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Alan had gone to massage therapists for several years. He was a workaholic who brought concern upon himself, and while others may carry their tension in their stomachs, he carried his in his body. His muscles typically were a ball of stress that even his foam roller in your home 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 choose a lady or a male? the receptionist on the other end of the phone duplicated. If he said he preferred a male, did that mean he was sexist? If he stated he preferred a woman, 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 anticipated a happy ending?
No choice, is what he typically stated. Often, he would include, Whoever is best at relaxing muscles. Alan surprised himself today when he told the receptionist, A lady, please. Where did that come from? he wondered. After work, he struck the fitness center, showered, then drove to the massage parlour. He had forgotten his weird reaction over the phone previously, being in the waiting room, he heard a sweet, delicately sexy voice call out, Alan? Alan looked up from his magazine to discover her; small yet well proportioned, her consistent scrubs didn't conceal the fact 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. 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 personal health seemed to be good and that he had excellent skin, she was delighted. And when she shook his strong hand and gazed 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 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 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 believed. He was expected to melt, deeper into dreamlike relaxation.
He could smell Ally: flowers, or strawberries? Alan could not make sure. The scent was sweet and moderate. 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 assist however 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 satisfaction that straight opposed the stimulation that had actually begun in his loins), she observed she could 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 said. 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 seemed like tasting something delicious. The sound covered itself around him and Alan thought, I am outrageously smitten by this masseuse.
As she worked his body, her hands functioned as her eyes. Removing a little the sheet to work his lower back and gluts, the butt s of her palms traced the powerful figure she attracted her mind. Later, as her thumbs went into his hamstrings, inner-thighs, and calves, she pictured the pieces as a whole, standing, naked, in a well-lit location. She liked what her hands notified. Alan tried to envision a more total image of the body connected to the hands that worked on him. The heat Ally provided 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 might gauge the length of her upper arm, and he thought of the perky breasts that hung simply above his spine. He imagined her strong shoulders rolling forward with each stroke when Ally sat on a stool near his head and started to knead his neck. He imagined 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 sternum. 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 raised the sheet to make it 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 put up. It lifted the sheet, comically, like a tent. Alan was extremely ashamed, his cheeks flushing with colour. He refused 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 client's groin in scenarios 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. With any other client, she would have been horrified, disgusted. She would have begrudgingly completed the massage, keeping her distance from his crotch. But at this moment, with Alan, the set down sheet brought her enjoyment 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, with no foreplay to prepare her, she was ready to make love. The last half an hour had been sufficient preparation. She was ready, ideal then, at that moment. And she would not let that minute pass.
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