Prologue
Gary simply didn’t understand how any sane human being could not enjoy receiving an expertly administered massage. The feeling of having your muscles gently unlocked as your flesh and tissue is subtly and expertly manipulated by the warm, attentive hands of a skilled therapist… nothing could beat it. And as someone who worked in a stressful environment, an hour or more of soothing physical contact in a low-lit room with relaxing music in the background was a joyous escape. He first discovered its joys when a previous employer had provided an in-house therapist who came in to the offices every month or so to offer stress relieving massages. So taken was Gary with the monthly sessions that he sought out similar services in hotel spas when he travelled abroad. He quickly came to realise that different therapists could give entirely different massages and therefore completely different experiences – some were painful; some were ineffectual. Some therapists spoke the whole time; some practiced their art in almost complete silence. Some used overpoweringly scented oils; some hardly used any lubrication at all. Discovering someone who delivered a tip-top massage that ticked all the boxes was a rare find, and that practitioner could be guaranteed repeat business.
One penchant he had definitely settled on was that he preferred to be massaged by a female therapist. He had received perfectly adequate massages from men, but there was something particularly special about having a woman place her hands on his body. He knew that he probably shouldn’t feel that way – as the establishments he would frequent were very keen to point out on their websites “this is not a sexual service.” However, he would have been lying to himself if he didn’t admit that having a female therapist enhanced his enjoyment. Being almost naked – just a small towel hiding his modesty – as an occasionally pretty young creature would push her warm fingers up his thighs, down the small of his back, even over his buttocks... how could any man deny the pleasure inherent? He would sometimes fantasize on the massage table... What if her fingers were to go higher up my thigh? What if she were to brush against my cock? What if – God forbid – she asks me if I want something special to finish the session? Would I accept?
Such thoughts would invariably cause a stirring below his towel, so Gary tried to restrict such inappropriate thoughts to when he was face down on the table, his inevitable erection hidden from view. But other than his impure thoughts, Gary was always eminently respectful to the women who administered their services. He never made inappropriate comments or suggested he might want more than just a regular massage. It was merely a fantasy – a fantasy given delightful potency by the fact it wasn’t a complete impossibility. One day, Gary thought, it might actually happen; one day those oiled fingers might find their way to a place they shouldn’t really venture. And it would be glorious.
