Lather, Rinse, Repeat

My friend Sissy wrote a blog recently in which she asked the eternal question that has buggared women timelessly--how do you "wash that man outta your hair"? How do you get over a guy and move on? How do you put yourself out of your own misery and stop thinking about him?

To find the answers, I consider the Masters of Moving On, men themselves. The reason this is a Woman's question is because men have this one covered. They are already trained to the point of second nature to deny, suppress, cover up or control any form of weakness in themselves. Sitting around pining over a woman would definitely be considered a form of weakness by any man. Not gonna do it, nope.

Okay, so how does he not do it? Assuming that he feels at least the same initial urges to think about her obsessively, what method does he use to deny, suppress, cover up and control those urges? What makes them go away?

Being not a man, I can only guess. He distracts himself, I imagine, with beer and football. Golf. Another woman or two. (Or ten?) Work. Maybe he gets angry at himself and calls himself a puss every time he catches himself thinking about her. Maybe he gets mad at her and convinces himself she's not worth his slightest attention.

Whatever it is, it seems to work quite well most of the time.
Except when it doesn't.

This weekend past, I was having my own private Primal Scream Therapy session when my phone rang, interrupting me in mid-scream. It was Dutch, of all people, whom I haven't heard from in more than a year. We'd had a brief flirtation which never progressed to anything much. His pro/con sheet looked like this:

Pros- tall, good-looking, plays guitar
Cons- married. he's not Chris.

Well, Dutch called to share the news that he and his wife split up and that he's been having dreams about me. I guess he did not wash me completely out of his hair. So, it seems his pro/con sheet looks like this:

Pros- tall, good-looking, plays guitar, he's not Chris
Cons- lives on the other side of the metroplex, he's not my lobster.

It's a funny old world, isn't it?

Anyway, back to the topic of moving on, getting over, washing that man out of one's long red hair (or long black hair, in Sissy's case).

If distractions don't work, I intend to get spiritual. Go within. It's said that intense relationships affect your solar plexus chakra, just below your heart. It vibrates in the color of yellow. I often dream yellow dreams. This is the place where your soul connects and becomes enmeshed with the soul of another. By working on this chakra, meditating and reeling in that tangled yellow cord, I'll wash that man right out of my hair. It's a tricky process, but I can do it and so can Sissy. We can do anything, we are intrepid.

The New Sensual Massage

"Oh, you're in for a treat," I informed my Relentless Tease. "We get to review this for Sex-Kitten."

I held up a book: The New Sensual Massage by Gordon Inkeles.
We started with a warm room, a cushioned pallet on the floor, soft music and incense. I warmed some oil in the microwave. The New Sensual Massage recommends vegetable oil, but I couldn't bring myself to rub cooking oil into my lover's skin. Instead I picked up some scented massage oil from the local erotic toy store.

"You have to be naked," I said, returning from the kitchen to find him sprawled out in his sexy blue boxer briefs. I opened the book and pointed to the cheesy 1970's porn-style pictures of naked men and women massaging each other into rapturous bliss.

"The guys aren't naked," he said.

"Yes they are, look." But for some reason, the pictures in the book showed pussy and breast a-plenty, but nary a penis showed its bald little head. The men, while naked, all posed in ways to discreetly conceal their genitals. I didn't have time to reflect upon that interesting discovery; my man was waiting to be rubbed.

To receive the full pleasure of his New Sensual Massage, the Tease shed his Jockeys and eagerly lay face down to await my magic touch that would transport him to another dimension or would, at least, make him really horny.

The massage starts at the shoulders, works down the back, over the perfectly rounded buttocks, along the thighs to the calves, and down to the ankles, feet and toes. Once my hands touched his body, I must maintain contact until the massage was over.

The book covers the Master Strokes of circulation, kneading, friction, compression, passive exercise, and percussion.

"Ow!" the Tease groaned. "What are you doing?"

"I'm kneading you."

"You're needing me?" He lifted his head and regarded me with a raised eyebrow and his charming, dimpled smile.

"Not yet, silly."

The book led us through special techniques designed to make each part of the body feel good, including the hands, feet, buttocks, scalp and face.
The Relentless Tease has the softest feet I've ever touched, much too soft to be a man's feet. As I rubbed them, I let my eyes travel over the familiar contours of his lovely relaxed body. Now it was time for him to turn over and let me massage up the front of him. I tugged on his toe and whispered, "Turn over now, babe."

He did and I saw that his face wore an expression of purest pleasure. Nothing, not even a blowjob, pleases a man more than having a woman's undivided attention on his naked body from head to toe.

Part Three covers Erotic Massage, to awaken sensually deprived parts of the body. "Your toes have a right to an erotic experience; so does your scalp." Needless to say, his toes got an erotic experience, but I didn't make it all the way back up the front part of his body to his scalp. I encountered one very distracting obstacle along the way. Maybe the Tease will get his big ol' knobby head rubbed next time.