Healing hands

There’s no good way to explain this one. Not without you raising your eyebrows, chuckling suspiciously and nudging people.
We got on the subject of massage recently, and it was decided that we’d give round-robin massages; me and two women, one a certified massage therapist. This would be a learning experience.
“We’d be naked, are you OK with that?”
(Astronaut thumbs up.)
“I believe I can handle that.”
See, you’re raising your eyebrows right now. Evil chuckling. Nudging.
There was nothing sexual about it.
It was a learning experience.
In touch.
And I was talked into going first.

She took instruction well. She found pressure points and released stress and tense muscles. Four hands moved over tired muscles. I was on the edge of relaxation and sleep.
For two hours.
I highly recommend it.

We moved to her, skilled hands and my novice hands, kneading tired muscles. Ambient music played in the background.
And then it was our time to give back to the teacher. We apologized for being novices. She signed little sighs; I don’t think it mattered.

She got to keep massage table. Just, you know, for practice.