Yoni Massage

I didn’t quite know what to expect.
Part of me was curious. Another part hesitant.
Not from fear -
but from the feeling of not fully knowing myself.

Ana was not what I imagined.
Quiet. Warm.
Presence instead of words.
No questions, no pushing -
just a space that seemed to breathe me.

The beginning was an arrival
We sat. Spoke a little.
Then the silence came.
But it wasn’t empty.
It was an invitation.

Slowly, my body let go of its posture.
Not from instruction,
but from permission.

I lay down - still watchful, but softening.
The first touch felt like someone brushing against my story.
Not directed. Not mechanical.
Just… being there.

Touch without intention
It began far from the center -
Shoulders, feet, hips.
I was remembered
before I was discovered.

Not as a sexual being -
but as a sensing one.

When my Yoni came into focus,
it felt like she had been waiting.
Not for pleasure -
for attention.
Not for climax -
for recognition.
Not for pressure -
but for time.

I wasn’t being aroused.
I was being felt.

Nothing was done -
it was allowed.
Touch as a mirror.
Presence as language.

And then came the emotions:
Tears. Stillness.
Not from pain -
but from opening.
Like something returning,
because it knows: Here, I may exist.

Afterwards
I was wrapped - gently, without rush.
There was no "end",
just a soft echo that lingered.
Like a sound that remains
after the music is gone.

I left the space different.
Not new -
but closer.
Not changed -
but remembered.

Remembered my softness.
My right not to perform.
My body as a place of trust.

by Elin, 17.05.2025

‍