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This session, Constance aimed to focus on flow, energy transfer and rhythm. She let her own mind go, feeding into the movements and allowing her body and his to guide her strokes and pressure. She covered his back and moved on to his left leg, adjusting the drape for modesty. When it came to lifting the legs to undrape, there were two types that always tried to help: women and military men. Constance usually told people up front that they didn’t need to help support any part of their bodies during the massage but that had slipped her mind this time.
Rhett’s leg was dead weight. She draped and adjusted him carefully, then watched him breathe for about fifteen seconds. Just a quarter of the way into the session and Rhett was out. Constance could tell by the stillness and weight of his body and pattern of his breathing that he was fast asleep. Many people did fall asleep during massage, which was normal. Most did not go quite that quickly.
She smoothed some oil in long strokes onto his leg and up into his hamstrings, which were large and strong, before moving into the hip muscles, finding tightness in the glute med but not so much in the lateral rotators. Just like with his back, Constance worked with medium pressure and focused on flow and energy, noting that her breathing was in time with his own.
Once in a while, Rhett twitched in his sleep, but that was the closest he came to waking, even when Constance covered his left leg and moved on to his right. When she was done, she slipped out the bolster under his ankles, straightened the sheets and blanket and came up near his shoulder. His back rose and fell with deep, slow breaths.
Worst part of the massage, every time, was waking a client to roll over. But you only got so much time on the table and nobody wanted to waste it. Constance leaned in close to his ear and whispered, “Rhett.”
Nothing.
“All right, then.” Constance put one fist on his shoulder, the other on his hip, and rhythmically rocked his body while he snoozed. Rocking was a legitimate finishing stroke in Swedish massage. At the end of the day, she had to be a body detective and give each client what he needed most. Her mind went back to the countless massages she’d done at Walter Reed, on the many, many service members who’d come home injured. Every case was different, everyone an individual. Her gut told her that this was what Rhett needed most.
After a while, Constance eased up the rocking and found her stool. She settled down and closed her eyes. When his body was ready, he would stir.
Sometime later, her own mind caught between a meditative state and the first wisps of sleep, Constance heard rustling. She opened her eyes and saw Rhett, up on his forearms, peering around the room.
“Rise and shine, sleepyhead.”
Rhett grasped the sheets and rolled over on his back. He blinked up at her. “How long have I been out?”
Constance looked at the clock on the wall, behind the table, where clients couldn’t see it during the massage. She was surprised it was 6:15. “You fell asleep about fifteen minutes into the massage. So you’ve been out about an hour.”
He folded his hands beneath his head, propping himself up a little farther, and sighed. He offered a wry smile. “Aren’t you supposed to do the other side?”
She rose and stood over him. “Typically. But it felt like a crime to wake you.” With his arms bare, Constance got a look at the tattoo on the inside of his left bicep, which she’d only had a glimpse of from beneath the sleeve of his T-shirts. Now that it was completely uncovered she could see the all-black ink tribal-style wild horse. The mustang was in motion, left foreleg raised, his mane and tail whipping out to the side like flames.
Rhett followed her gaze, his eyes sleepy. “Outer Banks wild horse. Back in the day. They’re mostly gone now. One day when I was a kid, I was playing in my backyard. Two of them appeared out of nowhere and started playing, winding their necks around each other. Gave real meaning to the phrase ‘horsing around.’ I just sat and watched them until they took off running. As more and more vacationers came down over the years, they started getting hit by cars in big numbers. They’ve moved the remaining ones to sanctuary.”
“That’s a great memory. Sad about the horses, though.”
“It is.” Rhett’s voice was gravelly with sleep. “Eventually everything wild gets taken out by the modern world.”
Constance offered a sad smile.
“No comment?” he said. “You don’t like tattoos?”
“I do.” She shrugged. “I like yours, anyway. But I can’t comment on them. That could be considered sexual harassment.”
Rhett stared at her a moment before the corners of his mouth turned up and his body started shaking with silent laughter. “Okay,” he said. “Well, I won’t tell.”
“Hey, don’t laugh,” Constance said, even though she smiled. “We have to work our asses off to be taken seriously in this profession. Not only is there the stereotype of the illicit ‘massage parlor,’ we’ve got physical therapists and chiropractors who often don’t take us seriously, either. Even though, depending on how much continuing education and experience we get, we can be quite knowledgeable. And often have more freedom than other professions to try different things, because insurance companies and Big Pharma don’t have us in their pockets.”
“Eh, you don’t have to convince me. I’ve seen—and felt—you in action.”
Constance smiled. “Mission accomplished today,” she said. “I got you into parasympathetic, big-time. Do you want me to do anything else? Your hour’s up, but it’s my fault I let you sleep. Cocktails are well under way out there.” She nodded toward the door. “But I’ll do your front if you want.”
“Oh, no.” Rhett rolled his eyes in mock disappointment. “We’re missing cocktails.”
Constance laughed. “At least let me do your neck.” She plopped down on her stool and rolled around behind him. She lowered the face cradle, squirted some warming liquid into her hands, rubbed them together and slid them under Rhett’s shoulders. “With the tension you had in your lower back, and the issue with your leg, I know you’re going to have neck issues. We all do.”
“I’m sure I’ve got issues.”
Constance let the weight of his body sink into her fingers as she drew her hands upward. “Don’t help.” Now that he was fully awake, he was trying to raise his head for her. “Just lie there. That’s all you need to do.”
Rhett chuckled, but kept whatever amused him to himself.
Constance warmed up his neck with palm strokes, then slowly worked deeper. He had more tension than she’d expected, even though she’d expected plenty. Rhett’s breathing changed, like he was focusing on keeping still and letting her work. She moved down to his upper traps, which were bulky and tight. He gave an audible, contented sigh. Constance worked them until they were like putty, then smoothed her hands back up his neck and beneath his head, where she held him in traction. She slipped her fingers into his hair and rubbed his scalp in slow, deep circles.
