I have a type

What is it about therapists?

Ok, in this case, it’s a massage therapist.  Let’s call him Tom*.
So, for our anniversary–two years ago–Seth got me a package of 5 massages, with the intent that I’d use them during pregnancy.  Well, I used 3 while I was pregnant.
At some point in February, I decided I was fed up with the crick in my neck, and it was time for some self-care.  So I called that place about a massage.  They had one open in 15 minutes!  OK GOTTA RUN THEN BYE!
For reference, yes it had been probably a year and a half since my last massage.
Most of the massages I’ve had have been from women.  I’ve had a few from men before, though.  The first I had here, another package (of 5?) which was a wedding present from Seth, the guy was definitely gay.  Side note: I never used up that package, I think I only used 3 of them.  Such a great gift he got it for me twice!
So in February I got my first massage from Tom.  When he came to get me in the waiting room, I had the same first thought I did about Sid: shit, he’s hot.
With Sid, I’ve accepted the fact that I find him attractive.  Unless my addict is driving, I know full well that I don’t want to sleep with him.  I work around all this because 1. I get to work on healthy intimacy with someone I find attractive and have no chance of sleeping with, 2. he’s a really fucking good therapist.
I don’t go back because he’s hot, I go back because he’s really GD effective.  I think I even said to him, “Right now I need a good therapist way more than I need a good …. “

Ok.  So I get a massage from Tom.  Holy shit.  Best massage I’ve ever had.  And by best massage I’ve ever had, I don’t mean he did anything sexual or inappropriate… AND, I mean the most painful massage I’ve ever had.  Don’t get me wrong, my body was VERY aware of the fact that this was the most physical contact I’ve had (with a non-toddler) in a VERY. LONG. TIME.  But yeah, painful.  “OOooh, that feels goo–OWOWOWOWOW”

Today was massage #3 with Tom.  During the second one, I noticed that he was using my name.  Like, a lot.  Almost every sentence, a lot.  I couldn’t help but wonder if he was flirting with me.  Today I wondered the same thing, maybe a little more strongly.  But my radar is so out of whack, that I go back and forth between, “is he flirting with me?” and “is he gay?”

Oh wait.  Not gay.  THANKS FACEBOOK!

So I know the code of ethics etc. isn’t nearly as rigid for massage therapy as it is for psychotherapy.  But, let’s face it.  Sid’s seen me emotionally “naked.”  Tom’s seen me, literally, naked. (Well, under the sheet!)

Apparently I like being vulnerable around attractive men, and then thinking inappropriate thoughts about them.

More accurately, I think I like men (or, y’know, people in general) who challenge me.  Sid pushes me, mentally, emotionally, spiritually.  Tom pushes the physical limits of my muscles–which, holy shit am I tense!

Oh.

Oh.

Hang on.

I’ve been obsessing over this massage therapist boy pretty much all day.  What have I NOT been obsessing about?
What have I been deliberately ignoring?

OH RIGHT.  The TWO HOURS Seth and I spent with my lawyer this morning, hashing out the nitty gritty for the final draft of our DIVORCE PAPERS.

See?  A cute massage therapist, who may or may not be flirting with me, is way more fun to think about!

Fuck.  I’m getting divorced.  Papers should be drafted by Monday.  I’d anticipate Seth and I signing within a week or so.  Then we’re 91 days away from being divorced.

Oof.

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