Disapproval

Every so often on a tantric massage, clients would try to touch me. Despite the guidance that it was for them to receive, I’d feel their hands wandering under my sarong. I’d gently remove their wandering, wondering digits from my thoughts and thighs. Occasionally going off piste was enjoyably transgressive but I still felt guilty that I’d broken an imaginary tantric code. On some level, I didn’t approve of myself doing tantric massage. Another part of me couldn’t believe I was doing it. I loved the embodied sensuality of those free radical days, despite my disapproval.