Give that obscure object of your desire a full-body massage. Once you have them naked and relaxed on that massage table, moaning with pleasure under your firm yet gentle grip, you’re already more than halfway there!
This epiphany came to me yesterday at the spa, not coincidentally as I lay there getting a massage. She was a not unattractive woman about my age, in jeans and a white polo shirt, with shoulder-length black hair. Every now and then she’d lean over to wrench a joint a bone a muscle and her hair would gently brush my skin. I felt a huge wave of affection for my masseuse. I wished I were king, so I could eliminate income tax for masseuses and masseurs.
Anyway. Try it and let me know if it works!
Hello! Slippery slope, there!
Just found your blog via some random means. I love Austria (am a bit of an Austrophile and a Hapsburg history buff) and studied in Wien for a while.
Am actually looking into possible ways to move there someday, but it’s tough as a U.S. citizen (with a U.S. citizen wife). What’s your secret?
I married an Austrian.
No, dude, tell me you didn’t just now figure that out.
OK, so I used to work as a masseuse, and see it as very simple arithmetic that masseuses make the very bestest lovers. But still: I swore the first time that I would never again marry someone who didn’t give massages. I did it anyway. And he’s a keeper, sure, but over and over I have to remind: the surest, fastest way to my crotch is totally through my other muscles.
That was more something like a public service message, in case someone out there hadn’t figured it out yet.
a public service massage? I would really like one of those over here in Belgium :)