Three—Arriving
Thirty years ago I trained as a remedial masseur. Partly because I recognised something in the men around me—a need to be touched without agenda, to be in a body without managing it, to relax in the full sense of the word rather than just the horizontal one.
Partly because I needed it myself.
Before I offered anything to anyone I did my research. I visited erotic masseurs the way a man visits restaurants before opening one—to understand what existed, what was missing, what could be done better. What I found was dispiriting.
Masseurs who wouldn’t work in the nude. Men who charged extra just to be touched. Others who turned clients away—too old, not their type, not worth the effort—with a rudeness that left no ambiguity about where the power sat. Few had social skills. Fewer still seemed genuinely interested in the man in front of them.
I decided to do it differently. Professional rather than sleazy. Honest about what was on offer. Present with whoever arrived, regardless of age, body shape, nationality, or the particular configuration of his desires.
Carl Rogers called it unconditional positive regard—the radical practice of accepting a person as he is rather than as you’d prefer him to be. I adopted it not as a therapeutic principle but as a basic standard of human decency.
I became an erotic masseur because I love exploring men’s bodies. I still love male bodies but I no longer massage them the same way.
That’s the whole of it. No more complicated than that.
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