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Alan had gone to massage therapists for many years. He was a workaholic who brought worry upon himself, and while others might carry their tension in their stomachs, he brought his in his body. His muscles often were a ball of stress that even his foam roller in the house could not exercise. He hated their question almost 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 man or a lady? the receptionist on the other end of the phone duplicated. If he stated he preferred a guy, did that mean he was sexist? If he stated he preferred a woman, did it suggest 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 choice, is what he usually stated. Sometimes, he would add, Whoever is best at relaxing muscles. Alan surprised himself today when he told the receptionist, A lady, please. Where did that originated from? he wondered. After work, he hit the gym, showered, then drove to the massage parlour. He had forgotten about his weird reaction over the phone until now, sitting in the waiting room, he heard a sweet, delicately seductive voice call out, Alan? Alan looked up from his magazine to find her; petite yet well proportioned, her consistent scrubs didn't hide 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 stated. If she were tasting each word like each syllable were a caramel, it sounded as. Her voice, alone, excited him. He shook her hand, and her skin was baby-soft.
Alan was Ally's last client of the day. She was glad when she saw his personal health seemed to be good which he had great skin. And when she shook his strong hand and gazed 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 room, giving him privacy to disrobe and crawl under the sheet. With his head in the massage table's cradle, his eyes closed, Alan's world slipped away into darkness. Alan enjoyed this aspect of the massage; his other senses almost vanish, leaving him with a severe awareness of his body and its sensations. 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 began to beat faster. Unusual, Alan believed. He was expected to melt, deeper into dreamlike relaxation.
Alan could not be sure. Alan could feel her heat on him. Alan could not 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, relaxing pleasure that straight contradicted the stimulation that had begun in his loins), she saw she could smell him. And she liked it. It wasn't cologne, it wasn't aftershave. It was merely him and it was more attractive than anything Alan could have ever said. Ally was highly brought in to her customer. She smiled to herself as she accepted that fact, and she blurted a peaceful chuckle. Alan heard it. Mildly scratchy, even her laugh sounded like tasting something scrumptious. The sound covered itself around him and Alan thought, I am insanely 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 gluts, the butt s of her palms traced the powerful figure she drew in her mind. Alan tried to imagine a more complete photo of the body attached to the hands that worked on him. The heat Ally gave off supplied a crude kind of sonar in his pitch-black world. When she took an action towards the front or back of the table, he felt a mild 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 might determine the length of her upper arm, and he pictured 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, 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. Therefore it went this way 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 much easier for him. When he had moved, and she let the sheet back down, she and Alan discovered it at the same time. Alan was completely set up. It raised the sheet, comically, like a camping tent. Alan was awfully ashamed, his cheeks flushing with colour. He declined to open his eyes to attempt to make out Ally's response. He didn't understand what to state. He heard her walk away, to the corner of the room. He became aware of masseuses who put a pile of towels on a customer's groin in circumstances like these. Perhaps that's what she is about to do, he hoped. Before she stepped away, Ally had frozen. Below her, Alan's dick grabbed her through the sheet, through the dim light. With any other customer, she would have been horrified, disgusted. She would have begrudgingly finished the massage, keeping her range from his crotch. But at this moment, with Alan, the set down sheet brought her excitement and shortness of breath. The butterflies discovered their way from her chest down to the place listed below her navel. She desired Alan. She discovered that, for the first time in her life, without kissing, with no foreplay to prepare her, she was ready to have sex. 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 moment pass.
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