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Alan had gone to massage therapists for many 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 in your home might not exercise. He hated 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 guy or a woman? the receptionist on the other end of the phone repeated. If he stated he chose a guy, did that mean he was sexist? If he stated he preferred a woman, did it suggest he was a creep who discovered some thing sexually sensual in his deep-tissue massages? Did it mean he was a fool who expected a pleased ending?
No choice, is what he typically stated. Often, he would include, Whoever is best at unwinding muscles. Alan shocked himself today when he informed the receptionist, A female, please. Where did that come from? he questioned. After work, he hit the gym, showered, then drove to the massage parlour. He had forgotten about his strange reaction over the phone until now, sitting in the waiting space, he heard a sweet, delicately seductive voice call out, Alan? Alan looked up from his publication to find her; small yet well proportioned, her consistent 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. It sounded as if she were tasting each word like each syllable were a caramel. Her voice, alone, aroused 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 hygiene seemed to be good and that he had good skin, she was thankful. 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, providing 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 almost vanish, leaving him with an intense 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 coming back in, his heart began to beat quicker. Unusual, Alan thought. He was supposed to melt, much deeper into dreamlike relaxation.
He could smell Ally: flowers, or strawberries? Alan could not make sure. The scent was moderate and sweet. 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 warmth as subtle waves of orange that brushed his neck, shoulders, and cheeks. Alan could not help but imagine Ally's tight, round ass inches from his head, his face just as near her pubis. As Ally worked for her hands over Alan's muscular back, (bringing him a smooth, soothing enjoyment that directly contradicted the stimulation that had begun in his loins), she noticed she might smell him. It was simply him and it was more attractive than anything Alan could have ever stated. Alan heard it. The sound covered itself around him and Alan thought, I am outrageously smitten by this masseuse.
As she worked his body, her hands served as her eyes. Eliminating 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 picture a more total picture of the body attached 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 took an action towards the front or back of the table, he felt a mild wave of warmth. He imagined her hips, her smooth tummy and her toned waist above.
When she worked his upper back, she leaned forward, digging into him with her elbow. He could gauge the length of her upper arm, and he imagined the perky breasts that hung just 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 used, 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 before following the collar bone to her breast bone. And so it went by doing this for half an hour. It was time for her to massage his chest, arms, and quadriceps. Scoot down for me, Alan, she whispered, and turn onto your back. She lifted the sheet to make it easier for him. When he had actually moved, and she let the sheet pull back, she and Alan observed it at the same time. Alan was fully set up. It lifted the sheet, comically, like a tent. Alan was extremely ashamed, his cheeks flushing with colour. He declined to open his eyes to attempt to construct Ally's reaction. He didn't understand what to say. Then, he heard her walk away, to the corner of the room. 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 is about to do, he hoped. Before she stepped away, Ally had frozen. Below her, Alan's dick reached for her through the sheet, through the dim light. With any other client, she would have been appalled, disgusted. She would have begrudgingly finished the massage, keeping her range from his crotch. At this minute, with Alan, the perched sheet brought her enjoyment and shortness of breath. The butterflies discovered their method from her chest down to the location below her navel. She desired Alan. She found that, for the very first time in her life, without kissing, without any foreplay to prepare her, she was ready to make love. The last thirty minutes had actually been ample preparation. She was ready, best then, at that moment. And she would not let that minute pass.
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