Fucking Amy was different. She was to Mrs. K what water is to steam: Mrs K was always boiling and ready to burn with a touch, whereas Amy seemed easy and shy, yet just needed to get the right temperature. Same element, different states.
She came some time after. At first, she was no more than a regular, not really special client. We were almost the same age, me just turned twenty-one on June, she celebrating her twenty-second birthday in late October. Amy played hockey, and at a pretty high level I must say. So, naturally, she needed massages pretty frequently. I had been putting up flyers all around, seizing the momentum my freelancing job was having to acquire more clients. That didn’t net me a lot of new ones, but it did bring Amy to the mix, which was a blessing in itself. Maybe it took a while for it to unveil as such, but I believe it was worth the wait.
Our first encounter, as all the others, were in my “office” – nothing more than a little square separation I would make in my studio with three folding screens and all the space I had between the door and the kitchen. It wasn’t perfect, but the subtle lightning, aromas and relaxing music made it seem a lot better for my clients.