The Masseuse

He advertises himself as an erotic masseuse on the dating apps. This is his kink profile.

I’m bored and alone one night and make myself visible to see who might be interested in fucking me. 

When he swipes right I accept it and when he first messages me his proposal I’m intrigued. The profile picture is of a woman getting a massage. It looks like it was taken from a Chinatown parlor’s Yelp page. It’s absurd but I enjoy men like this. Unconventional men. Men with secrets.

My friends and I have been joking about getting a massage with a happy ending. Without having to give anything in return. Just like men all over the city do. My friends would approve of this, I tell myself. I’m emboldened.

We exchange Kiks and he sends me a Google photo album. He’s hot, seems traveled, fun, and he’s 10 years older than me. We make plans for the weekend. He asks if he can be naked when I show up. “Of course!”

He pays for a car service to pick me up and take me to his apartment. On the way there, another man I’ve been seeing texts me to let me know he’s back in town. I haven’t heard from him in a while. I’m reminded the reason I went online and found the masseuse was to get my mind off him.

The masseuse owns his apartment. When I arrive he’s left the door unlocked. I enter with a huge smile and we greet each other. He’s naked but wearing a robe, standing at the kitchen island ready to pour me a glass of wine. He walks toward me and we hug for the first time, my heart is racing and my hands are a little shaky, but his voice is soothing and mature. I’m clearly nervous and he rubs my arm to relax me. His gentle attention starts to make me wet.

We attend the same yoga studio. It turns out he’s close friends with one of my favorite teachers. I imagine taking class the next day. While the teacher adjusts my warrior pose, I smile, knowing I fucked our deviant mutual acquaintance. I also like having secrets.

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