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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 tension in their stomachs, he carried his in his body. His muscles typically were a ball of stress that even his foam roller in the house could not exercise. He hated their concern 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 lady or a man? the receptionist on the other end of the phone repeated. If he said he chose a male, did that mean he was sexist? If he said he preferred a lady, did it indicate he was a creep who discovered some thing sexually sensuous in his deep-tissue massages? Did it mean he was a fool who anticipated a happy ending?
No preference, is what he typically said. Often, he would add, Whoever is best at unwinding muscles. Alan shocked himself today when he told the receptionist, A woman, please. Where did that originated from? he questioned. After work, he struck the health club, 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, delicately seductive voice call out, Alan? Alan looked up from his magazine to find her; small yet well proportioned, her uniform scrubs didn't hide 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.
Alan was Ally's last client of the day. When she saw his individual health appeared to be good and that he had good skin, she was glad. And when she shook his strong hand and looked 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 space, giving 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 aspect of the massage; his other senses nearly disappear, leaving him with a severe awareness of his body and its feelings. He discovered it to be deeply meditative. However when he heard the door to Room 5 open, the soft footsteps of Ally coming back in, his heart began to beat faster. Uncommon, Alan thought. 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 mild. 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 imagined her heat as subtle waves of orange that brushed his neck, shoulders, and cheeks. Alan could not assist however picture Ally's tight, round ass inches from his head, his face just as close to her pubis. As Ally worked for her hands over Alan's muscular back, (bringing him a smooth, relaxing enjoyment that directly contradicted the stimulation that had begun in his loins), she saw she could smell him. It was simply him and it was more appealing 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 worked as her eyes. Eliminating a little the sheet to work his lower back and excess, the butt s of her palms traced the sinewy figure she attracted her mind. Later on, as her thumbs went into his hamstrings, inner-thighs, and calves, she envisioned the pieces as a whole, standing, naked, in a well-lit location. She liked what her hands notified. On the other hand, Alan attempted to picture a more complete image of the body connected to the hands that dealt with him. The heat Ally gave off offered an unrefined kind of sonar in his pitch-black world. He felt a mild wave of heat when she took an action towards the front or back of the table. He envisioned 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. He could evaluate the length of her arm, and he envisioned the perky breasts that hung just above his spine. He envisioned her strong shoulders rolling forward with each stroke when Ally sat on a stool near his head and started to knead his neck. He pictured 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 before following the collar bone to her sternum. 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 same time. Alan was fully set up. It lifted the sheet, comically, like a camping tent. Alan was awfully embarrassed, 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. He heard her walk away, to the corner of the room. He became aware of masseuses who put a pile of towels on a client's groin in circumstances like these. Possibly that's what she will 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 finished the massage, keeping her distance from his crotch. At this minute, with Alan, the set down sheet brought her excitement and shortness of breath. The butterflies discovered their way 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 thirty minutes had been more than enough preparation. She was ready, right then, at that moment. And she would not let that minute pass.
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