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Alan had actually gone to massage therapists for many years. He was a workaholic who brought concern upon himself, and while others may bring their stress in their stomachs, he carried his in his body. His muscles frequently were a ball of stress that even his foam roller at home might not work out. He disliked their concern nearly 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 male or a woman? the receptionist on the other end of the phone repeated. If he stated he preferred a guy, did that mean he was sexist? If he said he chose a female, did it indicate he was a creep who discovered some thing sexually sensual in his deep-tissue massages? Did it indicate he was a fool who anticipated a happy ending?
No preference, is what he normally said. In some cases, he would include, Whoever is best at unwinding muscles. Alan shocked himself today when he told 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 odd action over the phone until now, being in the waiting space, he heard a sweet, casually seductive voice call out, Alan? Alan looked up from his publication to find her; petite yet well proportioned, her uniform 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 said.
Alan was Ally's last client of the day. When she saw his personal hygiene seemed to be great 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 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 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 aspect 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 footsteps of Ally coming back in, his heart began to beat much faster. Uncommon, Alan thought. He was expected to melt, much deeper into dreamlike relaxation.
Alan couldn't be sure. Alan might feel her heat on him. Alan couldn't help but picture 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 enjoyment that directly opposed the stimulation that had started in his loins), she noticed she might smell him. It was merely him and it was more appealing than anything Alan could have ever said. Alan heard it. The sound wrapped itself around him and Alan thought, I am outrageously 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 excess, the butt s of her palms traced the powerful figure she drew in her mind. Later, as her thumbs went into his hamstrings, calves, and inner-thighs, she envisioned the pieces as a whole, standing, naked, in a well-lit place. She liked what her hands notified. Alan attempted to envision a more total picture of the body attached to the hands that worked on him. The heat Ally produced provided an unrefined type 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 warmth. He visualized 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 arm, and he imagined the perky breasts that hung just above his spine. When Ally rested on a stool near his head and began to knead his neck, he pictured her strong shoulders rolling forward with each stroke. He imagined her not in the nurse's scrubs that she wore, 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. 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 much easier for him. When he had actually moved, and she let the sheet pull back, she and Alan saw it at the same time. Alan was completely set up. It lifted the sheet, comically, like a tent. Alan was terribly ashamed, his cheeks flushing with colour. He declined to open his eyes to try to construct out Ally's reaction. He didn't understand what to state. Then, he heard her leave, to the corner of the space. He heard of masseuses who put a stack of towels on a client's groin in situations like these. Possibly that's what she will do, he hoped. Before she stepped away, Ally had actually frozen. Listed below her, Alan's cock grabbed her through the sheet, through the dim light. With any other client, she would have been horrified, revolted. She would have begrudgingly ended up the massage, keeping her range from his crotch. At this minute, with Alan, the set down sheet brought her enjoyment and shortness of breath. The butterflies found their method from her chest down to the location listed below her navel. She wanted Alan. She discovered that, for the first time in her life, without kissing, with no foreplay to prepare her, she was ready to make love. The last half an hour had been more than enough preparation. She was ready, right then, at that moment. And she would not let that minute pass.
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