It was my fortieth birthday and my sweet husband Kumar had promised me a very special present. I wondered what it might be — a nice meal in an expensive restaurant perhaps, or a weekend of pampering at a health spa. Whatever it was, I knew that in his thoughtful way he would choose something very memorable, but I was not prepared for the night of pleasure that was his gift to me.
First I should tell you a little about us. We had met fifteen years earlier when I was working as a nursing sister in the Accident and Emergency Department of a large city centre hospital. Kumar had just been appointed as a Consultant Physician, and I often found myself working on his team. In the high pressure atmosphere of a busy Casualty Unit absolute trust is essential between team members, and he later admitted that he specifically asked for me as someone he could totally rely on in an emergency.
As you will have guessed from his name, Kumar was from India, but, as was common, he had come to England to complete his specialist training after graduating in Medicine at one of the premier Medical Schools in New Delhi. He was tall —over six feet in height — with long black hair, which he kept tied back in a pony tail, and a beautiful olive complexion. He was, and is, very handsome with an aquiline nose and piercing deep brown eyes, and the junior nurses all fell in love with him.
The work of a Casualty Unit is exhausting, and I was often too tired after a day on my feet for much of a social life. When I mentioned this in passing one day over a snatched break for a cup of tea, Kumar suggested that I might find a massage an ideal way to relax at the end of a hard week. When I said that I didn't know any suitable massage parlours — they had a reputation for being a front for something else rather less savoury — and the cost of a session at a health spa was way out of my league, he replied that, if I was agreeable, he would like to offer his services. I was somewhat surprised by this, and I said that I didn't realise that training in massage techniques was part of medical training, although I knew that physiotherapists still used massage in the treatment of musculoskeletal injuries. He laughed, and explained that during his time at university he had become fascinated by traditional Indian medicine. Although he had been trained in modern medical practices, he was convinced that more ancient forms of medicine were not obsolete and could complement hi-tech treatments, especially for the rehabilitation of patients following severe trauma. His fellow doctors were sceptical about this, but after making a comprehensive presentation at a weekend conference on rehabilitation with many detailed case studies, he was eventually able to convince the hospital management to fund a small rehabilitation unit offering massage as one of the treatments on offer.
I didn't take him up on his offer at the time, as I thought it would be unprofessional, but once we were married it became a weekly ritual on a Friday evening. He had been right, of course, and, with the soothing away of the tensions of a stressful working week, I was able to enjoy the weekends in a much more relaxed frame of mind.
To Western minds, the focus of intercourse has primarily been on vaginal or anal penetration. In contrast, Eastern cultures have long considered lovemaking to be an art, and there are many Oriental sexual manuals offering guidance for couples on harmonious and pleasurable sexual relationships. In the first weeks of our marriage Kumar opened my eyes to Eastern sexuality. He explained to me that sensual massage was an important part of lovemaking, and could add immensely to the pleasure of both husband and wife. Although his penis was of average length, it was quite small in girth, but I never had any cause for dissatisfaction as he was a sensitive and imaginative lover, and my weekly massage was therefore often a prelude to hours of extreme sexual bliss.
ooOoo
My birthday fell on a Friday, but apart from a large bouquet of flowers that was delivered in the afternoon, there was no sign of any special present, although, like a child at Christmas, before he came home from the hospital I searched all the places where he might have concealed something. We did go out for a meal at a local restaurant, but that was not unusual and by the time we got home I was beginning to feel rather let down and a bit irritable.
After a cup of coffee and a drink — a gin and tonic for me and a single malt whisky for him — Kumar announced that it was time for my weekly massage. He sent me upstairs for a shower, and told me to come back down again (in fifteen minutes time) to the small room where he had installed a massage table and other necessary items.
