A few years ago, I stumbled upon an article about a man in New York City who offered highly intimate massages, resulting in dozens of satisfied women. The quotes he listed from women seemed real. The process appeared to be selective. Up until this moment, I had no idea this service actually existed for women, and I instantly felt envious of the women in New York—it was something I needed to have. Slumping on his bed, Kenny thought of dad who had been gone since the winter the boy had turned nine. "My leaving has nothing to do with you. I'll always love you," dad said. Then he stepped out of his life, like a fading ghost. There were times Kenny cried like a baby, over something he knew was missing in his life. Instead, Teri turned to me. “You’re going to get better, kiddo,” she promised softly, our blue eyes inches apart, as she rubbed my arm. “I’m not going to leave you until you’re better.” Now his dreaming relived that awesome trip last weekend to Economy Lake, ten miles north of Bass River village.

Mom’s comment stung, but more than anything it told me two things: She was very worried, and she wasn’t going to be able to help me. Rich was concerned, but with him, as everyone, I didn’t know what was wrong or what to ask for. And I knew he needed to work, so I tried not to let on to him how bad I was feeling. I held out a glimmer of hope though that his mother, Teri, might somehow help return me to myself. Just one time I thought there could have been “something” was the way her hands wandered on my chest in a non massage way for a brief moment. We met for coffee a few days later. He brought his dog to the café. We talked for an hour and he answered my dozen questions. At this point, I was in full-on research mode and my fantasy had receded. I learned that most of his customers were either in sexless marriages, divorced, or widowed. Some were single and career-focused. Some had suffered sexual trauma. But all were looking for affection and intimacy; not orgasms.He kept his eyes steady, a little sad at his mother's discomfort. Maybe this wasn't the right time to ask. But he had to know.

His eyes took in the pennant from Halifax and pictures of he and mom. Also himself and his buddy Troy, taken at Boy Scout Summer Camp last year. He enjoyed staring out the window at night, elbows on the window-sill, chin cradled in his hands. There was a time when he dreamed of being an astronomer or 'star-gazer.' Everything seemed so peaceful up there. He learned to play chess with Larry and had come over many times to help pile wood and mow the grass. It soon become his second home. The collection of old houses, trailers and newly aluminum-sided buildings straddled both sides of Highway 104. Teri opened her eyes, her thin hair strewn across the pillow, and smiled sleepily. “Well, hi, honey.”I learned from this experience that one of the most important aspects to building an intimate relationship with someone is creating a safe space; physically and emotionally. It’s not OK to be in a relationship where you’re not getting those needs met. But it takes communication and trust to get there. If your partner isn’t willing to have those conversations, that’s a problem. Now that I feel comfortable talking to my friends about my experience, I realize I’m not alone. “Happy ending massage” seems to be one of the most popular porn searches for women. Apparently, a large majority of women fantasize about a slow, sensual touch that ends in an orgasmic experience. Do you think that says something about what we’re missing in our sex lives? Mom had steadfastly cared for my dad, my brother, and me since her early twenties. She rarely complained, but I thought I detected the toll this sacrifice took in the way she seemed happiest not with us, but at church or petting the dog or watching PBS. I tried to make things easier by hiding my troubles from her and sometimes even myself, but this time I was too weak to pretend. My mom was anxious for updates, and we spoke every day about Hope’s weight gain and our activities. Before she’d left, I’d asked Mom if she could return once Teri’s week was up. “I guess I can,” she’d responded wearily. But Teri told her boss she needed to stay another week, and that evening, I told Mom: “Teri can stay, so you don’t need to come.” Instantly, I regretted my words and the suggestion that I had Teri so I didn’t need her. “I mean, Teri’s OK,” I said lamely. But it wasn't all. He missed having a dad, and he was glad his face was turned away as moisture gathered on his cheeks. He wasn't crying, not really. He felt like a traitor for even pretending Larry was his dad.

We sat down on his leather sofa and talked. He brought me chamomile tea. He wanted to discuss why I was there, what my expectations were, and if I had boundaries. This was the first time I had ever talked so openly about my sexual expectations and boundaries with a man. It’s the first time anyone asked. Already it didn’t feel the same way it did with my partner, not in some small part because I was paying him. I felt like I could be honest and open without him judging me. He was there to listen and provide a service. Remember what I told you Kenny," Larry had said, "about the different parts of the canoe?" He knew Kenny liked to be tested on his knowledge.Kenny pretended to be asleep, one arm flung out. His fingers were open as if waiting for a handshake from someone. As his mom crossed the creaking floor, he carefully controlled his breathing. He felt her eyes travel from his toes, lanky legs, and thinly stretched frame to his blond head. For me (and so many other women), it took paying for a sensual massage to finally believe that we’re all truly deserving of more than the status quo—in and out of bed.

I knew it! I just knew it!" he exploded. "Why didn't you ask me how I might feel?" Without giving his mother a chance to answer Kenny grabbed his schoolbooks and rushed out of the room. He noticed Larry's peaked hat, with the perch fish on its front. Red vest, blue shirt, worn jeans and bare feet completed the picture. Larry's paddle was ready for action. And his eyes seemed at peace with himself. They were always full of laughter.Larry didn't pay money for chores. "Instead I'll be glad to take you hiking or even go on a fishing trip,” he had said. I can’t say exactly why things were so different that last month before she died. I think at the end of her life and knowing I no longer needed to care for Teri, Mom was able to relinquish her role as “strong mother” and just be herself, a dying woman who wanted her daughter’s help. And I was able to respond, in part because Teri’s love had finally quieted that little part of me that always wondered whether I was enough. So I was able to simply love Mom instead of demanding more than she could give. I think as women, we’ve been programmed to believe that if we receive pleasure, we have to return the favor. For me, not doing this completely shifted something inside of me. I had a startling moment of empowerment, somewhere in between orgasms, where I realized I was deserving of good things. I was deserving of love and respect. It was delivered under the guise of sensual pleasure. But still it was the same. I deserved to be seen, to be respected, to be loved. I deserved orgasms. But ultimately, I was simply deserving. I felt empowered and incredibly sad at the same time. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me my whole life,” I said, looking down at her, placing my hand over hers. I’m a writer. I like searching out intriguing stories and following the rabbit hole of discovery. I am also a woman with a strong sex drive, and I had always had a particular fantasy about a massage turning into something more.