She tells him about a massage. Years ago. Before she met him. She went alone to a luxury spa. It was in the city. She had been naked. Maybe she wore a paper thong. She couldn’t remember. She could remember the strong smell of eucalyptus oil. She could remember that the massage had been given by a man. It was awkward, she tells him. It wasn’t sensual. It wasn’t what he imagined. Her buttocks had been massaged though. That she recalls. She admits reluctantly. She admits coyly.
She asks what he would think if she did that now?
He tells her he would be jealous.
Both of them are breathing more heavily. Tiptoeing around a potential transgression.
Eventually he elaborates.
I would be jealous but turned on, he says. I would find it hot.
I will remember that she says smiling. It is the answer she was expecting. What if he brought me to orgasm?
The question lingers in the air. Then she goes on.
Not just with his fingers though, but with his dick?