Ken was about to call it a night and make his way out the door. The cooking class with Shiitake seemed more like a first date to him and he couldn’t help reading more into Shiitake’s warning about the chi obstructing nature of his outer garments. Perhaps they were reflective of some deeper sentiments on her part. Maybe she didn’t want the night to end either. He closed the door and discarded his jacket.
Shiitake couldn’t help eyeing his broad, muscular shoulders with more than a lingering glance. "Boy would I like to shiatsu those," she thought longingly.
She noticed that Ken was looking a little weary and unsteady on his feet and realized he probably had consumed her share of the organic wine as well as his own. She led him back to the futon couch, hit the play button on her surround sound stereo, and suggested he rest while his first proper macrobiotic meal digested.
Shiitake kept glancing at those shoulders practically rippling beneath Ken’s T-shirt. Muttering something about how tense they looked, Shiitake made a beeline for the gall bladder 21 points and began to knead them expertly.
Surprised but delighted, Ken sighed in appreciation. "Wow," he breathed, "that feels wonderful. You really know what you are doing, Shiitake."
"I am fully qualified in Zen Shiatsu, you know, Ken," Shiitake replied mater of factly, trying to disguise her own breathlessness. She found it difficult to feign detachment. Ken was certainly not simply another shiatsu client in her practice.
Ken realized that shiatsu was yet another word he had to look up in his Hip Chick’s Guide to Macrobiotics. From glancing through it he realized that there was just so much he had to learn about macrobiotics. Why hadn’t he studied it more carefully before his "date" with Shiitake? Ah well, he thought, maybe she would personally instruct him.
Shiitake took a deep breath and explained to him how tension gathers at this important juncture midway between the tip of the acromion and the spine at the crest of the trapezius muscle and how vital it was to release it for optimal chi flow and health.
"Yes, of course," he agreed readily. "I never realized how tense I was."
As she made her way along the gall bladder meridian, Shiitake began to wonder what kind of circumstances in Ken’s life were creating tensions that seemed to run so deep. Sure, she experienced her own everyday stresses and strains, juggling her shiatsu practice, yoga teaching schedule, and macrobiotic studies. She recognized that she was more highly strung than she would have liked, but kept the effects at bay with her practice of meditation, yoga, thorough chewing, ginger compresses, and the indulgent 1 percent salt bath that rejuvenated her kidney chi. It seemed that whatever had Ken so wound up would take more than a little "om-ing" and a few downward-facing-dog poses to disperse.
It occurred to Shiitake that during their dinner Ken didn’t reveal too much about himself. She wasn’t quite sure what he did for a living. Did he say something about IT? She would ask him later. Maybe that was what was causing all this tension. Or maybe there was something else. Shiitake was determined to get to the bottom of this mystery. But first things first . . .
He winced a little as she found a particularly tight spot. Then she had an idea.
"Wait right here, handsome," she instructed as she jumped up and headed for the bathroom.
"I’m not going anywhere in a hurry," he murmured dreamily.
Ken was delighted with this turn of events. He couldn’t believe how close he had come to missing this chance by being too reserved. He was just so taken with Shiitake that he hadn’t wanted to blow it. It didn’t seem like there was much chance of that happening with how things were going. He remembered their first encounter at Wild Rice Wholefoods. If there was such a thing as love at first sight, this must be it.
Shiitake returned brandishing a tube of homeopathic arnica rub. "See, it’s for sore muscles, strains, and bruising," Shiitake explained showing him the label.
"Perfect," he agreed. "I must have underestimated that pile of wood I brought in for your wood stove earlier," he said by way of explanation of his shoulder tension.
"Oh no," she replied. Shiitake was horrified to think that she may have contributed to his condition and reapplied herself with renewed fervor. She realized that there must have been some deeper lingering congestion there to allow that kind of reaction. This tension was deep seated.
She opened the tube and said as nonchalantly as she could, "This would be a lot easier on bare skin – it is a homeopathic gel but we don’t want to get any on your T-shirt now . . ."
Ken was certainly not going to argue with this request. Before the words were out of Shiitake’s organic cocoa butter smoothed lips, his T-shirt was on the floor.
As the arnica and Shiitake’s expert shiatsu moves began to take their effect, Ken’s tensions began to melt.
When she had done all she could on his back and shoulders, Shiitake instructed Ken to turn around and pressed a few key points on his hands. She reveled in holding his big strong hands in her own. Then she made her way up the jytsu points on his heart meridian. She could feel the purity and depth of emotion in his heart chakra and could have sworn that his heart was beating in unison with her own.
It was then that Ken opened his eyes and found himself gazing into Shiitake’s. He was mesmerized by her. Her eyes were as dark as bottles of shoyu set against a complexion perfected by daily ginger body rubs and hato mugi dishes. Could there be anyone more lovely?
He knew she felt the electricity between them as well. Her touch softened as her face drifted closer to his, her eyes half closed. He noticed the aroma of jasmine flowers in her hair as he reached up to brush her lips with his own.
Then he pulled away, worried he had overstepped the mark. "I’m sorry, " he muttered. "I don’t know
what came over me. I didn’t mean to take advantage of the . . ."
Shiitake placed a finger on his lips to silence him, then continued where they had left off. "There is no need for any apologies, Zen Ken," she whispered, pausing for air, "you are all yang!"
She picked up the almost empty bottle of wine and poured herself the last glass. She usually drank nothing stronger than bancha tea and wondered where this might lead. . . .
