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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 may bring their stress in their stomachs, he carried his in his body. His muscles frequently were a ball of stress that even his foam roller in the house might not exercise. He hated their question 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 guy or a woman? the receptionist on the other end of the phone repeated. If he stated he preferred a guy, did that mean he was sexist? If he said he preferred a woman, did it imply he was a creep who discovered some thing sexually sensuous in his deep-tissue massages? Did it mean he was a fool who anticipated a pleased ending?
No choice, is what he typically said. Often, he would include, Whoever is best at relaxing muscles. Alan amazed himself today when he informed the receptionist, A woman, please. Where did that come from? he questioned. After work, he struck the health club, showered, then drove to the massage parlour. He had ignored 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 uniform scrubs didn't conceal 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.
Alan was Ally's last customer of the day. When she saw his individual hygiene seemed to be excellent and that he had good 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 room, 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 slipped away into darkness. Alan enjoyed this aspect of the massage; his other senses nearly vanish, leaving him with a severe awareness of his body and its sensations. He found 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 faster. Uncommon, Alan thought. He was supposed to melt, deeper into dreamlike relaxation.
He could smell Ally: flowers, or strawberries? Alan couldn't be 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 pictured her warmth as subtle waves of orange that brushed his neck, shoulders, and cheeks. Alan couldn't picture but assist 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 straight opposed the stimulation that had actually begun in his loins), she discovered she could smell him. And she liked it. It wasn't cologne, it wasn't aftershave. It was merely him and it was more appealing than anything Alan might have ever said. Ally was strongly brought in to her client. She smiled to herself as she accepted that fact, and she blurted a quiet chuckle. Alan heard it. Mildly scratchy, even her laugh seemed like tasting something tasty. The sound wrapped itself around him and Alan thought, I am outrageously 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 excess, the butt s of her palms traced the powerful figure she drew in her mind. Later, as her thumbs went into his calves, hamstrings, and inner-thighs, she imagined the pieces as a whole, standing, naked, in a well-lit location. She liked what her hands informed. Alan attempted to envision a more complete picture of the body attached to the hands that worked on him. The heat Ally offered 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. When Ally sat on a stool near his head and started to knead his neck, he imagined her strong shoulders rolling forward with each stroke. And so it went in this manner 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 lifted the sheet to make it simpler for him. When he had moved, and she let the sheet back down, she and Alan noticed it at the same time. Alan was totally set up. It raised the sheet, comically, like a tent. Alan was terribly embarrassed, his cheeks flushing with colour. He declined to open his eyes to try to construct out Ally's reaction. He didn't understand what to say. Then, he heard her walk away, to the corner of the space. He became aware of masseuses who put a stack of towels on a customer's groin in scenarios like these. Maybe that's what she will do, he hoped. Prior to she stepped away, Ally had frozen. Below her, Alan's dick 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 first time in her life, without kissing, with no foreplay to prepare her, she was prepared to have sex.
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