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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 bring their tension in their stomachs, he carried his in his body. His muscles frequently were a ball of stress that even his foam roller at home could not exercise. He disliked their question 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 prefer a lady or a guy? 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 found some thing sexually sensual in his deep-tissue massages? Did it suggest he was a fool who expected a pleased ending?
No choice, is what he typically said. In some cases, he would add, Whoever is best at relaxing muscles. Alan shocked himself today when he informed the receptionist, A female, please. Where did that originated from? he wondered. After work, he hit the gym, showered, then drove to the massage parlour. He had forgotten his weird response over the phone until now, being in the waiting space, he heard a sweet, delicately sexy voice call out, Alan? Alan searched for from his magazine to discover her; small yet well proportioned, her consistent scrubs didn't hide the reality 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. 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 great and that he had great skin, she was happy. 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 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 a severe awareness of his body and its feelings. 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 much faster. Unusual, Alan believed. He was expected to melt, deeper into dreamlike relaxation.
He could smell Ally: flowers, or strawberries? Alan couldn't be sure. The fragrance was mild and sweet. 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 envisioned her heat as subtle waves of orange that brushed his neck, shoulders, and cheeks. Alan couldn't envision but help 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, soothing pleasure that directly opposed the stimulation that had actually begun in his loins), she noticed she might 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 brought in to her client. She smiled to herself as she accepted that fact, and she blurted a quiet chuckle. Alan heard it. Slightly raspy, even her laugh sounded like tasting something delicious. The sound covered 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 excess, the butt s of her palms traced the sinewy figure she drew in her mind. On the other hand, Alan attempted to envision a more complete photo of the body connected to the hands that dealt with 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 heat. He visualized 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. When Ally sat on a stool near his head and began to knead his neck, he envisioned her strong shoulders rolling forward with each stroke. 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 raised the sheet to make it simpler for him. When he had 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 camping tent. Alan was terribly ashamed, his cheeks flushing with colour. He declined to open his eyes to attempt to construct Ally's response. He didn't understand what to state. Then, he heard her leave, to the corner of the room. He became aware of masseuses who put a pile of towels on a customer's groin in situations like these. Maybe that's what she is about to do, he hoped. Before she stepped away, Ally had actually frozen. Below her, Alan's cock reached for her through the sheet, through the dim light. At this minute, with Alan, the perched sheet brought her excitement and shortness of breath. She wanted Alan. She found that, for the very first time in her life, without kissing, with no foreplay to prepare her, she was all set to have sex.
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