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Alan had actually gone to massage therapists for several years. He was a workaholic who brought concern upon himself, and while others might carry their stress in their stomachs, he carried his in his body. His muscles typically were a ball of stress that even his foam roller at home could not exercise. He disliked their concern 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 choose a guy or a woman? 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 woman, did it imply he was a creep who discovered some thing sexually sensual in his deep-tissue massages? Did it suggest he was a fool who expected a pleased ending?

No choice, is what he usually stated. In some cases, he would include, Whoever is best at relaxing muscles. Alan amazed himself today when he told the receptionist, A lady, please. Where did that come from? he wondered. After work, he struck the fitness center, showered, then drove to the massage parlour. He had forgotten about his strange reaction over the phone previously, sitting in the waiting room, he heard a sweet, delicately sexy voice call out, Alan? Alan searched for from his magazine to discover her; small yet well proportioned, her uniform scrubs didn't conceal the fact 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. 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 hygiene seemed to be good and that he had good skin. 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 room, offering 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 an acute 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 steps of Ally coming back in, his heart started to beat quicker. Uncommon, Alan thought. He was supposed to melt, deeper into dreamlike relaxation.

He could smell Ally: flowers, or strawberries? Alan couldn't be sure. The fragrance was moderate and sweet. 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 heat as subtle waves of orange that brushed his neck, shoulders, and cheeks. Alan couldn't envision however help 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, relaxing satisfaction that straight contradicted the stimulation that had actually begun in his loins), she observed she could smell him. And she liked it. It wasn't cologne, it wasn't aftershave. It was simply him and it was more attractive than anything Alan could have ever said. Alan heard it. 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. Removing a bit of the sheet to work his lower back and excess, the butt s of her palms traced the sinewy figure she drew in her mind. On the other hand, Alan attempted to imagine a more total image of the body connected to the hands that worked on him. The heat Ally emitted offered a crude type of sonar in his pitch-black world. When she took a step towards the front or back of the table, he felt a gentle wave of warmth. 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 might assess the length of her arm, and he pictured the perky breasts that hung just above his spine. When Ally sat on a stool near his head and started to knead his neck, he pictured her strong shoulders rolling forward with each stroke. He pictured 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 observed it at the same time. Alan was totally put up. It lifted the sheet, comically, like a tent. Alan was terribly embarrassed, his cheeks flushing with colour. He declined to open his eyes to attempt to construct out Ally's response. He didn't understand what to state. He heard her walk away, to the corner of the space. He heard of masseuses who put a pile of towels on a client's groin in scenarios like these. Possibly that's what she is about to do, he hoped. Before she stepped away, Ally had frozen. Below her, Alan's cock reached for her through the sheet, through the dim light. At this minute, with Alan, the set down sheet brought her enjoyment and shortness of breath. She wanted Alan. She found that, for the first time in her life, without kissing, with no foreplay to prepare her, she was ready to have sex.

 

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