by Eli Easton
“Brent McKay.” Brent shook the man’s hand as if it were a business meeting, as if he hadn’t paid money for the guy to come over and try to help him get a stiffy.
Oh God. How is this my life? I’m only thirty-nine goddamn years old.
In person, River was even better looking than his photo in the clinic’s brochure. Hell, he could have stepped out of the series Vikings, with his Nordic looks, complete with trim blond beard and long, dirty-blond hair twisted back in a casual knot at the crown of his head. Black gauges the size of dimes were in his ears, and a black tattoo of Indian script marched in a narrow band down his neck. He was maybe six foot one or two with very broad shoulders, long legs, and slim waist and hips. He wore a faded black T-shirt with some kind of Indian design on the front, and well-worn jeans.
Damn, but he made Brent feel old and pathetically stodgy with his black LL Bean shorts and short-sleeved blue button-down shirt. Not that he wasn’t used to hipsters. Hell, a quarter of the staff at his coffee shops were hipsters. But River seemed more genuine, grounded, like he probably woke up in the morning and wound his hair back in a knot and didn’t think about it all day, like he legit belonged on a beach somewhere. Or an ashram, like in his bio. He radiated a peaceful, light positivity that was appealing.
“I need a space to set up. Do you have an area in your home where you’d feel comfortable? I’ll need open floor space.”
“Oh, yeah. Sure. Um… Come on in.” Jesus. Was he gonna make the guy stand on the porch all day?
Brent led the way up the stairs to the room he used as a home office. Even though he lived alone, he didn’t want to get massaged on the main floor of the house with all its windows. His desk was in front of a window, which overlooked Lake Washington, but the office was on the second floor, and the angle would make it difficult for anyone to see inside, even if passing boaters cared to try. It was a large room, and it only had a desk and one small bookcase, so there was plenty of space on the carpet.
River’s gaze lingered on the window for a moment, maybe surprised by the multi-million-dollar view, but he didn’t say anything, just put down the things he’d been carrying—a large duffel bag and a big, black, square case that was probably a massage table. Too late, Brent thought he should have offered to help. God, he was off-kilter.
It’s just a massage, he told himself. That’s all it has to be.
“Would you mind giving me five minutes to set up? It’s better if I do that alone,” River said with a gentle smile.
“Oh. Yeah. Sure.”
“Do you have a robe you can get changed into? Or a towel. Nothing underneath.”
Brent swallowed and nodded. He left the room.
As he removed his clothes in his walk-in closet, Brent thought about his googled research. Tantric massage had looked very, uh, sensual, with the masseuse in one video even sort of rubbing their oiled body along the client’s back. And then Brent had followed a link to lingam massage, and had found a video and, holy hell.
It was hard to imagine any guy in the world not getting aroused by that, by having his lingam—aka his penis—manipulated and massaged every which way. But Brent’s body had responded with its usual weird nausea, an uneasy, painful tugging sensation low in his belly, and a nice dollop of guilt on top. He’d shut the video off.
He tried not to be pessimistic about his chances with a real tantrik, in the flesh. He tried not to think about it at all.
He’d already showered, so he put on a thin cotton robe in navy blue. He suddenly recalled Kathy had bought it for him for their last Christmas together. Brent pushed that thought from his mind too. Hell, he was getting so good at pushing thoughts away, it was a wonder his brain wasn’t wiped clean.
When he went back into his office, he blinked in surprise. The space had been transformed. The blind over the large window had been lowered—probably for the first time since he bought the place. The room was dim but not dark. Light still filtered in through the semi-opaque blind. Candles had been set around the room and lit, and incense burned. The scent was dry and woodsy, like cedar or sandalwood. There was a futon in the middle of the floor—not the massage table Brent had expected. It was draped with a soft fabric in rust and red and browns, an Indian design. There was a thin pillow for his head at one end.
“Wow.”
River straightened up from a little clay pot he’d plugged into the wall. An oil-warmer, Brent guessed. “Hey.” He studied Brent’s face for a moment. “Are you feeling okay about this?”
Was he? Not really.
“It’s worth a shot, I guess.” Brent forced a chuckle. “Just to be, um, open, Dr. Halloran said it wasn’t necessarily going to be sexual right away. I’m not sure anything will happen.”
River gave him a soft smile. “Then tantra is perfect. Because it’s not about a destination. It’s not about trying to get anywhere. It’s just about being present in the moment.”
“Okay. Good.” Still, nerves churned in Brent’s belly.
“The practice is aimed at reconnecting us to our bodies. There’s no expectation or judgment.”
“Maybe Dr. Halloran told you that I—”
“Your body will tell me.” River’s voice was fairly deep, calm and soothing, like nothing could surprise or perturb him. Brent relaxed a little.
“In tantra, we always begin by making a connection. Will you join me?” River sat crossed-legged on the futon. Brent suddenly realized he’d taken off his jeans and was now barefoot and wearing only dark shorts and his T-shirt. His long legs were golden brown and dusted with fine gold hair. They were nicely muscled.
River patted the spot on the futon in front of him.
Brent walked over. “Facing you, or…?”
“Facing me.”
Awkwardly, Brent sat down on the futon. He had to adjust his robe so he didn’t expose himself. River scooted a little closer, until their knees were touching. He reached out and took Brent’s hands in both of his, letting them rest on their knees.
“Look into my eyes. If you have to look away, you can, but hold my gaze as much as possible.”
Hum. This was out of Brent’s comfort zone. But he was also curious. He stared into River’s eyes.
River was a wee bit taller than Brent standing, but with both of them sitting on the futon, their eyes were exactly even. Lovely, kind eyes with soft, light-brown lashes stared at Brent. Seconds ticked by.
It wasn’t easy to hold River’s gaze. It was so intimate. Raw. Had Brent ever stared into someone’s eyes like this? Maybe Kathy’s, when they were first in love. But he didn’t know River at all.
Brent took a deep breath and stared. He was paying for this therapy, and he was going to make the most of it.
Blue. Not a vibrant blue, more gray-blue, the color of a dull sea under leaden skies. But the openness in them was unnerving. There was a depth there that made Brent’s head spin, like standing on a tightrope over a void.
“Now take deep breaths, all the way down into your belly,” River said quietly, still staring into Brent’s eyes. He demonstrated, breathing in long and deep, his inhale loud, his chest rising, then slowly letting it out. Brent mimicked him.
“Release your worry and anxiety. Just be present with your breath. Don’t think.”
Brent tried. With every deep breath, his head got a little lighter and spacier. Thoughts quieted. Was that a hyperventilating thing? Whatever. It worked. He relaxed.
At first, River matched his breaths to Brent, like they were two lungs in a body, all while staring into Brent’s eyes. Then Brent became aware that River had switched the pattern—he inhaled slowly as Brent exhaled slowly, and vice versa. It was as if they were taking each other’s breath, as if something vital were streaming from River’s lungs to his and back again, in a never-ending circle.
Brent became aware of the smell of River, a warm scent of clove and cinnamon with something that smelled like the beach.
Those eyes. Jesus. Was he being hypnotized? Part of him wanted to lie
down, he felt so relaxed, but there was an energy that hummed between them, too, causing his body to prickle with awareness even as his mind went numb.
When River spoke, it broke through the fog.
“You’re doing great. You’re so open.” River smiled at him.
“I am?” Brent’s voice was husky.
“Very open. Thank you for that. I think we’re ready to begin.” River released Brent’s hands and shifted to kneel beside the futon. He picked up a white towel. “Take your robe off and lie on your stomach.”
His voice was soft and low, and it took a moment for the meaning to sink in. Oh, right. The breathing had really soothed Brent’s mind, because he felt no apprehension as he took off his robe and dropped it beside the futon. He lay facedown, with his head turned to the side on the pillow. The dense mattress was very comfortable. A moment later, River laid a towel across Brent’s ass, reminding him that he had been, in fact, naked under the robe. Well, River had gotten an eyeful.
Brent took another deep breath. This was a massage. That was all. His head still felt floaty, but a touch of anxiety crept back in.
River moved to the foot of the futon and laid warm oily hands on Brent’s calves. Just that touch made a tingle go up Brent’s thighs, only to dissipate into unease in his belly. He must have tensed up because River spoke.
“Nothing has to happen or not happen. I’m going to do some energy work on your body. Just relax and feel the sensations. Stay in the present moment. There is no right or wrong. We’ll just assess where you’re at. It’s all good.”
Nothing has to happen. Brent didn’t have to get off or even get hard, he reminded himself. Dr. Halloran had told him that, but it was good to hear River confirm it. And he was such a chill guy, gentle and positive. Brent believed he meant it.
He was also so good-looking. He had nice hands. Brent didn’t have any issue with being touched by this person, even though he was a guy. Not necessarily sexually, but a massage? Yes, please. It had been too long since he’d had any touch at all.
River moved to sit on his heels at the side of the futon and started with Brent’s hands. River’s hands were warm, and he rubbed oil into Brent’s skin, threading their fingers together in a light, flowing touch, rubbing his thumbs into Brent’s palms.
God, that was good. Brent sighed and closed his eyes.
“Take deep, slow breaths,” River instructed quietly. “Pull the air all the way down into your belly and let me hear the exhale.”
Brent slowed his breathing, deepened it, as they’d done when they looked into each other’s eyes. Quickly, his head grew floaty again.
River massaged his forearms, biceps, shoulders. It was heaven. Oh, man. So nice. When he got to Brent’s neck, his fingers slipped up through Brent’s hair to the top of his head and cupped him there, his large hands surrounding the crown of Brent’s head, palms down.
Jesus, his palms were so warm.
“This is your sahasrara or crown chakra. Breathe deep, and when you exhale, I want you to imagine pushing your energy up into my hands. Imagine you’re filling my hands with light. See it in your mind.”
It sounded weird. Brent wasn’t even sure what River meant by “light.” And yet, he found he was able to visualize it, to mentally push energy toward River’s hands. It didn’t hurt that River’s large palms were so warm and alive, pulling Brent’s awareness to them.
“Good,” River said soothingly. “Very good. Breathe deep. Melt into the mattress.”
Oh, he was melted all right. Brent breathed out and relaxed as River released the top of his head and carded his fingers through Brent’s hair again. Mmm, that was delightful. The top of his head was all warm and tingly.
River cupped the back of Brent’s head with one hand. “I’m going to gently touch your face. Relax.” His other hand touched two fingers to the bridge of Brent’s nose, between his eyes.
River held there for a long moment, pressing lightly from both sides. “This is your ajna chakra, your third eye. Breathe deep and mentally push your energy and breath into my hands.”
Brent did. It felt like he was pushing his exhales into those pressure points, one behind his head and one between his eyes. The fingertips at the bridge of his nose seemed to grow hotter.
“Excellent. I can really feel you. Now relax.”
River threaded luxuriant fingers through Brent’s hair again, lightly scratching his scalp. Brent groaned into his loud exhales. Maybe he could just have River follow him around and play with his hair all day.
Next, River cupped the back of Brent’s neck with both palms. His long fingers gently wrapped around as much of Brent’s neck as possible with his head on the pillow. “This is your vishuddha or throat chakra. Breathe into my hands.”
Brent breathed into River’s hands. His neck grew warm. There was a weird sensation there, as if his neck was expanding. Which wasn’t actually possible, but it sure felt that way.
Next, River placed both palms, side by side, on his upper back. “This is your anahata or heart chakra. Breathe into it for me.”
Oh. This one ached a bit. Or maybe it was the weight of River’s hands. Was he pressing down? His hands felt so heavy. His palms grew very hot. It was uncomfortable if Brent was being honest. For the first time, the touching didn’t feel so great, and he wanted to squirm, but he managed not to. He was relieved when River moved on.
“Manipura, or solar plexus chakra.”
This one was midback, right between his ribs on his spine. It felt okay. But Jesus, River’s palms now felt like they were burning him. Was that some kind of hypnotic suggestion? Was he going into an altered state thanks to all this heavy breathing and incense? Maybe his skin was just getting more sensitive, cooling in the air.
He breathed into River’s hands, and he could swear he felt energy swirl between them. His back prickled like one of those weird physics experiments in middle school where you touch an electrostatic ball and your hair stands on end.
“Svadhishthana, or sacrum chakra.” River’s hands moved lower, palms spreading firmly on either side of his spine just above his buttocks.
A cry erupted from Brent’s mouth, shocking him. He arched up.
River removed his hands at once. “Ah. Sensitive there?”
Brent shuddered and drew in a breath. “That was weird. I don’t know—”
“It’s okay. Relax and just breathe for me.”
Brent melted back onto the futon. It wasn’t difficult. His body felt heavy and slow, like he’d been deeply asleep. Only, that touch to his lower back had done something…. He had no idea what.
With a few deep breaths, he relaxed again. River ran his fingertips lightly up Brent’s arms and across his shoulders. Brent sighed. The touch felt sensual, and that uneasy tug of want-not-want twinged low in his belly. He sighed.
“I’m going to place my hands on your lower back again. Very gently. Okay?”
“Yeah.” Brent really had no idea why he’d jerked before.
River trailed his oily palms down Brent’s back, on either side of his spine, slowly, slowly. They were literally radiating heat. It felt good.
He held himself still as those palms reached his lower back and paused there. He didn’t jump this time. But when River gently reminded him to take deep breaths, instructed him to breathe up into his palms, he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. A terrible weight came upon him, a crushing sense of dread. Nerves twinged where River had his hands, sounding a warning through his lower back and belly.
“That hurts,” Brent admitted, struggling with the sensation. “Christ, your hands are hot.”
River let up with his palms, thank God. Instead, he massaged the area gently with his fingertips. It should have felt good, but it didn’t. “Can you direct your energy into my fingertips?”
“Can’t,” Brent said at once. “It feels really weird. Like… like a sore tooth.”
“Breathe deep.” River breathed loudly in demonstration, so Brent could follow his breaths, match t
hem. “Good. Now try to push your breath into my fingertips.”
Brent tried. But he couldn’t focus his attention there at all without feeling sick. “Can’t.”
River made a humming sound, as if he expected as much.
“Why do I feel so weird there? I don’t have any old injuries that I—” Then it struck him like a ton of bricks. Not him. Kathy.
Brent swallowed hard. “Did Dr. Halloran tell you about my… my wife’s illness?” His voice was choked.
“He told me your wife transitioned, and you haven’t felt desire since.”
“He didn’t tell you how she…?”
“No. Can you turn over, please?”
Brent turned over, careful to keep the towel over his genitals. God, his limbs were so heavy. His body was so relaxed. Yet that tug of unease lingered low in his belly like the dull throb of an exposed nerve. He blinked up at River. The dim daylight and flickering candles made a halo around his hair, and his face was so serene. Jesus, he was a beautiful human being. River met his gaze, and it was too much suddenly. Too raw. Brent closed his eyes.
River stroked up his arms again and over his chest, a light sensual touch that created another want-not-want tug in Brent’s belly. This time, Brent was very aware that the sensation was just where River’s hands had been.
Those too-hot hands smoothed their way down to his lower belly, pushing the edge of the towel down a little. They spread out just below his belly button, wrists touching and fingers extended like bird’s wings toward his hips. They rested there. Not pressing down, not hurting him. But not comfortable either.
Brent’s breathing sped up.
“Your wife was sick here?” River asked.
Hot emotion welled up in Brent’s chest, his throat tightening with tears. He nodded. Oh God.
River rubbed Brent’s belly oh-so-gently, and he breathed out very audibly. Nauseous eddies swirled under his hands.
“You’re holding a lot of grief here.” River rubbed circles with his thumbs on either side of Brent’s belly button.
