APRIL 8, 2011

Slave to Love

You can also hear me read this story on:  Episode #12 of The Word Count podcast. The prompt was: “Pick a line from your favorite song…”

* * * *

After seeing my acupuncturist for almost four months now, he told me he wouldn’t be able to help me anymore. I felt betrayed, and I let him know it.

“What the hell do you mean, doc, are you saying I’m incurable?” I winced as I sat up on the table, my skin still pulsating from the needles he’d just removed from my back.

“No, Jason, ” he said, “but if I could get rid of your pain, I would have done it by now.”

“Damn it, you were my last hope. I’m too young to feel this lousy for the rest of my life.”

He looked at me with sympathetic eyes, and then hesitated before he spoke. “Well…there is someone I think who might be able to help you.”

And that was my introduction to Serena. Dr. Zhang swore me to secrecy because hers was an underground practice. She didn’t have a license to perform her type of healing, and she only saw patients by referral from a few select sources. Dr. Zhang was one of them. He confided he had gone to see her for his own back problems. Scribbling her e-mail address on his business card, he hastily handed it to me, but would provide no further details. All he said was “See her. If anyone can help you, she can.” At the time, I thought—a goddamn witch doctor?

My sciatica had been flaring up for the past few years, but this was the worst it had ever been. Working in construction didn’t help. This latest episode happened as I was getting out of bed one morning, and a sharp pain shot up my leg as I set foot on the floor. It was so torturous I fell back into bed and couldn’t even move for the next hour. Dr. Zhang, through his skill with needles, restored my mobility, however, the pain continued. I wasn’t able to return to work. I couldn’t even bend down to tie my shoes without feeling a burning sensation up my spine. I was over six feet tall, 210 lbs., strong as an ox, but this condition had brought me to my knees.

As far as sex was concerned, it was non-existent. I tried masturbating just to relieve the pressure but almost passed out when I came—the pain was unbearable. Thankfully, I had broken it off with Wendy before this latest incident. She wouldn’t have taken kindly to me lying in bed all day, even if it was under doctor’s orders. She was a minx, that one, and she loved it when I gave it to her from behind. Too bad sex was the only thing we had in common. The thought of it made my cock throb, but the image of bending her over didn’t even arouse me now. All I could think was: What if I could never have sex again?

* * * *

I paid the equivalent of six months salary for twelve weekly sessions with Serena, the maximum number of times she would see any one client. Those were her conditions, and they were non-negotiable. She said if she couldn’t cure me in that time, then she couldn’t cure me, and there were no refunds. Truth be told, I was cured after only eight sessions. I had been free from pain for weeks now, and had decided to keep the remaining appointments—not because of the money, but because of her. She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. Prior to seeing her, I was in agonizing pain. Now, I’m weakened, but by the most incredible pleasure.

* * * *

I arrive for my last appointment with Serena and tell her how grateful I am for all that she’s done. A selfish part of me wants to beg her to continue seeing me, but I can’t do that to her. It breaks her rules, and she is, after all, a healer. I follow her to the room where she tells me to undress. “Please remove all your clothes and make yourself comfortable,” she says. “Lie on your stomach with your arms by your side, and I’ll be right back.”

The room is warm and dark, lit only by a small candle in the corner. She’s had the same song playing in all our sessions – “Slave to Love” by Bryan Ferry—a seductive melody with passionate lyrics I now know by heart. I was surprised to hear this song as most therapists play new-age music with the sounds of rain, wind, and birds. The ambience here could not be more different. It wasn’t about nature. It was about a sensual and physical experience beyond anything I had ever known.

Her massage table resembles a double bed except that it sits very low to the ground. It’s firmly padded with high-density foam, and there’s no separate headrest. Instead, there is an opening in the mattress for my head, making it much more comfortable to lie face down.

I don’t realize she has entered the room until she is standing at the foot of the bed, twisting a cap off a bottle. The scent of sweet almond oil fills the air. She climbs on the bed and straddles my ankles. Pouring the lubricant into her palm, she warms it by rubbing her hands together and applies it to the back of my calves. She repeats this several times, moving further up my body until she has coated me in the fragrant oil.

I brace myself for the moment when she lays her naked body on top of mine, and then, I completely surrender. She is light, probably no more than a hundred and ten pounds. The touch of her body immediately causes blood to rush to my loins. I’m self-conscious for a moment, but as with previous visits, she reassures me with her words, whispered close to my ear, “Allow yourself to feel aroused. It’s all part of the healing, and it will pass.”

She remains on top of my body without moving for what seems like hours, but I know it’s only minutes. I sense her warm breath at the base of my neck, and I feel her hard nipples pressing into my back. Her prominent mound is placed right in the nook above my buttocks. She holds on to my shoulders and begins writhing her small frame against mine.

Sliding up and down my back, she uses her body as her instrument to stimulate all the sensitive areas. She knows where to apply pressure and where to be gentle. Her body undulates against mine like a wave—gliding over my lower back and then washing up my spine in a soothing and sensual release.

Before I realize it, an hour has passed, and as she promised, my arousal has passed as well. The music continues to play, and I finally understand the line in the song that says: “… To need a woman, you’ve got to know, how the strong get weak, and the rich get poor …”

* * * *