A Sacred Intimacy Moment

Dear Readers,Yet another peek into my life....a scene from weeks past.... Enjoy! Pamela

I always have this feeling of going home when I see Hank. Hank’s black chairs, his Fulton, and his massage table is one of the places where I started – and where I have stayed. With Hank there has been no moving on. He still can hold space for me. I feel a kind of comfort in his arms that is hard for me to place. When he tells me that he is proud of me – it makes me happy in a very silly school girl kind of way. It makes me want to bring him a shiny red apple – and erase the boards for him.

There was a time that I went to see Hank every week. I don’t go as often – yet he remains as important to me as ever. So – when I walk in these days – I want to hold him so close that I could climb into his shorts. Going to Hank always brings me back to me. If I had a bottomless wallet – right now I think I would go every day. Some how – in the midst of all of this goodness – I am finding myself at lose ends. And I am oh – a bit needy.

We sat as we do – and talked. I needed to talk about my desire to be calm in this moment of calmness – and not go into a place of anxiety because that is what I am the most used to doing. And I could see myself going to that place of worry like a thirsty horse finding it’s stall. Yet right now – life was pretty damn good. The book was gone. Off to the land of galleys. Gavin and I were good and the kids were good So what was up with me? Why did I feel this awful feeling of impending doom? Perhaps it is the quiet that I am not used to more than anything. The time to cook again for my family. To fuss over greens and stir fries – to make almost from scratch cookies. The time even to take walks. I am settling down into that place again. It is an unwiring. In a way – I need to deprogram.

And so we sat there – Hank and me. I talked and he listened, counseled, and smiled at me like he does. And I realized, not for the first time – that I was sick of his damn undershirt. For three years, I have put my naked chest next to all manners of wife beater tee-shirts and polo shirts. And I just want to feel my flesh against his. I had felt like I had earned it.

And out of some place deep – some place unplanned – some place that was tired of an old boundary that just wasn’t needed anymore - I asked him if he would be willing to take off his shirt. He looked at me and I thought I would cry. It is so hard still so hard to speak desire – even with the man that taught me to speak it. I don’t remember the conversation, but he said that he would. Perhaps he would especially because it was so hard for me to ask. Perhaps he would out of his own recognition of my hard earned ability to stay with being uncomfortable – and not running away. I am not sure exactly – but that is my memory through the blood coursing through my veins and my heart beating too fast in my own request. We moved to the table – it was time to get me out of my head and into my body. It was a relief to get naked. I remember when it was so hard. So much is new in my life. And Hank did what Hank has never done with me – Hank took his shirt off.