You know when someone’s hitting on you, but you’re not sure if he’s hitting on you, but you think he’s hitting on you . . . and it turns out he is?
Or maybe you don’t. Sometimes I’m a little slow on the uptake.
My massage therapist is a 27-year-old hottie named Peter. Which is exactly how I like it. I’m not looking for a happy ending, but please–90 minutes with a gorgeous man’s hands on my body is a sexy and much appreciated way to close out my work day.
At my last massage session, Peter got a little personal.
Him: “I read your blog, it’s really funny.”
Wait. Isn’t there a no-talking rule here?
Me: “Oh, thanks . . . I try. I mean, actually, I don’t. Funny stories seem to just find me.”
Him: “I read the one about your date with the younger man . . . do you date a lot of younger men?”
About that no-talking rule . . .
Me: “Umm, well, yeah – I guess. But, I mean, not THAT young.”
As in, not my young hot massage therapist. Probably. I dunno. Maybe. Wait – how old again?
Him: “Well, attractive older women like you . . . you are definitely wanted by younger men. Definitely. Wanted.”
Screw the no-talking rule. Tell me more.
Actually, I didn’t really want him to tell me more. And yet I did. And yet, nope. I didn’t. Because it was all starting to feel a little awkward. And the massage strokes a little sexier. And the oil a little slipperier. And me a little nakeder. And the sheet on top of me a little more revealing. Er.
But Peter went on to describe why young men are attracted to older women and how “wanted” they really are and, hey, wouldn’t it be great if he and I worked together because he has this great idea about creating a YouTube channel for my blog, and he could edit my videos, and we could see each other outside of massage appointments to do this, and would I be down for that and blah, blah, blah . . . in fact, he went on for a while about younger men and older women and how we should work together (apparently there is no no-talking rule) but I tuned him out because eventually the only thing I could hear were the voices in my head going, “OMG and WTF! Your massage therapist is totally hitting on you!”
I wasn’t offended. At all. In fact, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t aroused by his flattery, the subtly sexy mood in the room, his incredible hands with the perfect pressure and the thought of turning over and pulling my hot 27-year-old massage therapist on top of me.
I mean, I may not be a full-fledged cougar, but I’m not immune to feeling sexually attracted to a man much younger. He was hot, charming and giving me a massage that felt sexier than any I’d had before. I was turned on. Of course I was.
By the end of our 90 minutes together, I was unfortunately not any more relaxed than when we’d started. In fact, I was tense. Keyed up.And slightly flustered. Every muscle in my body had been sufficiently rubbed . . . but there were other parts of me craving attention. My body was in a serious state of confusion.
Peter came in after I’d gotten dressed, handed me a glass of water, a chocolate and a card with his personal phone number scrawled on it. “Don’t tell the ladies at the front desk,” he winked. “But call me. Any time.” He gave me a hug, flashed his sexy smile and said, “See you in four weeks.”
Ah hah. Confirmation: Those voices in my head were right. He was hitting on me, and now I had the business card to prove it.
I was flattered. For about five minutes. My gut told me I probably wasn’t the only client Peter was hitting on, and my suspicions were confirmed three weeks later when the spa called to reschedule my next appointmnet.
“Hi, Sienna, unfortunately Peter is no longer with us–we had to let him go. Can we reschedule your next massage with a different therapist?” Boom.
“Oh! That’s too bad, but of course. Who do you recommend?”
“Well, we could get you in with Karen next Tuesday at 6:30. Or Kasia on Wednesday at 4:00. Or how about Missy on Monday? At like, 5:00?”
“Um . . . are there any . . . men?”
Sue me. Peter was inappropriate, but I’m sorry – after him, I can’t do women. It’s just not going to happen.
Single ladies, you feel me, right? If you’re unattached and you don’t want to sleep around, a sexy massage therapist with a Midas touch is a welcome part of your work week.
Here’s hoping that John stays appropriate so he keeps his job so we can begin a lovely relationship that includes oils, lotions, lights down low, soft music, a warm . . . table (almost said bed, but I caught myself), and his hands all over (almost all of) my body. Still not looking for a happy ending from my my massage therapist . . . but I’m down with a regular 90-minute date on a massage table.
A single lady who doesn’t wanna fuck around has to take what she can get.