayed quiet, I can’t explain why. It was an hour. An hour filled with so much silence it felt hard to breathe. In the car me and my mom both freaked out, because as it turns out, she was also the silent type. I have to ask, in your memory, do you remember slapping my ass at the end? I don’t know, I mean I asked for legs, back and shoulders, I left with a full body massage and the feeling of violation. And maybe I didn’t give you a chance and maybe I’m reading too much into this but I can’t shake the memory of you even though I bet you don’t remember me.