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Alan had 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 typically were a ball of tension that even his foam roller at home could not exercise. He disliked their question nearly 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 female or a guy? the receptionist on the other end of the phone duplicated. If he stated he preferred a male, 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 imply he was a fool who anticipated a happy ending?
No choice, is what he generally stated. In some cases, he would add, Whoever is best at relaxing muscles. Alan amazed himself today when he informed the receptionist, A woman, please. Where did that originated from? he wondered. After work, he struck the health club, showered, then drove to the massage parlour. He had forgotten his strange response over the phone until now, being in the waiting space, he heard a sweet, casually sexy voice call out, Alan? Alan looked up from his magazine to find her; small yet well proportioned, her uniform scrubs didn't conceal the reality 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. If she were tasting each word like each syllable were a caramel, it sounded as. Her voice, alone, excited him. He shook her hand, and her skin was baby-soft.
Alan was Ally's last client of the day. When she saw his individual health appeared to be excellent and that he had good skin, she was glad. And when she shook his strong hand and gazed 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 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 feelings. He found it to be deeply meditative. But when he heard the door to Room 5 open, the soft footsteps of Ally returning in, his heart began to beat much faster. Unusual, Alan believed. He was supposed to melt, deeper into dreamlike relaxation.
He could smell Ally: flowers, or strawberries? Alan couldn't make certain. The scent was mild 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 envisioned her warmth as subtle waves of orange that brushed his neck, shoulders, and cheeks. Alan couldn't help however think of Ally's tight, round ass inches from his head, his face just as near to her pubis. As Ally worked for her hands over Alan's muscular back, (bringing him a smooth, calming enjoyment that directly contradicted the stimulation that had actually begun in his loins), she noticed she could smell him. It was just him and it was more appealing than anything Alan might have ever said. Ally was highly brought in to her client. She smiled to herself as she accepted that fact, and she blurted a peaceful chuckle. Alan heard it. Slightly scratchy, even her laugh seemed like tasting something tasty. 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. Getting rid of a little the sheet to work his lower back and gluts, the butt s of her palms traced the powerful figure she drew in her mind. Later on, as her thumbs dug into his calves, inner-thighs, and hamstrings, she envisioned the pieces as a whole, standing, naked, in a well-lit location. She liked what her hands notified. Alan attempted to envision a more complete image of the body attached to the hands that worked on him. The heat Ally gave off provided 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. When Ally sat on a stool near his head and began to knead his neck, he envisioned her strong shoulders rolling forward with each stroke. Therefore it went this way 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 moved, and she let the sheet back down, she and Alan noticed it at the same time. Alan was completely put up. It lifted the sheet, comically, like a camping tent. Alan was awfully embarrassed, his cheeks flushing with colour. He refused to open his eyes to try to construct out Ally's reaction. He didn't know what to say. Then, he heard her leave, 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. Before she stepped away, Ally had actually frozen. Below her, Alan's cock grabbed her through the sheet, through the dim light. With any other customer, she would have been horrified, revolted. She would have begrudgingly ended up the massage, keeping her distance from his crotch. At this minute, with Alan, the set down sheet brought her excitement and shortness of breath. The butterflies found their way from her chest 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 half an hour had been more than enough preparation. She was ready, best then, at that moment. And she would not let that moment pass.
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