Hot Box

I zipped myself into the sauna, to bake for fifteen to twenty minutes, just hot enough that beads of sweat broke out and ran down between my thin chest hairs and onto my thighs. I tilted my neck and head back, staring into the red hot lights. Time moved differently inside a hot box when one is left naked, moist and motionless. 

She had touched me a few long days before, after I had confessed that I was in pain. A strange pain in my shoulder, neck and back. Somewhere between the left shoulder blade and my heart. Intuitive as she was, she knew just where to press after she instructed me to lift my left arm.

I lay down on the massage table for fascia release. Little did I know then that there was a whole lot of past hell trauma to be released. 

She placed her hands first delicately upon my skin, and then roughly so. Then she brought out her tough tools.

"Tell me about yourself..."

And so I did. I spoke about my past, long buried. My present, persistent and prolonged. Loves, both female, long left in my past.

As she went about her business of pressured massage she found long buried beneath my skin, trauma left there long ago, beneath my shoulder, heart and ribs from females whom I once loved.

I left both bruised and bewildered, realizing that trauma both left and forgotten lay hidden beneath my body and skin. A forgotten fucked up hot box of flesh.