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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 may carry their tension in their stomachs, he carried his in his body. His muscles frequently were a ball of stress that even his foam roller in your home could not exercise. He hated their concern nearly 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 choose a male or a lady? the receptionist on the other end of the phone duplicated. If he stated he preferred a man, did that mean he was sexist? If he said he preferred a lady, did it indicate he was a creep who found some thing sexually sensuous in his deep-tissue massages? Did it mean he was a fool who expected a happy ending?
No preference, is what he normally stated. Sometimes, he would include, Whoever is best at relaxing muscles. Alan amazed himself today when he informed the receptionist, A lady, please. Where did that originated from? he wondered. After work, he struck the gym, showered, then drove to the massage parlour. He had forgotten about his odd response over the phone until now, being in the waiting room, he heard a sweet, casually sexy voice call out, Alan? Alan searched for from his publication to discover her; petite yet well proportioned, her consistent scrubs didn't hide the reality that she kept herself in shape. 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.
Alan was Ally's last customer of the day. She was glad when she saw his individual hygiene appeared to be good and that he had good 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, giving him privacy to crawl and disrobe under the sheet. With his head in the massage table's cradle, his eyes closed, Alan's world escaped into darkness. Alan enjoyed this aspect of the massage; his other senses almost disappear, leaving him with a severe awareness of his body and its sensations. He discovered it to be deeply meditative. 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 certain. The fragrance was sweet and moderate. 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 pictured her warmth 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, soothing satisfaction that directly contradicted the stimulation that had actually begun in his loins), she observed she might smell him. It was just him and it was more attractive than anything Alan might have ever stated. Alan heard it. The sound wrapped 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 excess, the butt s of her palms traced the sinewy figure she drew in her mind. Meanwhile, Alan tried to think of a more total photo of the body attached to the hands that worked on him. The heat Ally produced provided a crude type of sonar in his pitch-black world. When she took a step towards the front or back of the table, he felt a gentle wave of warmth. He envisioned her hips, her smooth stomach and her toned waist above.
When she worked his upper back, she leaned forward, digging into him with her elbow. He might determine the length of her upper arm, and he thought of the perky breasts that hung just above his spinal column. When Ally rested on a stool near his head and started to knead his neck, he envisioned her strong shoulders rolling forward with each stroke. He pictured her not in the nurse's scrubs that she used, but 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 sternum. 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 set up. It raised the sheet, comically, like a camping tent. Alan was awfully embarrassed, his cheeks flushing with colour. He declined to open his eyes to try to construct Ally's reaction. He didn't understand what to say. He heard her walk away, to the corner of the space. He became aware of masseuses who put a pile of towels on a client's groin in scenarios like these. Possibly that's what she is about to do, he hoped. Before she stepped away, Ally had actually frozen. Below her, Alan's dick reached for her through the sheet, through the dim light. But at this moment, with Alan, the perched sheet brought her enjoyment and shortness of breath. The butterflies found their way from her chest down to the place listed below her navel. She wanted Alan. She found 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 sufficient preparation. She was ready, best then, at that moment. And she would not let that minute pass.
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