In a narrow lane in Chiang Mai stood a massage shop the size of a railway carriage. It had six mats on the floor and a curtain of orange beads for a door.
It was raining, so I went in. A tiny woman in a gray tunic motioned me onto a mat. She might have been sixty or eighty. She handed me loose cotton trousers and a folded towel.
She turned her back, and I changed. Then she had me lie down and covered me up to the chin.
Then she knelt at my feet and rubbed her palms together briskly. She held them against the soles of my feet, and she simply waited.
I have never forgotten that first minute. Nothing happened. A warm pair of hands rested on me.
A stranger breathed beside me, and the rain drummed on the tin roof. Something inside me had been clenched since roughly 2009. It let go.
For the next hour she worked her way up my body in long, slow strokes. Her pauses reached my bones. She stayed unhurried and thorough. At the end she tucked the towel around my shoulders and said, in careful English, “Now you rest.”
I walked out into the rain. I felt like warm honey. A thought came to me.
A woman touched this slowly learns a lesson beyond technique. She learns this: pleasure can arrive without a destination.
That is the whole secret of the upper floors of this house, and it begins on a mat on the floor.
Why Massage Belongs Here
Massage is the bridge between touch and touch-free pleasure. It trains slow attention. It builds anticipation. It teaches the body to enjoy a sensation for its own sake, with no finish line in sight.
Slow touch teaches a woman to be aroused by the promise of touch. Her body starts to answer a hand an inch above her skin. It answers a warm breath on her shoulder.
It answers the pause before the next stroke. Most of the magic lives in the pause, and every lover knows it.
This section covers massage on yourself, with a partner or a friend, and in turns. It begins with clothes on. It climbs a ladder one rung at a time, and every rung is optional.
Setting The Scene
Warm the room first, because that is the fastest way to improve a massage. A cold room tightens every muscle in the body, and even great skill cannot fix it.
Warmth. A heated room, a warm blanket, towels fresh from the dryer.
Light. Low and golden. A lamp with a scarf over it, or a candle.
Sound. Slow music, or rain, or the sound of your own breath.
A clean, comfortable surface. A bed, a thick blanket on the floor, or your own massage table, with a towel laid over the top.
Silence from the phone. In another room, and off.
Warm hands. Rub them together, hold them under warm water, or tuck them under your arms for a minute. Everybody notices cold hands.
A few minutes on the setting are the best investment in any massage.
The Ladder
Here are four rungs, from the gentlest to the closest. A fifth rung lives elsewhere. Every rung is optional.
Rung one. Over clothing. Shoulders, back, hands, feet, and scalp, through a soft layer of fabric. Most of us begin here, and it holds surprising pleasure.
Rung two. Over thin fabric. The long lines of the back, hips, and thighs, through a thin layer such as a cotton slip or a light sheet. The warmth travels through, and the skin wakes up.
Rung three. Skin, on non-intimate areas. The back, arms, legs, neck, and feet, with a little oil or lotion. The touch becomes more direct, and the pace stays slow.
Rung four. The slow lane. Approaching and retreating.
The edges, the inner thighs, the sides of the belly, with no goal at all. A hand goes toward a place, hovers, and drifts away. The wanting builds.
Rung five lives beyond this book. Intimate touch lives in the Private Wing. Both people must choose it, and both check in along the way.
The Craft
A good massage is mostly attention, and it can be learned. Here are the essentials.
Pressure, on a scale of one to five. One is a feather, and five is firm to the limit. Agree on this at the start, and check in at three. “Is this about right?” is the loveliest question in the world.
Long strokes and slow strokes. A long stroke from shoulder to hip reassures the whole body. A slow stroke tells the skin to pay attention.
The power of the pause. Stop, with your hands resting on her. Wait for her breath, and then move again. The pause is half the massage.
Follow the breath. She breathes in, and your hands soften. She breathes out, and they press and glide. Her breath is the metronome.
Use the whole hand. The palm, the heel of the hand, the fingers, the forearm, and more than the thumb. A whole hand feels like an embrace.
Stay with a spot. Find her favorite place, and stay there. Most people move on too soon.
They worry about boring her. She is not bored.
End slowly. Finish with a few long strokes. Then rest your hands on her, still, and count to ten.
Cover her with a blanket. Let the quiet do its work.
Here is a piece of seduction craft. It costs nothing. It takes three seconds.
Hold your palm an inch above her skin, ahead of any touch. Let her feel the warmth of your hand and a faint prickle of attention. Hold it there for a breath, then two. Then, only then, lower it.
A hover carries an astonishing amount. The skin knows ahead of the hand. It lifts, it tingles, it leans. By your first touch, her whole body is saying yes.
Try it on the back of a neck, on a forearm, on a knee. And try it on yourself.
The Modest Setup
Here is a lovely, relaxed, entirely easy way to arrange a massage. Professional sessions use it. It works just as well at home with a partner or a friend.
She wears thin underwear, or a slip, or anything comfortable. She lies on her stomach on a warm surface. A large towel is draped over her, from the shoulders to the thighs. The towel stays in place.
Only the part being massaged is uncovered at any moment. The giver folds the towel back from the arm, covers the arm, and then folds it back from the leg. Each part is warm, and each part is private.
The towel does a good deal of quiet work. It keeps her warm. It gives her a sense of being held. It puts her in charge of what is seen.
It makes every step her choice. Under a towel, a woman feels safe, and she can let go. Without one, she may not manage it.
It is also, quite simply, a lovely look. Soft lamplight, warm skin, a white towel, and a pair of slow hands. A natural cousin of the clothes-on spirit of this whole book.
Arousal Is Normal
This surprises a great many women. During a massage, the body may warm, tingle, and become slick. This is ordinary. A body touched slowly and kindly responds, and bodies do that.
She has done nothing wrong. She has not failed, and she has sent no invitation. A professional giver expects it and carries on with perfect calm.
She has no need to apologize, explain, or feel embarrassed. She can breathe through it, or enjoy it quietly, and let it pass.
It may happen to you. Then say nothing, or say, “That is just my body being happy.” Then keep breathing.
Her Rights And Her Lines
Everyone draws her lines in a different place. Two adults with the same wish can talk lines over and agree. Each woman has her own right answer. This book leaves yours to you.
State your wishes. Ask about the other person’s wishes. Make a clear yes from everyone the rule.
You can ask for any change in pressure, area, or pace, at any moment. You can end the session at any time, with no reason given.
With a friend or partner, in a private setting, lines can be agreed in advance and negotiated. Both people must want the same thing. Both must be free to say no at any time.
In a professional setting, the person’s own rules and the local law apply. You are always free to ask for something different, or to end the session.
This book offers guidance only for ordinary professional massage. It passes no judgment on any woman for her choices. It puts no pressure on her either way.
Paid sexual services come with legal and safety issues. Those issues vary from place to place. Nothing here recommends them.
A deliberately sensual massage belongs with a trusted partner or friend. The lines are agreed in advance, and she sets the pace. The Private Wing carries the intimate version.
Oil, Simply
A light oil or lotion makes the hands glide. Warm it in your palms first. Use a little, and then add more as needed.
One plain fact worth knowing. Oil and latex do not mix, and oil can weaken a condom. Planning on a barrier? Choose a water-based lotion.
That covers it.
Self-Massage
You can learn nearly everything in this section on your own body. Many women find it the most rewarding place to start.
The clothed version. Sit or lie down in soft clothes. Use your palms to stroke the belly, hips, thighs, and lower back.
Make long, slow strokes, with breath. Press the heel of your hand into the muscle at the side of your hip. Rest your hands on your lower belly, and breathe.
The skin version, with oil. Warm a little in your hands, and stroke your arms, legs, and belly. Take your time. Notice your favorites.
The slow lane, alone. Move your hands toward the edges and the inner thighs, and away again.
Hover. Approach. Retreat. Let the wanting build, and enjoy it.
It is a wonderful bridge to your touch-free practice. It is a lovely end to a long day.
With A Partner Or A Friend
Ask. “Would you like to try a massage this evening? I would love to give you one.” Make it easy to say no.
Agree on the rules. The starting rung, the pressure scale, and a stop word.
Trade turns. Twenty minutes each, with a few minutes in between to rest.
Learn the words. The giver’s job is attention, and the receiver’s job is feedback. A few simple words are enough.
“Warmer.” “Slower.” “There.”
“More.” “Less.” The giver listens and does what she is told. She takes it as pure information.
And the receiver is allowed to simply receive. That sounds easy. For many women, it is the hardest thing in the world.
All kinds of pairs are welcome. Woman and man, woman and woman, a woman and a non-binary friend. The rules are the same.
Receiving
Many women are better at giving than receiving. We are trained from girlhood to be useful, to be kind, and to keep everyone else comfortable. Lying still under someone’s care can feel almost indecent.
So here is a bit of coaching. You are allowed to take pleasure without earning it. You owe nothing back.
Keep no score. Skip the worry about the other person’s boredom. Skip the commentary.
You can simply lie there, and breathe, and let it happen.
Your mind may chatter. Notice the chatter, and return to the feeling of a hand on your shoulder.
Guilt may arrive. Notice that too. Save your thank you for the end.
Receiving is a skill, and like every skill in this house, it grows with practice.
Consent And Safety
The standards are the same throughout this whole house. Sober. Enthusiastic. Revocable at any moment, by anyone.
No pressure, and nothing assumed.
Either person may have had a drink or two too many. Then the massage can wait for another day. Nothing is lost by waiting.
Sometimes a massage goes wrong. Treat it as ordinary and funny.
Cold hands. A cramp in the giver’s thumb. A fit of giggles. A phone call.
A growling stomach at the most solemn moment. A body with no response tonight.
None of it is a failure. All of it is a story for telling together later, over tea.
THE MYTH: A massage is only a prelude, a few minutes of effort ahead of the main event.
THE TRUTH: A massage is the main event, for many women. It is a complete experience of pleasure, with no finish line and every piece in place. An hour of slow touch may be all a woman needs.
Almost everyone does, for the first ten minutes.
The towel helps. The dim light helps. A warm room helps. Closing your eyes helps.
So does a quiet agreement. You are in charge, and you can say “pause” at any time.
After ten minutes, the self-consciousness tends to melt, like shyness in a warm bath. Maybe it stays. Then you have learned something about your needs. You are free to change the plan.
Tamsin was forty-nine and a schoolteacher. For almost three years, nobody but a hairdresser had touched her.
She bought a massage on impulse, as a birthday gift to herself. She went in shaking. The room was warm. A towel was laid over her, and a quiet woman folded it back an inch at a time.
She worked on one shoulder and then the other.
Tamsin cried for the first five minutes, silently, into the face cradle. The woman carried on and asked no questions. She simply kept her hands there, warm and steady, and waited.
“It was like being given permission,” said Tamsin afterward. “I did not know my own hunger. Then someone was kind to me, slowly.”
She began to give herself the clothed version at home, on Sunday evenings, with the lamp low. Six months later, she said, “My skin belongs to me again.”
A Story: The Slow Lane
It was a Saturday evening in midwinter, and the bedroom smelled of warm oil and orange peel.
Rosa had set it all up that afternoon. She had turned the heating up and laid two big towels across the bed. She had put a kettle on to steam in the corner.
A single lamp glowed under a silk scarf. Maren, her girlfriend of two years, lay on her stomach in a thin cotton slip. A towel was draped over her from the shoulders to the thighs.
Rosa warmed the oil between her palms for a long, patient minute. “On a scale of one to five?” she asked.
“Three,” said Maren, into the pillow. “Maybe a two to start.”
Rosa began at the shoulders, with long, slow strokes. She felt Maren’s breath and followed it. Maren sighed, and her hands pressed in. Maren breathed in, and her hands softened and waited.
She folded the towel back from one arm. She stroked it from shoulder to fingertip, and covered it again. She worked down the back, and the hip, and the long muscle of the thigh. At every stop, she let her palm rest, warm and still, and counted to five.
“There,” Maren murmured. “Stay there.”
Rosa stayed. She stayed a long time. Her own breath slowed, and her own shoulders dropped. The room seemed to fill with a hush.
Later, she moved to the slow lane. She let her fingertips drift, feather-light, along the inside of Maren’s thigh, almost to the edge of the slip, and away. Again. Again.
Maren’s hips tilted, a quarter inch, towards her hand. She hovered. She smiled in the lamplight.
“You are doing that on purpose,” said Maren, in a low voice.
“I am,” said Rosa.
“Do not stop.”
She did not stop. It went on for a very long time, with no goal at all. At the end, Maren lay flushed and boneless under the towel. Her smile went all the way down.
“Your turn,” she said, much later, “in an hour. Or tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” said Rosa, and pulled the blanket over them both.
This takes about thirty minutes, and a warm room.
First, set the scene. A warm room, a low lamp, slow music, a towel or blanket, and your phone in another room. Rub your hands together for warmth.
Second, begin on rung one. In soft clothes, stroke your shoulders, arms, and belly with your palms. Add breath, in for four, out for six. Take ten minutes.
Third, you may move to rung three. Warm a little oil, and stroke your arms, legs, and neck. Take ten minutes. Rest your hands at any urge to pause.
Fourth, try the slow lane. Let your hands drift toward the edges and the inner thighs, then away.
Hover. Approach. Retreat. Take five minutes, and feel the wanting build.
Fifth, finish with a few long strokes, and rest. Lie still under a blanket for a few minutes. Then get up.
Do you have a trusted partner or friend? You can do the same in turns, twenty minutes each, with the pressure scale and a stop word.
You may notice: warmth, tingling, a deep sigh, sleepiness, a lump in the throat, a laugh, or a pleasant hunger for more. All of those are right answers.
SKIP IF: Any step brings discomfort, or the touch feels like pressure. Return to an easier rung, or rest, or do something kind. The slow lane will wait for you.
Log: the rung you reached, and the temperature of the room.
Garment: a thin silky thong and a loose robe, tied loosely. Position: propped back against the headboard, one leg draped over a bolster, the other knee falling wide.
Massage taught your body the pleasure of the long way round. Here is a version for one. Warm your hands. Start at your ribs, and stroke slowly down your belly, over your hips, and along the tops of your thighs.
Stroke the insides of your thighs from knee to hip. Stop an inch short of your destination. Hover. Let your fingers drift away.
Begin again, a little closer each time. Imagine this massage as someone else’s gift. Picture very slow, very warm hands, and a promise to go slowly.
The wanting grows plain. Let the heel of your hand rest over your button, through the silk.
Press. Circle. Wait.
Press. Circle. Wait.
Feel yourself swollen and slick, with your breath uneven.
At last, stop waiting. Press and circle, steadily, and let your hips rise against the bolster. The wave crests. Keep the same rhythm, and let it roll right through you.
Slow your hand, and stay.
Out and about: the hover works anywhere, hands-free. Keep your hands in your lap. Picture the touch an inch higher, a slow glide and a hover. Let your breath do the pressing.
The Private Wing has the intimate rungs of the ladder. It also has checking-in scripts and a stop-word card, a printable pressure scale and turn-taking sheet, guided audio for self-massage and for the slow lane, and a note on talking with a professional about your wants and limits.