My Real Memoir
Touch. One of my earliest recurring memories is of Mommandad on the couch in our den. I’d sit on the rug (closer to the TV), but scoot back so Mom could run her fingers through my hair. That meant she loved me. A few years later, a tender-hearted third-grade girl massaged my shoulders after I skinned my elbow, and I deemed it a piddling price to pay for the rubs. Plus, growing up with cats, I’d learned that, apart from a dead mouse, kneading someone with your paws was the best gift you could give them.
My teenage friends were all huggers and massagers too. Often, at a party, I’d rub a girl’s back in a cozy, underlit corner. But sometimes, being mystically drawn to the squishier parts of the female anatomy, my hands would glide further south. And if the reaction was, “Mmm, don’t stop,” I didn’t. I honestly didn’t have an ulterior motive (usually). But I did have hormones. Lots of them.
Which was why, at age 27, in the midst of an increasingly committed relationship with Dinah, I did a spectacularly naïve thing.
I shared an apartment with my widowed mom in an upscale complex with lots of amenities, including tennis, yoga, and a staff masseuse. Mom was at the pool with her circle of 40-something divorcee friends when I swung by to say hello. As I turned to leave, I heard one of them, Faith, complain that the masseuse was gone today.
“I like giving massages,” I remarked off-handedly.
“Really? How about tonight!” Faith only half-jokingly replied.
A few hours later, the single 42-year-old opened her front door and handed me a glass of wine. She turned and limped into her living room. She’d had polio as a child, she said. Then, parting her robe, she showed me her slightly undersized leg, as well as her other perfectly-shaped one. Her teenage daughter was usually here, she explained, so she almost never had anyone over. Translation: she hadn’t been with a man in a long time.
I should leave, I thought, but I couldn’t think of a gentle way to do it. Faith wore her loneliness like a second robe, and I didn’t want to add another layer. It’s just a massage, I told myself. I’ll help her relax, and then slip quickly away.
She pointed at a plush rug she thought would suffice, and asked, “Is this OK?” How should I know? I was just an amateur with a bottle of vegetable oil. I nodded, and she took off her robe. She was wearing a baby doll nightie. And nothing else.
I started with her neck and shoulders, and could feel her uncoil a little more with each muscle stroke. She groaned happily when I got to her lower back. Which was where I should have stopped. But I didn’t. And then I hesitated. “Keep going, please,” she whispered. So I did.
The point of no return arrived quickly. Faith insisted on giving me a massage, and almost immediately headed south. “No, I can’t,” I mumbled. “It’s OK, Jesus won’t mind,” she whispered in an estrogenic haze. She knew about my recent conversion, and was an avid believer herself. But at the moment she believed only in…this.
Suddenly, she was on top of me, and we were doing “it.” My body betrayed me at first, but some smidgeon of my prefrontal cortex was still functioning. I thought back on Maggie McCluskey, the girl who’d seduced me just as I was entering a previous serious relationship. “No!” I said again, and pushed her off.
I apologized, told her it was my fault, and quickly departed. All I could think was…
How do I tell Dinah?
My Real Memoir is a series. To read the next one, click here.
This memoir is a compelling and introspective exploration of human vulnerability and the evolving meaning of touch. Skillfully traces the journey from innocent affection to the complexities of adult emotion and moral conflict. The narrative is honest, nuanced, and deeply reflective, offering valuable insight into how compassion, desire, and conscience can intertwine. A thoughtful and courageous piece that invites readers to consider the delicate balance between empathy and ethical responsibility.🙌
Thank you, John.
I can understand your feeling but I would keep calm for a while and let your emotions out.
It was nohing but a thought, a desire. I know this is a sin as well, but you ca confess it and you, in your soul, already did.
Thank you, but I dealt with that long ago, Vicki. I’m fine, and pray that Faith is, or was, as well (she’d be quite old by now).
Have a great day, Mitch.
You left and tried to keep her dignity and your dignity intact. IMHO a slip-up but good recovery (if I read the story correctly). You massage her still in your guilt. Release her and the offense will melt away in the heat of divine love.
Thanks, Gerry. But, honestly, I’m not harboring any guilt feelings. I was simply young, naive, and hormonal.
Good. As a writer, that makes sense. In the ordinary, a carried guilt. Thanks for clarify!!!
You peeled off Satan’s tentacles and did what was right. 🙂
Perhaps, Nancy, but she was no Satan, just a lonely, affection-starved woman.
I must have been unclear. Satan likely had his tentacles around you while trying to get you to falter. 😈
The devil wanted you to do something and you resisted temptation. 👍
Eventually, yes, Nancy, but not at first. Note my edit of the final paragraph. It seems I was unclear previously about the fact that “it” did happen.
Well written and very honest, thanks for sharing
My privilege, L.G.
As I read this, I was thinking NO -just dont go there, a good recovery though, even if it is awkward forever afterwards.
Was her name Mrs. Robinson?
;>) Honestly, she wasn’t that manipulative, just starved for affection, I believe.
Privately? Yes. But I’ve had excellent therapeutic massages from professional female masseuses. Under the proper circumstances there’s no danger of inappropriate behavior.
Been there a couple of times and did the Joseph thing and ran away before it got out of hand
I refuse to be alone with a woman to prevent temptation where it does not belong
Yeah, I don’t agree. My wife and I have both have had therapeutic Chinese massages done at a shopping center in Sydney. Over the years, I’ve had sports massages done when I’ve done my back in at the gym.
Mitch was just been young and niave, no sin happened, or was intended.
Medically necessary massages are different and understandable, IMO.
Am I understanding this correctly that she was older than you plus she said, “It’s okay, Jesus won’t mind.” To me that sounds like she was seducing you. It does not matter how lonely she was. Sin is sin. And it is not okay with Jesus. I am not saying you have not repented. I am saying Truth is Truth. And that was not good. I have never had a massage and never will. The Lord heals me inside and out. I need nothing else. He can handle it all. And I have been a widow for 23 years. I would never use that for an excuse to sin.
That is just my 2 cents.
And a worthy 2 cents it is, Wenda. In defense of massage: it can be a very legitimate source of relaxation and even healing. “Massage parlors” are a completely different thing.
My Bible says we are led by the dictates of the flesh or the Spirit. I believe it would be the flesh leading to a Massage and not the Holy Spirit by which I am healed. And if you are led by the flesh, you are in opposition to God, Romans 8:4-7. That is a lot more than 2 cents.
Mitch, if you would kindly remove my comment on massage here, I’d appreciate it. I don’t want to judge anyone..I only intended to respond to your biographical context, expressing a concern I thought you raised in the story yourself.Thank You.
Sure. Is this SDH? (WordPress has labeled you Anonymous.)
Yes. Stephen here, Mitch
I think you described this experience perfectly with your words “spectacularly naive”. Your kind heart and hormones were taking you where you didn’t want to go!
Mrs. Robinson and Ben after taking her home from the party. One of my favorite movies. I think you did the right thing.
Well…eventually anyway. Thanks, Phil.
I think you were both in the wrong place at the wrong time. Thankfully, you (and He) found a way out for you both.
Thanks, Carol.
So relatable
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Did you tell her? If so, what happened afterwards?
Tune in this coming Tuesday, Aline. 🧡
Deal!
I am curious to know what did you tell her.
Tune this Tuesday.