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Alan had actually gone to massage therapists for several years. He was a workaholic who brought worry upon himself, and while others might carry their tension in their stomachs, he brought his in his body. His muscles often were a ball of tension that even his foam roller at home could not exercise. He disliked their concern nearly as much as the phrase that every masseuse he had ever had stated to him after a massage: How do you feel? Sir, do you prefer a man or a female? the receptionist on the other end of the phone duplicated. If he said he preferred a male, did that mean he was sexist? If he stated he preferred a lady, did it imply he was a creep who discovered some thing sexually sensual in his deep-tissue massages? Did it indicate he was a fool who expected a happy ending?

No preference, is what he normally stated. In some cases, he would include, Whoever is best at relaxing muscles. Alan amazed himself today when he informed the receptionist, A female, please. Where did that come from? he wondered. After work, he hit the health club, showered, then drove to the massage parlour. He had forgotten about his strange action over the phone previously, being in the waiting space, he heard a sweet, casually seductive voice call out, Alan? Alan looked up from his publication to find 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. It sounded as if she were tasting each word like each syllable were a caramel. Her voice, alone, aroused him. He shook her hand, and her skin was baby-soft.

Alan was Ally's last customer of the day. She was glad when she saw his individual health seemed to be excellent which he had excellent skin. And when she shook his strong hand and looked into his baby blue eyes, butterflies fluttered in her chest and the hair stood 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 space, offering 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 aspect of the massage; his other senses nearly disappear, leaving him with an acute 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 began to beat much faster. Uncommon, Alan thought. He was expected to melt, much deeper into dreamlike relaxation.

He could smell Ally: flowers, or strawberries? Alan could not be sure. The scent was moderate and sweet. Ally stood near the table, dimming the lights, rubbing oil into her hands. Alan could 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 help but picture Ally's tight, round ass inches from his head, his face just as close to her pubis. As Ally worked for her turn over Alan's muscular back, (bringing him a smooth, calming satisfaction that directly contradicted the stimulation that had begun in his loins), she noticed she could smell him. And she liked it. It wasn't cologne, it wasn't aftershave. It was merely him and it was more attractive than anything Alan might have ever said. Alan heard it. The sound wrapped itself around him and Alan thought, I am outrageously smitten by this masseuse.

As she worked his body, her hands acted as her eyes. Getting rid of a little bit of the sheet to work his lower back and excess, the butt s of her palms traced the sinewy figure she attracted her mind. Later, as her thumbs went into his hamstrings, calves, and inner-thighs, she imagined the pieces as a whole, standing, naked, in a well-lit location. She liked what her hands informed. Alan tried to picture a more complete picture of the body connected to the hands that worked on him. The heat Ally gave off offered an unrefined type of finder in his pitch-black world.

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 pictured the perky breasts that hung simply above his spine. He envisioned her strong shoulders rolling forward with each stroke when Ally sat on a stool near his head and started to knead his neck. He imagined her not in the nurse's scrubs that she used, 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. Scoot 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 saw it at the very same time. Alan was totally put up. It raised the sheet, comically, like a tent. Alan was awfully ashamed, his cheeks flushing with colour. He refused to open his eyes to try to make out Ally's response. He didn't understand what to state. He heard her walk away, to the corner of the room. He became aware of masseuses who put a stack of towels on a client's groin in situations like these. Perhaps that's what she is about to do, he hoped. Prior to she stepped away, Ally had actually frozen. Listed below her, Alan's cock reached for her through the sheet, through the dim light. At this moment, with Alan, the perched sheet brought her excitement and shortness of breath. She desired Alan. She found that, for the very first time in her life, without kissing, with no foreplay to prepare her, she was prepared to have sex.

 

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