Halfway through my semester of Western Massage 1 in 2015, I walked into class 15 minutes late. Everyone I knew was already paired up to practice massaging each other’s legs. A guy named Ron, a personal trainer with muscles braided like challah and a handsome smile, looked relieved when he saw me and asked if we could work together. The idea of undressing and being caressed by a man I didn’t know seemed risky. I was squeamish enough doing that with women.
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