Rediscovering Myself

I didn’t know what to expect.
A breast massage—for a whole hour?
I thought it would just be a few minutes,
tucked into the background of a full-body session.
Something that’s “included,” but never really in focus.

And then it was there:
an hour.
Slow.
Tender.
Dedicated entirely to this one part of my body.
To my breasts.

At first, there was hesitation
A little shame.
A bit of uncertainty.
What if it’s too much?
Too close?
What if I feel nothing?
Or too much?

But Ana didn’t ask much.
He listened.
He waited.
And he began only when my body was truly ready.

A kind of slowness I had never known
The touch was quiet, almost meditative.
Not searching. Not demanding.
Not focused on arousal—but on presence.

And suddenly, something inside me began to respond.
My skin came alive.
My breasts—so often reduced to a symbol,
a part of sexuality or womanhood—
became part of me again.

I was surprised by how much feeling lives there
Not just physically—but emotionally.
Gentle waves rose up:
Sadness. Softness. Joy.
And a deep, quiet gratitude.

For the first time, I didn’t feel my breasts from the outside.
I felt them from within.
Not as an object—
but as a living, sensing part of myself.

Afterward
I was quiet.
So deeply touched that there were no words.
My breasts felt warm, soft, alive with energy.
And I—fully with myself.

Since then, I touch them differently.
Not just in the mirror.
Not just during intimacy.
But lovingly. Curiously.
As if I’m still getting to know them.

My reflection
I never imagined
that a breast massage could move so much inside me.
That you could truly spend an entire hour
with just this part of the body—
and discover so much more than just skin.

I’ve gotten to know my breasts again.
And through them,
I’ve come home to myself.

*Theresa, 2025