I'm lying on my back, naked, under the blanket when you enter the dim-lit room. You smile and ask some questions about what brings me in today and whether I've had massage before, and soon get to work.
Standing behind my head, you start with my neck. Cradling my head on your palms, your fingers methodically search for signs of muscle tension and massage them into relaxation. You're using some oil. Your touch is gentle, but you've got have strong hands. I can already tell that you're not a delicate woman. You keep a casual conversation going. You ask me about how long I've lived here and what I do. You tell me about yourself and what you think of massage therapy. You explain how the touch releases endorphins leading to a feeling of well-being, and how the modern societies are moving away from intimacy and becoming more isolated. I can hear the faint music in between the conversation. As I look up to talk, I can't help but notice your deep red and full lips. Our gazes meet at times. I'm beginning to get relaxed and turned on. I've had massages before, but this one feels different. I notice that you express agreement with 'um-hmm', long drawn and ending in inflection, as if you're enjoying yourself. I find this strangely arousing. I wonder if you make the same noise while getting your hair pulled.