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Alan had gone to massage therapists for many years. He was a workaholic who brought worry upon himself, and while others might carry their stress in their stomachs, he brought his in his body. His muscles often were a ball of stress that even his foam roller in the house could not work out. He disliked their question almost as much as the expression that every masseuse he had ever had said to him after a massage: How do you feel? Sir, do you prefer a guy or a female? the receptionist on the other end of the phone repeated. If he said he chose a man, did that mean he was sexist? If he said he chose a female, did it indicate he was a creep who found some thing sexually sensual in his deep-tissue massages? Did it suggest he was a fool who expected a delighted ending?
No preference, is what he typically stated. In some cases, he would include, Whoever is best at relaxing muscles. Alan amazed himself today when he informed the receptionist, A woman, please. Where did that originated from? he questioned. After work, he struck the gym, showered, then drove to the massage parlour. He had forgotten his strange action over the phone until now, being in the waiting space, he heard a sweet, delicately sexy voice call out, Alan? Alan looked up from his magazine to discover her; petite yet well proportioned, her consistent scrubs didn't hide the fact that she kept herself fit. Her eyes were almond-shaped, her hair black, and her skin the colour of caramel. I'm Ally. I'll be your therapist today, she said. If she were tasting each word like each syllable were a caramel, it sounded as. Her voice, alone, excited him. He shook her hand, and her skin was baby-soft.
Alan was Ally's last client of the day. She was glad when she saw his personal health seemed to be great which he had great skin. And when she shook his strong hand and gazed into his baby blue eyes, butterflies fluttered in her chest and the hair based on the back of her neck. Ally led Alan to Room 5. She asked him to undress and lay face-down on the table. She left the room, providing him personal privacy to disrobe and crawl under the sheet. With his head in the massage table's cradle, his eyes closed, Alan's world escaped into darkness. Alan enjoyed this element of the massage; his other senses nearly disappear, leaving him with an acute awareness of his body and its feelings. He discovered it to be deeply meditative. But when he heard the door to Room 5 open, the soft footsteps of Ally coming back in, his heart started to beat quicker. Unusual, Alan thought. He was expected to melt, deeper into dreamlike relaxation.
He could smell Ally: flowers, or strawberries? Alan could not make sure. The fragrance was sweet and mild. Ally stood near the table, dimming the lights, rubbing oil into her hands. Alan might feel her heat on him. Enshrouded in his dark, lightless world, he envisioned her heat as subtle waves of orange that brushed his neck, shoulders, and cheeks. Alan couldn't picture but help Ally's tight, round ass inches from his head, his face just as close to her pubis. As Ally worked for her hands over Alan's muscular back, (bringing him a smooth, calming pleasure that straight opposed the stimulation that had actually started in his loins), she noticed she could smell him. It was merely him and it was more attractive than anything Alan could have ever stated. Alan heard it. The sound covered itself around him and Alan believed, I am outrageously smitten by this masseuse.
As she worked his body, her hands served as her eyes. Eliminating a bit of the sheet to work his lower back and gluts, the butt s of her palms traced the sinewy figure she drew in her mind. Alan attempted to think of a more total picture of the body connected to the hands that worked on him. The heat Ally provided off supplied a crude type of finder in his pitch-black world.
When she worked his upper back, she leaned forward, digging into him with her elbow. He could evaluate the length of her arm, and he thought of the perky breasts that hung simply above his spinal column. When Ally rested on a stool near his head and began to knead his neck, he pictured her strong shoulders rolling forward with each stroke. He pictured her not in the nurse's scrubs that she wore, however in a deep-necked top that hung off one shoulder, exposing the line of her clavicle. In his mind, he saw a bead of sweat meander down her neck before following the collar bone to her breast bone. Run down for me, Alan, she whispered, and turn onto your back. When he had moved, and she let the sheet back down, she and Alan discovered it at the same time. Alan was fully put up. It lifted the sheet, comically, like a tent. Alan was extremely ashamed, his cheeks flushing with colour. He declined to open his eyes to attempt to construct out Ally's response. He didn't know what to state. He heard her walk away, to the corner of the room. He heard of masseuses who put a pile of towels on a client's groin in circumstances like these. Perhaps that's what she is about to do, he hoped. Before she stepped away, Ally had frozen. Below her, Alan's dick grabbed her through the sheet, through the dim light. With any other client, she would have been horrified, disgusted. She would have begrudgingly finished the massage, keeping her range from his crotch. But at this moment, with Alan, the perched sheet brought her excitement and shortness of breath. The butterflies discovered their way from her chest down to the place below her navel. She wanted Alan. She discovered that, for the very first time in her life, without kissing, with no foreplay to prepare her, she was ready to have sex. The last thirty minutes had actually been more than enough preparation. She was ready, right then, at that moment. And she would not let that minute pass.
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