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Alan had actually gone to massage therapists for many years. He was a workaholic who brought concern upon himself, and while others might carry their tension in their stomachs, he carried his in his body. His muscles often were a ball of stress that even his foam roller at home could not work out. He hated their question almost as much as the phrase that every masseuse he had ever had said to him after a massage: How do you feel? Sir, do you prefer a woman or a guy? the receptionist on the other end of the phone repeated. If he stated he preferred a man, did that mean he was sexist? If he said he preferred a woman, did it suggest he was a creep who found some thing sexually sensual in his deep-tissue massages? Did it imply he was a fool who anticipated a pleased ending?

No preference, is what he usually said. Often, he would add, Whoever is best at unwinding 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 fitness center, showered, then drove to the massage parlour. He had forgotten his unusual action over the phone until now, sitting in the waiting room, he heard a sweet, delicately sexy voice call out, Alan? Alan searched for from his magazine to find her; small yet well proportioned, her consistent 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. She was glad when she saw his individual hygiene seemed to be great 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 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 space, offering him personal 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 element 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. However when he heard the door to Room 5 open, the soft steps of Ally returning in, his heart began to beat quicker. Uncommon, Alan thought. He was supposed to melt, deeper into dreamlike relaxation.

He could smell Ally: flowers, or strawberries? Alan couldn't make certain. The scent was sweet and mild. 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 could not think of but help Ally's tight, round ass inches from his head, his face just as near her pubis. As Ally worked for her turn over Alan's muscular back, (bringing him a smooth, soothing enjoyment that straight 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 simply him and it was more attractive than anything Alan could have ever stated. Ally was highly brought in to her customer. She smiled to herself as she accepted that fact, and she let out a quiet chuckle. Alan heard it. Mildly scratchy, even her laugh sounded like tasting something delicious. The sound covered itself around him and Alan thought, I am insanely smitten by this masseuse.

As she worked his body, her hands served as her eyes. Getting rid of a bit of the sheet to work his lower back and gluts, the butt s of her palms traced the powerful 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 gave off offered 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 assess the length of her upper arm, and he envisioned the perky breasts that hung simply above his spine. He pictured her strong shoulders rolling forward with each stroke when Ally sat on a stool near his head and began to knead his neck. He envisioned her not in the nurse's scrubs that she wore, 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 prior to 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 completely set up. It raised the sheet, comically, like a camping tent. Alan was awfully ashamed, his cheeks flushing with colour. He refused to open his eyes to attempt to construct out Ally's response. He didn't understand what to state. He heard her walk away, to the corner of the space. He heard of masseuses who put a pile of towels on a client's groin in circumstances like these. Perhaps that's what she will do, he hoped. Before she stepped away, Ally had actually frozen. Below her, Alan's cock reached for her through the sheet, through the dim light. At this minute, with Alan, the set down sheet brought her excitement and shortness of breath. She wanted 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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