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Alan had actually gone to massage therapists for many years. He was a workaholic who brought worry upon himself, and while others may carry 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 work out. He hated their question almost 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 male or a woman? the receptionist on the other end of the phone duplicated. If he stated he preferred a man, did that mean he was sexist? If he stated he preferred a female, did it imply 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 happy ending?
No choice, is what he normally said. Sometimes, he would include, Whoever is best at unwinding muscles. Alan surprised himself today when he told the receptionist, A woman, please. Where did that originated from? he wondered. After work, he struck the fitness center, showered, then drove to the massage parlour. He had forgotten about his odd action over the phone until now, being in the waiting room, he heard a sweet, delicately seductive voice call out, Alan? Alan looked up from his magazine to find her; small yet well proportioned, her consistent scrubs didn't hide the truth 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, 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 appeared to be good and that he had great skin, she was pleased. 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 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 an acute 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 steps of Ally returning in, his heart began to beat faster. Unusual, Alan believed. He was expected to melt, much deeper into dreamlike relaxation.
Alan couldn't be sure. Alan might feel her heat on him. Alan couldn't help however imagine Ally's tight, round ass inches from his head, his face simply as close to her pubis. As Ally worked for her turn over Alan's muscular back, (bringing him a smooth, soothing satisfaction that directly opposed the stimulation that had begun in his loins), she saw she could smell him. And she liked it. It wasn't perfume, it wasn't aftershave. It was just him and it was more attractive than anything Alan could have ever stated. Ally was highly attracted to her client. She smiled to herself as she accepted that fact, and she discharged a quiet chuckle. Alan heard it. Slightly scratchy, even her laugh sounded like tasting something tasty. The sound wrapped itself around him and Alan believed, I am insanely 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 sinewy figure she drew in her mind. Alan attempted to envision a more total image of the body connected to the hands that worked on him. The heat Ally released offered a crude kind of sonar in his pitch-black world. When she took a step towards the front or back of the table, he felt a mild wave of warmth. He envisioned her hips, her smooth belly 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 pictured the perky breasts that hung simply above his spinal column. He envisioned her strong shoulders rolling forward with each stroke when Ally sat on a stool near his head and began to knead his neck. He imagined her not in the nurse's scrubs that she used, 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 prior to following the collar bone to her breast bone. And so it went this way 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 raised the sheet to make it much easier for him. When he had actually moved, and she let the sheet back down, she and Alan noticed it at the same time. Alan was completely put up. It raised the sheet, comically, like a camping tent. Alan was extremely ashamed, his cheeks flushing with colour. He declined to open his eyes to try to make out Ally's reaction. He didn't know what to say. Then, he heard her walk away, to the corner of the space. He heard of masseuses who put a pile of towels on a client's groin in circumstances like these. Maybe that's what she is about to do, he hoped. Before she stepped away, Ally had actually frozen. Listed below her, Alan's cock grabbed her through the sheet, through the dim light. With any other client, she would have been appalled, revolted. She would have begrudgingly ended up the massage, keeping her range from his crotch. At this minute, with Alan, the set down sheet brought her enjoyment and shortness of breath. The butterflies found their method from her chest to the place listed below her navel. She wanted Alan. She found 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 actually been more than enough preparation. She was ready, best then, at that moment. And she would not let that minute pass.
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