Shame

After purchasing a massage table and all the accessories for nearly $300.00 when the money should have been spent on bills, I was feeling angry about its arrival yesterday. He wasted no time getting it set up.

Today after I woke up from a much-needed nap he got a bottle of water and some hot tea for me. “Just like the professionals.”, he says. “Come on, let me give you a massage.”

I hesitate. I know that in the past the codeword for massage is sex. I have not felt an emotional connection to him and really don’t want to be intimate with him like that.

I tell him that I feel uneasy about it.

“Why?”

I express my concern over his intentions.

“No strings attached. Come on. It’s physical touch. I gave you a massage the other night and nothing happened.”

So I believe him.

I crawl in to the toasty warm cotton sheet. It feels good. I do love a good massage. He touches are more gentle than usual. It is certainly relaxing. And how nice to be touched in a non-sexual way.

And then he begins to get handsy. His hands get closer to my inner thighs. I’m relaxed. And it kind of feels good.

I’m torn. Do I let my flesh enjoy this with my husband? I give in. I let it happen. But my heart knows it is wrong. As he climbs on top of me I began to weep. He told me this wasn’t his intention. I knew otherwise. But I fell for his deception again.

Afterwards, he makes the comment that a massage sure is relaxing. I am crying silently. I feel violated. I feel disrespected. I feel betrayed. I feel used. And I feel guilty for the pleasure I just experienced. I am ashamed that I enjoyed it. I’m ashamed that I let him deceive me. I am filled with shame.

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