They were coming towards me along Northgate Terrace, six of them, students, some of them were holding food cartons, probably bought from the pizza place on the corner. Two of them, a girl and a boy were making a kind of high pitched keening noise, like a mouse transfixed by a cat, and terrified. Demonic creatures, said one of the girls behind them.
The session was lovely. I drifted in and out of sleep while she worked on me. Her hands were hot, and sometimes when I opened my eyes I could see hers were closed. The room, a shed in her small back garden, was warm and scented, with what I am not so sure, but it was nice, comforting. It was neat and clean, as was her house, and dotted around its walls and shelves were buddhas, chakra symbols, crystals, drawings of seers, and crystals, huge things. I felt safe. I unwound. I love having my feet massaged. It is a bliss for me. At the end she fed back to me my body’s various weakness. It’s funny I’ve always thought of myself as healthy, well. It seems I am not. Old age perhaps? I gave myself to the treatment and felt better for the succumbing. I will return.
Another interview today. I am slightly nervous, firstly about the equipment and then about how forthcoming she will be. I’ve made assumptions, I shouldn’t. Be open, let it be what it will be.
The house is all cleaned, washing done. Work now.
We hugged when I left. And all night I smelt of her. Patchouli.