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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 stress in their stomachs, he carried his in his body. His muscles frequently were a ball of stress that even his foam roller at home might 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 choose a woman or a male? the receptionist on the other end of the phone duplicated. If he said he chose a guy, did that mean he was sexist? If he said he chose a lady, did it suggest he was a creep who found some thing sexually sensual in his deep-tissue massages? Did it mean 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 shocked himself today when he informed the receptionist, A lady, please. Where did that originated from? he wondered. After work, he hit the gym, showered, then drove to the massage parlour. He had ignored his strange response over the phone until now, sitting in the waiting room, he heard a sweet, casually seductive voice call out, Alan? Alan searched for from his magazine to find her; small yet well proportioned, her uniform scrubs didn't hide the truth 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. When she saw his personal hygiene appeared to be excellent and that he had excellent skin, she was happy. 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 privacy to disrobe and crawl under the sheet. With his head in the massage table's cradle, his eyes closed, Alan's world slipped away into darkness. Alan enjoyed this aspect of the massage; his other senses almost vanish, leaving him with a severe awareness of his body and its feelings. He found it to be deeply meditative. When he heard the door to Room 5 open, the soft steps of Ally coming back in, his heart began to beat quicker. Uncommon, Alan thought. He was supposed to melt, much deeper into dreamlike relaxation.
He could smell Ally: flowers, or strawberries? Alan couldn't be sure. The aroma was moderate and sweet. 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 could not picture but assist Ally's tight, round ass inches from his head, his face just as near to her pubis. As Ally worked for her turn over Alan's muscular back, (bringing him a smooth, relaxing enjoyment that directly contradicted the stimulation that had begun in his loins), she saw she might smell him. And she liked it. It wasn't cologne, it wasn't aftershave. It was just him and it was more appealing than anything Alan might have ever stated. Ally was strongly attracted to her customer. She smiled to herself as she accepted that fact, and she let out a quiet chuckle. Alan heard it. Slightly scratchy, even her laugh sounded like tasting something scrumptious. The sound covered itself around him and Alan thought, I am outrageously smitten by this masseuse.
As she worked his body, her hands worked as her eyes. Removing 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. Later on, as her thumbs dug into his calves, inner-thighs, and hamstrings, she thought of the pieces as a whole, standing, naked, in a well-lit location. She liked what her hands informed. Alan tried to picture a more total picture of the body attached to the hands that worked on him. The heat Ally gave off provided an unrefined type of sonar in his pitch-black world.
When she worked his upper back, she leaned forward, digging into him with her elbow. He might assess the length of her upper arm, and he pictured the perky breasts that hung simply above his spinal column. He pictured her strong shoulders rolling forward with each stroke when Ally sat on a stool near his head and started to knead his neck. 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. Therefore it went by doing this for half an hour. It was time for her to massage his chest, arms, and quadriceps. Run down for me, Alan, she whispered, and turn onto your back. She raised the sheet to make it easier for him. When he had actually moved, and she let the sheet pull back, she and Alan discovered it at the same time. Alan was completely put up. It raised the sheet, comically, like a tent. Alan was awfully embarrassed, his cheeks flushing with colour. He declined to open his eyes to try to make out Ally's reaction. He didn't understand what to say. Then, he heard her leave, to the corner of the space. He heard of masseuses who put a pile of towels on a client's groin in situations like these. Perhaps that's what she will do, he hoped. Before she stepped away, Ally had frozen. Below her, Alan's cock 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 discovered their way from her chest down to the place below her navel. She wanted Alan. She discovered that, for the first time in her life, without kissing, without any foreplay to prepare her, she was ready to have sex. The last thirty minutes had been ample preparation. She was ready, right then, at that moment. And she would not let that moment pass.
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