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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 might 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 might not work out. He hated their concern almost 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 choose a guy or a woman? the receptionist on the other end of the phone repeated. If he said he preferred a guy, did that mean he was sexist? If he stated he chose a female, did it imply he was a creep who found some thing sexually sensual in his deep-tissue massages? Did it indicate he was a fool who anticipated a delighted ending?
No choice, is what he usually said. Often, he would add, Whoever is best at relaxing muscles. Alan shocked himself today when he told the receptionist, A female, please. Where did that originated from? he questioned. After work, he struck the gym, showered, then drove to the massage parlour. He had ignored his weird reaction over the phone previously, being in the waiting space, he heard a sweet, casually seductive voice call out, Alan? Alan looked up from his publication to discover her; petite 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.
Alan was Ally's last customer of the day. She was glad when she saw his individual hygiene appeared to be great and that he had excellent skin. And when she shook his strong hand and looked 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 space, 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 slipped away into darkness. Alan enjoyed this aspect of the massage; his other senses nearly disappear, leaving him with an acute awareness of his body and its sensations. He found it to be deeply meditative. When he heard the door to Room 5 open, the soft footsteps of Ally coming back in, his heart started to beat quicker. Unusual, Alan believed. He was supposed to melt, much deeper into dreamlike relaxation.
He could smell Ally: flowers, or strawberries? Alan couldn't be sure. The fragrance was sweet and moderate. 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 pictured her warmth as subtle waves of orange that brushed his neck, shoulders, and cheeks. Alan couldn't envision but assist Ally's tight, round ass inches from his head, his face just as near her pubis. As Ally worked for her turn over Alan's muscular back, (bringing him a smooth, relaxing 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 cologne, it wasn't aftershave. It was merely him and it was more attractive than anything Alan might have ever said. Alan heard it. 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. Removing a little the sheet to work his lower back and gluts, the butt s of her palms traced the sinewy figure she attracted her mind. Later on, as her thumbs dug into his inner-thighs, hamstrings, and calves, she pictured the pieces as a whole, standing, naked, in a well-lit place. She liked what her hands informed. Alan attempted 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 sonar in his pitch-black world.
When she worked his upper back, she leaned forward, digging into him with her elbow. He could evaluate the length of her arm, and he pictured the perky breasts that hung simply above his spine. When Ally rested on a stool near his head and started to knead his neck, he pictured her strong shoulders rolling forward with each stroke. He envisioned her not in the nurse's scrubs that she wore, 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. Scoot down for me, Alan, she whispered, and turn onto your back. When he had moved, and she let the sheet back down, she and Alan observed it at the exact same time. Alan was totally erect. It lifted the sheet, comically, like a tent. Alan was awfully 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 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 is about to do, he hoped. Before she stepped away, Ally had frozen. Below her, Alan's cock grabbed her through the sheet, through the dim light. With any other customer, she would have been horrified, disgusted. She would have begrudgingly ended up the massage, keeping her range from his crotch. But 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 place below her navel. She wanted Alan. She discovered that, for the very 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, ideal then, at that moment. And she would not let that minute pass.
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