For My Love on Valentine's Day

As you enter the darkened room, you notice the sound of cicadae chirping in the top of trees, the air smells of forest, fresh after a rain yet, earthy of leaves and moss.

I tell you take off your clothes, lie on the table and cover your middle with a towel.

As you hesitantly obey, you hear birds singing counterpoint to the drone of cicadae. You lay on the table, relaxing in the scent of forest and the peaceful songs being sung in trees.

I climb onto the table and straddle your hips, resting my rear on the towel which covers your mid-section. You jerk in surprise but I lean forward, my hands full of warm oil, lightly scented with moss and lavender. I start rubbing the oil into the back of your neck my thumbs tracing your spine, my fingers reaching down along your chin, pressing, rubbing.

I whisper in your ear, "Close your eyes, enjoy the forest."

My hands move up the back of your head, the fingers pressing, rubbing, making little circles through your hair. My fingers move to your face pushing around the eye, softly, firmly. I trace over your nose and around your lips. Easing the tension which I find there. Gently, I lift your head and turn it to the other side so I can reach that ear, that cheek. I repeat all the movements, your face growing warm, relaxed at my touch.

"You are a leaf, my love, scarlet and gold with the changing of the seasons. Freshly fallen from a tall tree."

My hands reach the top of your head, my fingers gentle now, sweeping from each side up and away from the top of your head. They pull tension with them and sweep it away.

"You float in the breeze, tumbling, swirling; reveling in your new found freedom."

My hands full of fresh oil move to your right shoulder, kneading, pressing, loosening tightness. I slowly work down your arm. Pushing the tightness and tension ahead. I leave a warm glow above.

You begin to notice the distant sound of a small rivulet of water; falling over rocks, gurgling downward.

My hands reach your hand, my thumbs dig deep into the palms, pressing the bones apart. It almost hurts.

The sound of tumbling water almost drowns the cicadae and birds. I whisper in your ear, "You have floated down and landed in the stream. Feel the water rush by as you are stranded on a rock."

My hands trace down your fingers, pulling the tension out of the very tips and sweeping it away. I gently lay the hand down by your side. My fingers trace back up your arm, the nails lightly gliding back to your shoulder. I reach your spine; my hands become firm again, starting across your left shoulder and down the arm.

"A wave washes you off the rock, you float downward, swirling, carried by the flow."

Again, I reach your palm, pressing, rubbing. This time I work each finger slowly, pulling on it, rubbing all the tension to the very tip of each finger. And I sweep it away and lay your hand softly beside you.

"You feel yourself sliding against each rock, sometimes stalled for minutes as the water rushes past and you lay there, stranded." You hear the water tumbling over the rock, the cicadae a faint, distant drone, the song of the birds completing nature's symphony.

My hands trace back up your arm, my nails light as feathers. I get more warm oil, lightly scented with moss and lavender. Starting at the nape of your neck, one thumb on each side of the spine I trace it all the way down. My thumbs press hard between each bone rubbing, releasing tension. When I reach the bottom of your spine, I roll my hands over and as light as a feather, the nails trace their way back up to the nape of your neck.

"You continue floating down the stream, swirling around some rocks, over others. The sound of frogs croaking appears quietly in the background, their rhythm a contrast to the cicada's drone, a natural tension of the forest."

I turn around, still straddling you, resting on the middle of your back. I begin to knead your right buttock, my thumbs pressing deep. My fingers work hard squeezing out your tension, pushing it downward. You startle as I move to the inside of your thigh, but quickly relax, as I continue downward. I reach your knee and pause, bending the leg up and down, stretching the joint, loosening it.

Setting the leg back down, I start down the calf. Kneading, rubbing, pinching to work loose all the tightness I find.

The chirp of the cicadae has completely vanished, drowned by the rhythmical croak of frogs, the bubbling of the stream and the chirp of the birds.

"Enjoy your trip down this stream, let it carry you forward"

I reach your ankle, pick up the foot and twist it this way-that. My thumbs press hard between the bones, stretching the tendons. I work to your toes, pulling each one, stroking the tension out of the tips and sweeping it away. Reluctantly, I lower the foot, roll my hands over and trace the leg back up to the buttock, my nails feeling more like a remembrance of something you once knew than an actual touch.

The sound of the tumbling water is growing quiet.

"You begin to notice sunshine warming you more frequently as you continue to float over the rocks."

My hand, refilled with warm, soothing oil, begin their work on the left buttock, squeezing, pinching, and loosening. This time you only purr as I work the inside of your thigh, relaxing as move on. I repeat the flexing of your knee, my thumbs digging deep to loosen the cartilage. Moving onward, I work on your calf, breaking up the lumps, pushing the tension downward.

"You take one last violent tumble over a rock and find yourself floating in a pond"

I reach your ankle, my fingers prodding pulling, twisting. It hurts but as I move further down, nothing remains but a peaceful calm. Again, my thumbs dig into your foot, prodding, pulling, and pushing.

The sounds of birds twittering afar and frogs bellowing out their croaks are softened by the quiet rustle of leaves fluttering in the trees.. leaves rubbing against each other as they break loose and flutter downward.

At last, I reach your toes, stroking each to the very tip; I pull out the tension and sweep it away. My hands begin another journey up, trailing to you buttock. I gently climb off, leaving my hands lightly lying in the middle of your back.

"The breeze swirls you on the pond, you float first east, and then west, you enjoy the unrestrained movement"

I lift my hands until they are about an inch from your glowing skin. I begin sweeping them upward, in fast, light strokes. You miss my touch but you can feel the last of your tension being swept along and out. I trace your back, your arms, your head, brushing away all that remains.

"You feel the warmth of the sun shining through you, the cool support of the water below. You feel the warm breeze flowing gently over the upward curled tips of your edge"

My hands return to the middle of your back, resting an inch above the base of your spine. They start their long sweeping motions downward. Again, you feel the last tension being pulled from you. You feel yourself floating. You wonder which you are: the leaf, or the person, both floating totally relaxed.

I lean over, my chest rubbing on your back my hands squeezing your arms to your side. "Relax, my love enjoy the warmth of the afternoon sun."

And then I release you and turn away.

The door silent as it closes behind me.