oh. ok.
You know that thing where something’s such a huge fantasy that you never actually want to realize it because you just wouldn’t be able to keep yourself together?
Yeah.
That.
massage
The Adventures of Sir, Sweetheart and Mr. Purple, Part Eleven
The next evening was my last night at Sir’s and so he gave me the massage he had promised to give me as a present. The set-up was wonderful. He had me lie down on on his futon and relax, he played nice music and he gave me a really wonderful massage with some soothing oil.
Of course, Sir took a few liberties I’ve never seen taken during a massage before. He rubbed my butt and my breasts. And, at the very end, he spent an extraordinarily long time rubbing my pussy.
He would trace his thumbs over my labia, moving infinitely closer to my clit before rolling his thumbs back out and teasing his fingers over my inner thighs. “You’re getting so wet,” he teased and leaned in, licking carefully just over the curves of my labia before continuing to use his fingers.
He slipped his thumb over my clit and rubbed in slow circles as he started to fuck me with two fingers. I thrusted back eagerly, gasping as he slipped another in. Suddenly, I heard him gasp and he asked me, “do you know how many fingers I have in you?”
“Three?” I asked.
He smirked, “five.”
My eyes widened and I sat up on my elbows, “are you fisting me?”
“No, it’s just to the knuckles,” he replied. “But look how hungry this pussy is.” Naturally, he rolled me over and fucked me silly right after.
So, I hurt my back/shoulder a little bit yesterday and told Craftsmate about it before he came to visit me today and we had a super fun, super sexy/blushy day that I’ll post more about.
But I’d just like to share right now that while I was sucking his cock, he reached down to where I had hurt myself and gave me a really nice, attentive massage.
Because reciprocity and generosity and considerateness are all awesome.
I just want a man to appear out of nowhere and rub my feet.
My mother, after a couple of glasses of wine, explaining her greatest fantasy.
My body is honest.
I went for that massage today from the guy I went to high school with. He left the room when I undressed and got under two white sheets on his massage table. When he got back, there was a lot of chuckling and shifting as he tried to make my position just so without exposing me. I was, at first, relaxed. But, when he started, I began to get anxious.
I’m never totally sure of my level of comfort with my body. Sometimes, I’m willing to show it all, run around naked, the whole nine yards. Others, I just sit there picking the poor thing apart and deeming it unworthy of public consumption.
So, today, I started to apologize for it. For the little bit of peach fuzz on the back of my thighs, for the callouses on the bottoms of my feet from two months in the third world, for this kink and that crack. And, while he assured me that my body was perfectly acceptable and fit and that he had massaged people weighing over 250 pounds so I was just fine, I just could not help but feel reluctant about sharing my body like this in the first place.
But my body had no reluctance about me. He repeated back to me the things that it was telling him. That I liked to run. That I kept my stress between my shoulder-blades. That I sometimes got lazy and didn’t stretch after exercise. It was unapologetic, uncensored. It told the good and the bad, sang praises of me despite all the times I had put it down. He was just the messenger. My body was talking to me. And it was being so terribly, beautifully honest.
At one point, I was on my stomach and he pulled my leg back. He was surprised to see when my heel touched the back of my head. It was as if my body were saying, “now look what I can do.” And when he had to push the muscles around my shoulder-blade around for how tense I’d allowed them to get, it was as if my body were urging, “now look what you can do.”
My body is honest. It’s been trying to talk to me. I’ve been too busy to hear it, but I think it’s about time that I start listening.
And maybe being honest with it, too.
Tonight, my friend from high school threw a barbecue. I saw some people I hadn’t seen in years, others that I had seen last week. It was a nice, cool evening and we sat around outside, shooting the breeze and sipping beers until the bugs started to bite.
At one point, I was talking to a guy who I hadn’t seen in quite a while. He said he had just come from work. I asked what he did and he responded that he was now a massage therapist. When I tried to strike up conversation about the life of a masseuse, he corrected me that this was usually the term, at least within the business, for someone who gave happy endings instead of loosened up muscles. Oops.
Feeling like it would be a nice gesture, I decided to make an appointment with him. I tend to store all my stress between my shoulder-blades and, while I’m pretty relaxed right now, I know it’s still tighter in there than it should be. So, I made the appointment and he, out of nowhere, whips out the lotion and starts doing something to my left leg. For the next ten minutes, I hobbled around as one leg was significantly “looser” than the other. Everyone around us was pretty amused.
Later on, I asked him what I was supposed to wear, to which he responded, “um, clothing you’d be comfortable taking off?"
"I’m going to be naked?” I asked in an awkward lull in other conversations. Suddenly, people were looking at me. I felt myself blush.
“Um,” he was clearly getting just as uncomfortable, “I mean, that’s usually how it goes.”
I nodded and chuckled nervously. I’d known this guy since I was ten and the whole concept was somewhere between way too awkward and incredibly hilarious to me. I realized that I would be comfortable with a complete stranger than someone who I knew, even though I was sure he wouldn’t try anything. However, I managed to respond, “I mean, just as long as you don’t touch me anywhere.”
“That’s kind of going to be hard,” he said. I cocked a brow and he quickly added, “because you’re kind of paying me to touch you, I mean.”
This should be interesting.