I used to despise it when they asked, "Do you prefer a man or a woman?"
For many years, I had gone to massage therapists. I was a workaholic who heaped worry upon myself, and while some may carry their tension in their tummies, mine was carried in my body. My muscles were frequently a ball of tension that even my at-home foam roller couldn't get out.
I despised their question almost as much as the phrase used by every therapist I'd ever had after a massage: "How do you feel?"
"Do you prefer a man or a lady, Sir?" the receptionist on the other end of the line said again.
Was I sexist if I stated that I favoured men? Did it imply that I was a sociopath who found something sexually sensual in my profound massages if I claimed I liked women? Was I a moron for expecting a "happy ending"?
But this time, I believe I've always been caught in the wrong place, and that's why I haven't had the opportunity to have the best session I was seeking for. So I surprised myself today by calling Dolls & Roses, a high-end agency known to the majority of my business associates. They stated I could get the nicest massage I'd ever had here, which made me curious.
"Your best masseuse recommendation, please," I told the receptionist.
Diana was recommended there. I recognized her from her website profile; small yet well proportioned, her outfit revealed that she kept herself in condition. Her eyes were almond-shaped, her hair was black, and her complexion was caramel-coloured.
When I saw her in the photos, I was both terrified and excited.
The appointment day arrived, and she arrived right on time at my location. "I'm Diana," she stated as soon as I opened the door. "I'll be your masseuse today," she added cheerfully. Each word sounded as if she was savouring it, like a caramel syllable. Her voice alone aroused me up. I shook her hand, and her skin was as soft as a baby's.
I was Diana's last client of the day. She was relieved to see that my personal hygiene appeared to be excellent and that I had good skin. When she shook my firm hand and looked into my baby blue eyes, butterflies flitted in her chest, and hair stood on the back of her neck. I was able to tell.
Diana followed me into the bedroom. She asked me to take off my clothes and lie face down on the table. She left the room, allowing me privacy to undress and crawl under the sheet. With my head in the cradle of the massage table and my eyes closed, my world faded into darkness. I adored this aspect of massage since it made my other senses almost evaporate, leaving me with a keen awareness of my body as well as its feelings. It was incredibly meditative for me.
But as I heard the bedroom door open and Diana's quiet footsteps return, my heart began to race. That was unusual, I thought. I intended to dissolve more into a state of blissful relaxation.
Diana smelled like flowers or strawberries to me. I couldn't be certain. The fragrance was light and delicious. Diana stood close to the table, dimming the lights and massaging oil into my hands. I felt her warmth in me. I pictured her warmth as tiny waves of orange brushing my neck, shoulders, and cheeks, enshrouded in my black, lightless world. I couldn't help but visualize Diana's tight, round butt inches from my head, my face as close to her pubis as mine was to hers.
Diana noted she could smell me as she worked for her hands over my strong back (giving me a smooth, relaxing pleasure that exactly contrasted the excitation that had begun in my loins). And she enjoyed it. It was neither cologne nor aftershave. It was just me, and it was more appealing than anything I could have said.
Diana had a deep attraction to me. She smiled to herself and chuckled quietly as she acknowledged that reality. I was aware of it. Her laugh was a little hoarse, and it sounded like she was eating something delicious. "I am crazily smitten by this masseuse," I thought as the sound wrapped itself about me.
Her hands functioned as her eyes as she worked on my body. Her palms followed the sinewy image she drew in her thoughts as she removed a portion of the sheet to work my lower back and leg muscles. Later, while her thumbs drove into my calves, hamstrings, and inner thighs, she pictured the pieces as a whole, naked and standing in a well-lit location. She liked what her hands told her.
In the meantime, I tried to conjure up a more comprehensive picture of the body connected to the hands that worked on me. In my pitch-black world, Diana's heat supplied a primitive form of sound. I felt a subtle wave of warmth when she took a step towards the front or back of the table. Above, I imagined her hips, tummy, and toned waist.
She leaned forward and dug her elbow into my upper back while working on it. I could see the length of her upper arm and the perky busts that dangled just above my spine. Diana perched on a stool near my head and began kneading my neck, and I pictured her muscular shoulders rolling forward with her. I pictured her in a deep-necked top that hung off one shoulder, displaying the line of her collarbone rather than the scrubs she was wearing. In my head, I watched a bead of sweat wander down her neck, past her collarbone, and to her sternum.
And so it continued for the next thirty minutes. She was about to massage my chest, arms, and quads. "Scoot down for me, baby, and turn onto your back," she said, lifting the sheet to make it easy for me. She and I both saw it when I moved, and she pulled the sheet back down.
I was completely erect. It lifted the sheet as if it were a tent.
I was ashamed, my cheeks blazing with colour. I resisted opening my eyes to see Diana's reaction. I was at a loss for words.
I then heard her go away to the far corner of the room. In cases like these, I've heard of masseuses piling towels on a client's groin. I hoped that's what she was about to do.
Diana had frozen before she stepped away. My private part stretched for her beneath her, through the sheet and the faint light. She would have been shocked and disgusted if it had been any other client. She would have finished the massage hesitantly, keeping her distance from his groin.
But the perched sheet brought her thrill and shortness of breath in this instant, with me. The butterflies made their way from her chest to just below her navel. She desired me. She realised that, for the first time in her life, she was ready to enjoy an intimate pleasure without kissing or foreplay. The last thirty minutes had been more than adequate preparation. She was prepared right then and there. And she was not going to let that opportunity pass her by.
Diana stepped into a corner and removed her shoes, scrubs, stockings, and bra.
Diana's presence returned as I lay there, with my private part exposed in the air, heart in my throat. Her warmth on my thighs, followed by her weight on the massage table. She crouched over me, her foot brushing across mine. Her hands worked the sheet up to my greased legs, revealing my groin and releasing its full peak. I could feel her shimmy forward, the heat of her thighs splashing over my manhood.
I was really surprised by what was going on and assumed I had fallen asleep and was having a gloriously wicked dream. But if this was true, I would gladly accept it.
Her floral scent washed over me, and she led me into the soft, enticing hollow between her legs.
I exclaimed. I stretched out and grabbed Diana's hips, confirming in my hands the shapes, firmness, and weight that I had fantasized about for the previous half hour. She rode me, allowing me to penetrate deeply, her knees touching my ribs when she was low in her vibration. She gave out small cries as she raised herself up my shaft. Diana kept her moans as quiet as she could, mindful of the others in the rooms around them. Still, her pleasure was sweet and sensual, drawing my ears to the sound.
I sat up. If the lights were bright enough, I'd gleam in the massage oil that had been applied to me. I swayed my hips to her beat. My lips landed on her collarbone, which I had imagined. Her private part and mine were overjoyed at what we had discovered.
She let herself fall onto her back, head hanging off the foot of the table, so I could control my thrusts completely. Her fingers found their way to her clitter, and neither of us could scream at the top of our voices!
Diana, her head still dangling from the table, glanced at the wall clock; our hour was almost up. If we were still in this room at the end of the hour, someone would be wiser. And, as much as she relished my exploring every nook and cranny of her aching cunt and despite the exhilaration with which her clit blazed, she needed to finish now.
Diana sat up and pushed herself away from me. She stepped away from the table and whirled away from me.
I straightened up as my eyes acclimated to the darkness. Diana's hourglass figure leaned forward softly, her fingers brushing the floor. Her butt was exactly as I had anticipated. Round. Tight. And there she was, her lovely little honeypot that had already sucked me in, craving more. It called to me pink, exposed, and moist.
I jumped back in, and Diana bit her lower lip to keep from yelling, "OH, YES! "I rode her fiercely and quickly (but not barbarically). I had located her G-spot, as she had anticipated, and it vibrated like a caged love god. The ecstasy increased, and she tightened her grip on me. She convulsed, starting with her toes, and braced herself against the wall. She exploded and pinched her eyes shut, revelling in the ecstasy. I exploded with a final forceful thrust only moments later.
We took a deep breath. Diana smiled as she drew away from me, looking into my blue eyes. "How do you feel?" her sexy voice asked.
Today, I didn't mind being asked the question :)