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Alan had gone to massage therapists for several years. He was a workaholic who brought worry upon himself, and while others might bring their tension 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 almost as much as the phrase 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 repeated. If he stated he chose a guy, did that mean he was sexist? If he said he chose a lady, 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 delighted ending?
No choice, is what he usually 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 come from? he wondered. After work, he hit the fitness center, showered, then drove to the massage parlour. He had ignored his unusual response over the phone until now, being in the waiting space, he heard a sweet, delicately sexy voice call out, Alan? Alan looked up from his magazine to find her; small 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 stated.
Alan was Ally's last customer of the day. When she saw his individual health seemed to be excellent and that he had excellent 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 escaped into darkness. Alan enjoyed this element of the massage; his other senses nearly vanish, leaving him with an intense 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 steps of Ally returning in, his heart began to beat quicker. Uncommon, Alan believed. He was supposed to melt, deeper into dreamlike relaxation.
He could smell Ally: flowers, or strawberries? Alan could not make sure. The aroma was sweet and moderate. 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 pictured her warmth as subtle waves of orange that brushed his neck, shoulders, and cheeks. Alan could not help but think of Ally's tight, round ass inches from his head, his face just as near to her pubis. As Ally worked for her turn over Alan's muscular back, (bringing him a smooth, soothing pleasure that straight contradicted the stimulation that had actually begun in his loins), she discovered she could smell him. And she liked it. It wasn't perfume, it wasn't aftershave. It was merely him and it was more appealing than anything Alan could have ever stated. Alan heard it. The sound covered itself around him and Alan believed, 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 excess, the butt s of her palms traced the sinewy figure she drew in her mind. Alan tried to imagine a more total picture of the body connected to the hands that worked on him. The heat Ally provided off provided 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. When Ally sat on a stool near his head and started 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 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 put up. It raised the sheet, comically, like a camping tent. Alan was awfully ashamed, his cheeks flushing with colour. He refused to open his eyes to attempt to construct Ally's reaction. He didn't understand what to say. Then, he heard her leave, to the corner of the space. He became aware of masseuses who put a stack of towels on a customer's groin in circumstances like these. Maybe that's what she will do, he hoped. Before she stepped away, Ally had actually frozen. Below her, Alan's cock grabbed her through the sheet, through the dim light. With any other client, she would have been horrified, disgusted. She would have begrudgingly completed the massage, keeping her range from his crotch. At this moment, with Alan, the perched sheet brought her enjoyment and shortness of breath. She desired Alan. She found that, for the very first time in her life, without kissing, with no foreplay to prepare her, she was ready to have sex.
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