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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 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 at home could not exercise. He hated their question 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 prefer a woman or a man? the receptionist on the other end of the phone duplicated. If he said he chose a male, did that mean he was sexist? If he stated he preferred a female, did it indicate he was a creep who discovered some thing sexually sensual in his deep-tissue massages? Did it mean he was a fool who anticipated a pleased ending?
No preference, is what he generally said. Often, he would include, Whoever is best at relaxing muscles. Alan shocked himself today when he informed the receptionist, A woman, please. Where did that come from? he questioned. After work, he hit the fitness center, showered, then drove to the massage parlour. He had forgotten about his weird action over the phone until now, sitting in the waiting room, he heard a sweet, delicately seductive voice call out, Alan? Alan searched for from his publication to discover her; petite yet well proportioned, her uniform scrubs didn't conceal 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 stated. 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 customer of the day. When she saw his individual hygiene appeared to be excellent and that he had good skin, she was happy. 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, offering 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 escaped into darkness. Alan enjoyed this element of the massage; his other senses almost disappear, leaving him with an acute awareness of his body and its sensations. He discovered it to be deeply meditative. But when he heard the door to Room 5 open, the soft steps of Ally returning in, his heart started to beat faster. Unusual, Alan thought. He was expected to melt, much deeper into dreamlike relaxation.
Alan could not be sure. Alan might feel her heat on him. Alan couldn't assist however envision Ally's tight, round ass inches from his head, his face simply as close to her pubis. As Ally worked for her hands over Alan's muscular back, (bringing him a smooth, relaxing satisfaction that straight opposed the stimulation that had started in his loins), she saw she might smell him. And she liked it. It wasn't cologne, it wasn't aftershave. It was just him and it was more attractive than anything Alan could have ever stated. Alan heard it. The sound covered itself around him and Alan believed, I am insanely smitten by this masseuse.
As she worked his body, her hands functioned as her eyes. Eliminating a little bit of the sheet to work his lower back and gluts, the butt s of her palms traced the powerful figure she attracted her mind. Later on, as her thumbs went into his hamstrings, calves, and inner-thighs, she pictured the pieces as a whole, standing, naked, in a well-lit place. She liked what her hands notified. Alan attempted to think of a more total image of the body connected to the hands that worked on him. The heat Ally offered off provided an unrefined 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 upper arm, and he envisioned the perky breasts that hung simply above his spine. He pictured her strong shoulders rolling forward with each stroke when Ally sat on a stool near his head and started to knead his neck. He imagined 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 prior to following the collar bone to her breast bone. And so it went in this manner 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 saw it at the same time. Alan was fully erect. It raised 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 construct Ally's response. He didn't understand what to state. Then, he heard her walk away, to the corner of the space. He became aware of masseuses who put a pile of towels on a client's groin in situations 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 completed the massage, keeping her range from his crotch. At this minute, with Alan, the set down sheet brought her enjoyment and shortness of breath. She wanted Alan. She found that, for the first time in her life, without kissing, with no foreplay to prepare her, she was all set to have sex.
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