“You are standing on a hill covered with lime green grass,” Loyda’s hands were on his head, tracing imaginary circles around the crown. “The air is cool, crisp, and fresh – take a deep breath.” He inhaled, filled his lungs with air, held his breath for a couple of seconds, and sighed. “The ground is moist. Touch it. Press your hands against the soil.” He clenched his fists and opened his palms – his fingers moved in the air, as if they were stroking someone’s breasts. At the same time, Loyda skillfully applied pressure against his temples.
Her hands pressed against the muscles under his collar bones and followed an invisible arc running to his round shoulders. He has got an oh-so-nice sun-kissed complexion, Loyda thought. I wonder where he spends his weekends. Her index fingers and middle fingers rested on his chest, right above his heart. Is he really thirty-four? His body is so firm. He must be in his late twenties at most. Twenty-nine? But according to his customer fact sheet… She looked at his face. His deep set eyes were shut tight. He had crow’s feet around them. And he also had faint laugh lines at the sides of his sensuous mouth. But still… he looks too young to be thirty something. Her hands were kneading his pectoral muscles. He had fine brown hair growing on his chest, and she could feel their softness with her palms.
“You are now crossing a moss covered field…"
Loyda rubbed the sides of his waist. And he doesn’t have love-handles... Her fingertips moved to his abdomen, and she began on his celiac plexus. He responded by emitting a low guttural moan. She raised an eyebrow.
Reflex. Of course she knew that he was just reacting to stimuli—she had been doing this for more than twenty-one months now. Yet once in a while, as in situations like this one, Loyda would still get surprised from her customers’ reactions. Her thumbs made heart-shaped patterns around his navel, so close to the white towel covering his growing penis.
“Ughh…” he moaned again. “And you continue walking until a tower of light comes into your line of vision,” Loyda’s voice whispered. Her sultry voice echoed in his ears.
Loyda’s hands were pulling the towel off. Slowly, the slid towards his semi-erect penis. “Sir… You might think it’s sexual – but actually it's not.”
NO!!!
It was the first sound that came from Loyda when she heard that sentence. You moron! How can it not be sexual? Your fucking fingers are in my fucking vagina! she was screaming at the masseur. Her face had changed from creamy caramel color to a rosy pink hue. In contrast to her panic-stricken behavior, he was calm, composed, and he even had what seemed to her like an innocent look in his face.
But his fingers were still deep insider her.
I want my money back. Take me to the manager. Take me to the manager right now! she demanded. Take me to your manager! She was slapping his nearest arm with her soft hands. He has nice arms. And he's cute too. But he's still a fucking sexual predator! His face was like a pre-pubescent boy. He just stared at her in silence. My God! Did they train you to be such a good actor? Well I'm not convinced. Stop playing deaf and take me to your manager! She hadn’t pulled away from his fingers yet, nor had she pushed him off her.
When her flesh squeezed around his fingers, he took it as his cue. Still staring her straight in the eye, he pushed his index finger and middle finger deeper, and made a ‘come here’ motion. Almost immediately, her body fell into a series of contractions, a wave upon a wave, upon a wave. What's happening? But she knew what had just happened. She had an orgasm.
A little later that afternoon Loyda was walking back home. She still couldn’t take her experience out of her mind. That bastard! He won’t get away with this. I’ll sue him for sexually harassing me. I’ll sue them all. Damn them. Damn them all to hell!
She never was able to carry out her plan. However, she returned to the spa a month later, for another physiotherapeutic session. When she found out that she was assigned to the same masseur, she felt embarrassed and relieved at the same time.
"Welcome back, Miss. I've prepared your favorite scented oils for you..." his face was cool, and he was beaming at her. What a bastard! He knew I'd return.
He quivered. “Is it too firm, sir?” She was squeezing his penis as she would juice a lemon with an orange squeezer. She paused for a brief moment. When she didn’t get a response, she went back to what she was doing.
”You feel light, like a spirit. You are climbing up and down the Tower of Light…
Only a year after she first visited the corner spa, and experienced her very first oriental massage, Loyda had become so obsessed with her discovery that she even quit working at the embassy so she could get learn and apply the secrets of oriental physiotherapy. Three times a week, for more than half a year now, she had been offering her professional skills, with the promise of providing physical, psychological, and emotional healing to her customers. In between days she would teach yoga at the nearby health club, or work on a book she had been writing – “A Beginner’s Guide to Oriental Physiotheraphy, by Loyda Shelly.”
His body tensed. Loyda knew he was near orgasm. Using one hand she carefully squeezed the tip of his penis, then with the other she applied pressure on the spot just below his testicles. Very firmly. Any second now…
Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. The timer on the counter went off. “Alright sir. We’re done.”
”What?” he rose from the mat and sat up. He took deep breaths before he scratched his head. Isn’t he cute? Like a big boy deprived of his video games. “But I haven’t come yet.” Loyda knew he would say that. She had encountered that statement many times before. Many times she had been tempted to reply with a "Just to let you know - I'm not a fucking hooker, asshole!" but she had successfully managed to keep her cool.
She washed her hands at the sink and dried them before putting a pamphlet on his lap. “Sir, the purpose of this experience is to relax you,” she had practiced this line many times before. “Not to bring you to orgasm.” She walked to the counter to get a sachet of lavender-scented antiseptic gel. As she applied the viscuous liquid on her hands, she turned to look at him - and he still looked confused. He'll get over it.
Loyda handed her customer a clean towel, and went on explaining, “You see, according to tantric teaching, the male sex organ…” but he wasn’t listening to her.
”Save your lecture. I’m out of here.” He didn’t even wait for her to leave the room – he quickly donned his clothes. He was out of the building before she could wipe the gel off her hands. Hmmm, I love the scent of lavender.
She thought about him, his round shoulders, his wide chest, his clear tanned skin, his boyish face, and she couldn't help shaking her head.
He’ll come back. She was certain about that. “Next!” her voice resounded on the intercomm.