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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 carry their tension in their stomachs, he brought his in his body. His muscles often were a ball of stress that even his foam roller in the house might not exercise. He hated their concern nearly as much as the expression that every masseuse he had ever had stated to him after a massage: How do you feel? Sir, do you prefer a woman or a male? the receptionist on the other end of the phone repeated. If he said he chose a man, did that mean he was sexist? If he stated he chose a lady, did it suggest he was a creep who found some thing sexually sensual in his deep-tissue massages? Did it suggest he was a fool who expected a delighted ending?
No choice, is what he typically stated. Often, he would include, Whoever is best at relaxing muscles. Alan shocked himself today when he informed the receptionist, A female, please. Where did that come from? he wondered. After work, he struck the fitness center, showered, then drove to the massage parlour. He had ignored his unusual action over the phone until now, sitting in the waiting space, he heard a sweet, delicately seductive voice call out, Alan? Alan searched for from his publication to discover her; petite 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 stated. 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 customer of the day. She was glad when she saw his individual hygiene seemed to be good and that he had excellent skin. 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, giving him 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 vanish, leaving him with an acute awareness of his body and its sensations. He found it to be deeply meditative. But when he heard the door to Room 5 open, the soft steps of Ally coming back 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 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 imagined her warmth as subtle waves of orange that brushed his neck, shoulders, and cheeks. Alan could not assist but envision 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, soothing pleasure that directly opposed the stimulation that had started in his loins), she noticed she could smell him. It was simply him and it was more appealing than anything Alan might have ever said. Alan heard it. The sound covered itself around him and Alan thought, I am insanely smitten by this masseuse.
As she worked his body, her hands functioned as her eyes. Removing a little 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 dug into his hamstrings, calves, and inner-thighs, she pictured the pieces as a whole, standing, naked, in a well-lit location. She liked what her hands informed. Alan tried to think of a more total photo of the body attached to the hands that worked on him. The heat Ally produced offered a crude kind of finder in his pitch-black world. When she took a step towards the front or back of the table, he felt a gentle wave of warmth. He visualized her hips, her smooth stomach and her toned waist above.
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 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 lifted the sheet to make it much easier for him. When he had actually moved, and she let the sheet back down, she and Alan observed it at the same time. Alan was completely erect. It lifted the sheet, comically, like a camping tent. Alan was awfully ashamed, his cheeks flushing with colour. He refused to open his eyes to try to make out Ally's reaction. He didn't know what to state. Then, he heard her leave, to the corner of the space. He became aware 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. Prior to she stepped away, Ally had frozen. Below her, Alan's cock reached for her through the sheet, through the dim light. However at this moment, with Alan, the perched sheet brought her enjoyment and shortness of breath. The butterflies found their method from her chest down to the location below her navel. She wanted Alan. She found 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 actually 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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