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Alan had actually gone to massage therapists for several years. He was a workaholic who brought worry upon himself, and while others may bring their tension in their stomachs, he brought his in his body. His muscles frequently were a ball of stress that even his foam roller in your home might not exercise. He disliked their question 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 guy or a lady? the receptionist on the other end of the phone duplicated. If he stated he chose a man, did that mean he was sexist? If he said he preferred a female, did it imply he was a creep who found some thing sexually sensual in his deep-tissue massages? Did it indicate he was a fool who anticipated a delighted ending?
No choice, is what he usually said. Often, he would include, Whoever is best at unwinding muscles. Alan surprised himself today when he told the receptionist, A woman, please. Where did that come from? he wondered. After work, he hit the health club, showered, then drove to the massage parlour. He had forgotten about his strange action over the phone until now, being in the waiting room, he heard a sweet, delicately sexy voice call out, Alan? Alan looked up from his publication to find her; small yet well proportioned, her uniform scrubs didn't conceal the reality 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 customer of the day. When she saw his personal hygiene seemed to be good and that he had great skin, she was delighted. 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 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 nearly vanish, 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 faster. 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 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 heat as subtle waves of orange that brushed his neck, shoulders, and cheeks. Alan couldn't think of but help Ally's tight, round ass inches from his head, his face just as close to her pubis. As Ally worked for her turn over Alan's muscular back, (bringing him a smooth, calming satisfaction that straight contradicted the stimulation that had actually started in his loins), she discovered she might smell him. And she liked it. It wasn't cologne, it wasn't aftershave. It was merely him and it was more appealing than anything Alan could have ever stated. Ally was strongly brought in to her client. She smiled to herself as she accepted that fact, and she discharged a peaceful chuckle. Alan heard it. Slightly scratchy, even her laugh sounded like tasting something tasty. The sound wrapped itself around him and Alan thought, I am outrageously smitten by this masseuse.
As she worked his body, her hands functioned as her eyes. Eliminating a little the sheet to work his lower back and gluts, the butt s of her palms traced the sinewy figure she attracted her mind. Later on, as her thumbs dug into his calves, inner-thighs, and hamstrings, she imagined the pieces as a whole, standing, naked, in a well-lit place. She liked what her hands informed. Alan tried to envision a more total photo of the body attached to the hands that worked on him. The heat Ally produced offered a crude type of finder in his pitch-black world. When she took an action towards the front or back of the table, he felt a gentle wave of warmth. He pictured 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 determine the length of her arm, and he thought of the perky breasts that hung simply above his spine. When Ally sat on a stool near his head and began to knead his neck, he imagined her strong shoulders rolling forward with each stroke. He imagined 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 sternum. Therefore it went in this manner for half an hour. It was time for her to massage his chest, arms, and quadriceps. Run 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 saw it at the same time. Alan was completely put up. It raised the sheet, comically, like a tent. Alan was terribly embarrassed, his cheeks flushing with colour. He refused to open his eyes to try to make out Ally's reaction. He didn't know what to state. He heard her walk away, to the corner of the space. He heard of masseuses who put a stack of towels on a client's groin in circumstances like these. Perhaps that's what she will do, he hoped. Prior to she stepped away, Ally had frozen. Listed below her, Alan's cock grabbed her through the sheet, through the dim light. With any other client, she would have been appalled, disgusted. She would have begrudgingly completed 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 discovered their way from her chest to the place 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 have sex. The last half an hour had actually been more than enough preparation. She was ready, best then, at that moment. And she would not let that minute pass.
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