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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 stress in their stomachs, he brought his in his body. His muscles often were a ball of stress that even his foam roller in your home could not work out. He hated their question nearly as much as the expression 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 guy? the receptionist on the other end of the phone repeated. If he stated he preferred a man, did that mean he was sexist? If he stated he preferred a female, did it imply he was a creep who found some thing sexually sensuous in his deep-tissue massages? Did it imply he was a fool who expected a happy ending?
No preference, is what he normally said. In some cases, he would include, Whoever is best at unwinding muscles. Alan amazed himself today when he told the receptionist, A female, please. Where did that come from? he questioned. After work, he hit the gym, showered, then drove to the massage parlour. He had forgotten his odd reaction 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; small yet well proportioned, her uniform scrubs didn't conceal the truth 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 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 health seemed to be good and that he had great skin, she was delighted. 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 space, giving him 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 an acute awareness of his body and its sensations. He found it to be deeply meditative. However when he heard the door to Room 5 open, the soft steps of Ally coming back in, his heart started to beat much faster. Uncommon, Alan believed. He was expected to melt, much deeper into dreamlike relaxation.
He could smell Ally: flowers, or strawberries? Alan couldn't make certain. The scent was sweet and mild. 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 warmth as subtle waves of orange that brushed his neck, shoulders, and cheeks. Alan could not envision but assist Ally's tight, round ass inches from his head, his face just as near her pubis. As Ally worked for her hands over Alan's muscular back, (bringing him a smooth, soothing satisfaction that straight opposed the stimulation that had actually started in his loins), she observed she might smell him. It was simply him and it was more attractive than anything Alan might have ever stated. Ally was strongly attracted to her customer. She smiled to herself as she accepted that fact, and she let out a peaceful chuckle. Alan heard it. Mildly scratchy, even her laugh seemed 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. Getting rid of a bit of the sheet to work his lower back and gluts, the butt s of her palms traced the powerful figure she drew in her mind. Alan tried to picture a more complete photo of the body connected to the hands that worked on him. The heat Ally emitted offered a crude type of finder in his pitch-black world. He felt a mild wave of heat when she took a step towards the front or back of the table. He imagined her hips, her smooth belly and her toned waist above.
When she worked his upper back, she leaned forward, digging into him with her elbow. He could gauge the length of her upper arm, and he imagined the perky breasts that hung simply above his spinal column. He pictured her strong shoulders rolling forward with each stroke when Ally sat on a stool near his head and began 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 breast bone. Therefore 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 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 totally set up. It raised the sheet, comically, like a camping tent. Alan was terribly embarrassed, his cheeks flushing with colour. He refused to open his eyes to attempt to construct out Ally's reaction. He didn't understand what to say. 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 will do, he hoped. Prior to she stepped away, Ally had actually frozen. Below her, Alan's dick reached for her through the sheet, through the dim light. With any other client, she would have been appalled, disgusted. She would have begrudgingly finished the massage, keeping her range from his crotch. At this moment, with Alan, the perched sheet brought her excitement and shortness of breath. The butterflies found their method from her chest down to the place listed below her navel. She desired Alan. She found that, for the 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 actually been sufficient preparation. She was ready, ideal then, at that moment. And she would not let that minute pass.
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