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Alan had gone to massage therapists for many years. He was a workaholic who brought concern upon himself, and while others might bring their tension in their stomachs, he brought his in his body. His muscles frequently were a ball of tension that even his foam roller in your home might not work out. 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 female or a male? the receptionist on the other end of the phone duplicated. If he said he chose a guy, did that mean he was sexist? If he said he preferred a woman, did it imply he was a creep who discovered some thing sexually sensual in his deep-tissue massages? Did it imply he was a fool who anticipated a pleased ending?
No preference, is what he typically said. In some cases, he would include, Whoever is best at unwinding muscles. Alan surprised himself today when he informed the receptionist, A female, please. Where did that originated from? he questioned. After work, he struck the gym, showered, then drove to the massage parlour. He had forgotten his weird reaction over the phone until now, sitting in the waiting room, he heard a sweet, casually seductive voice call out, Alan? Alan searched for from his magazine to discover her; small 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 said.
Alan was Ally's last client of the day. She was glad when she saw his personal hygiene appeared to be great and that he had excellent skin. 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, providing 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 element of the massage; his other senses almost disappear, leaving him with a severe awareness of his body and its feelings. He discovered 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 quicker. Unusual, Alan believed. He was supposed to melt, much deeper into dreamlike relaxation.
He could smell Ally: flowers, or strawberries? Alan could not be sure. The fragrance 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 envisioned her warmth as subtle waves of orange that brushed his neck, shoulders, and cheeks. Alan could not help but picture Ally's tight, round ass inches from his head, his face just as near to her pubis. As Ally worked for her hands over Alan's muscular back, (bringing him a smooth, calming enjoyment that straight opposed the stimulation that had begun in his loins), she saw 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. Ally was highly attracted to her client. She smiled to herself as she accepted that fact, and she blurted a peaceful chuckle. Alan heard it. Mildly raspy, even her laugh seemed like tasting something delicious. The sound wrapped itself around him and Alan believed, I am outrageously smitten by this masseuse.
As she worked his body, her hands served as her eyes. Removing a bit of the sheet to work his lower back and excess, the butt s of her palms traced the powerful figure she drew in her mind. On the other hand, Alan tried to think of a more complete picture of the body connected to the hands that dealt with him. The heat Ally emitted supplied a crude kind of sonar in his pitch-black world. He felt a gentle wave of warmth when she took a step towards the front or back of the table. He imagined 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. He could gauge the length of her arm, and he pictured the perky breasts that hung just above his spinal column. When Ally rested on a stool near his head and started to knead his neck, he envisioned her strong shoulders rolling forward with each stroke. 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 before following the collar bone to her sternum. Run 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 discovered it at the same time. Alan was completely put 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 attempt to make out Ally's response. He didn't understand what to say. Then, he heard her walk away, to the corner of the space. He heard of masseuses who put a stack of towels on a customer's groin in situations like these. Perhaps that's what she will do, he hoped. Before she stepped away, Ally had frozen. Below her, Alan's dick reached for her through the sheet, through the dim light. However at this moment, with Alan, the perched sheet brought her excitement and shortness of breath. The butterflies found their way from her chest down to the place listed below her navel. She wanted Alan. She found that, for the first time in her life, without kissing, without any foreplay to prepare her, she was ready to make love. The last half an hour had actually been sufficient preparation. She was ready, best then, at that moment. And she would not let that moment pass.
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