Always on the prowl for "the deal", I am a habitual browser of online coupon services. A couple of years ago, I came across an offer that I couldn't refuse; a 50% reduction for a one-hour massage at Northside Holistic Body Works. I was on it faster than a dog on a fire hydrant.
Ever since my army days in Thailand in 1969, I've been a massage enthusiast. Admittedly, Asian massages are a little bit different than the therapeutic variety offered here in the U.S. Truth be told, they're thinly disguised prostitution services; perfunctory "chop, chop" hand slapping on the back followed by a "happy ending" or a fuck if you wanted to pay more.
My hope was that if I looked hard enough I'd find a masseuse who could be tempted to cross the ethical line between therapy and prostitution. Regrettably, I had not been successful in this search. It is undeniably true that the vast majority of masseuses are morally upright and honest. This is OK though. Therapeutic massages are, well, therapeutic. Since I had not enjoyed a good massage in quite some time, I was willing to give the Northside Holistic Body Works masseuse a shot at soothing my achy back. So I called and made an appointment for the last Friday of the month.
On the appointed day, I made the 15-minute drive to the address listed in the coupon which is located in the Old Town section of our city. The building in which it is situated on Main Street is a sturdy four story brick structure that had been erected in the 1880s. A code is required for entry and a long flight of stairs leads to the second story offices of Northside. A sign reading, "Please wait outside. A healing session is in progress" is posted on the outer door of Room #200. After trudging up the steep stairwell, I was a bit winded and grateful to plop down on the aged brown loveseat sitting outside the office.
Promptly at 3PM, my scheduled appointment time, a slender mid-30ish woman opened the door and invited me into the outer office. This room, probably 20' X 20', was sparsely furnished with a chair and desk. A bicycle was leaning against the back wall. Two or three paintings hung on this wall, one of which portrayed a slender blond-haired woman clad in short shorts and a tank top lounging in a folding chair on the beach.
"Is that you in the painting," I inquired.
"Yeah. My mom is an artist. She painted it. By the way, I'm Annette."
"My name is Spencer. I have a discount coupon for you."
Annette took it from me and tossed it on her small tidily arranged desk. "Thanks" she muttered perfunctorily. "Just go through the door, get undressed, climb on the table and give a holler when you're ready."
I did as instructed. As I was undressing, I was mentally processing an image of Annette. 110 pounds or so was distributed on a lean 5'5" frame. Frizzy shoulder length, reddish-blond hair framed a beautiful angular face. She was blessed with high cheek bones, wide-set blue eyes and a narrow, slightly aquiline nose. Funky, outsized rectangular black framed glasses lent a somewhat eccentric touch to an otherwise striking countenance.
She was wearing a loose fitting beige cotton tank top and was obviously braless. The nipples on her modest chest were hard and clearly visible though the thin fabric. Both arms and shoulders were decorated with large tats. Showcased by her cut-off jean shorts, her legs were nothing short of awesome; long lean and muscular. All in all, except for the obtrusive tattoos, she presented an enticing package.
"I'm ready", I shouted.
Annette entered the dimly lit room and flicked a switch that activated the audio system. Soothing sounds of waves washing ashore and birds cooing emanated from the two speakers. I initiated some get acquainted banter and Annette responded in kind. I came to learn that she would virtually never initiate a conversation, but would respond amiably when asked questions. Annette invariably began her massages by asking, "What's your body telling you today?" This provided a cue that told her which areas of the body required special or prolonged attention. Annette, like most masseuses, spends most of the allotted time working upper and lower back muscles. The most enjoyable feature of the massage is when she climbs onto the table and positions her knees on my thighs while she rocks back and forth. Every area of the body, save one, is the beneficiary of her ministrations; calves, thighs, shoulders, even the scalp. 40 minutes into the massage, Annette lifts the warm blanket and directs me to turn over onto my back. I comply while she discreetly turns her head away. She works the top of my thigh muscles. Finally, hot towels are wrapped around my face and she gently tugs on the ends to stretch my neck. I know that the session is over when she announces that I am free to get dressed.
At this initial encounter, I was pleased with Annette's massage work, but found that she wasn't overly cordial. I suspected that this is because I was a cheapie discount coupon customer and she wasn't sure that I would be returning for subsequent visits. I allayed her concern when I gave her a $10 tip and set a date the next month for a return visit.
The massage routine on subsequent visits seldom varied. But something was clearly changing in the relationship between Annette and me. Our exchanges were becoming more personal, even intimate. I learned that Annette had moved to Utah from Hawaii and that she was divorced and had a prepubescent son who lived with his native Hawaiian dad on Oahu. Jayce visits occasionally and it was obvious that Annette relished their time together. Her dad is a retired military guy and her mother an artist. She has a twin sister. We discovered that despite our age difference (Annette is 37 and I am 69), we had much in common. We're both bicyclists and fitness fanatics, enjoy opting out of clothing at clothing optional hot springs, partake of weed from time to time and generally share predictable liberal social views. We had become comfortable enough with each other that we could share relationship issues and challenges. We were abandoning our defenses and letting our emotional guards down.
This was quite satisfactory to me. From the first time I laid eyes on Anna I knew that I wanted to photograph her nude. As an amateur photographer, I dabbled in doing boudoir shots. Securing models though Craig's List, I paid them $100 and photographed them clad in lingerie, topless and totally nude. I'd like to claim that my interest in this hobby was totally aesthetic, but that would be a transparent lie. To be sure I do have an eye for finding the artistically pleasing shot, but the bottom line is I'm erotically charged when I look at nude women. Absolutely shameful and shocking, I know.
My dilemma was that I didn't know how or when to broach this subject with Annette. Initially, I feared that propositioning her to model nude would be deemed inappropriate and she would be offended. As time progressed and we engaged in conversations about visiting "clothing optional" hot springs, it became evident that Annette was an uninhibited free spirit who appreciated her lean, athletic body and didn't mind in the least if others appreciated it also. Finally, about one year into our masseuse-client relationship, I discreetly broached the topic.
"Anna, you have such a wonderful, lean figure. Have you ever done any modeling?"
"Yeah I have", she responded. "I've signed more release forms than I can count."
She didn't elaborate specifically on the kind of modeling that she had done and I didn't pursue the issue. Obviously, I was encouraged that she might be willing to pose for me.
I had faithfully kept my once a month Friday afternoon appointments for over a year and a half. However, Eventually, circumstances forced me to cancel and re-schedule an appointment. It wasn't until two months later that I got around to scheduling another appointment. Annette blew off my initial texts, and I was considering looking for a new masseuse. Finally she got back to me and we set up an appointment for the last Friday of the month.
"I was beginning to think that I had been bumped from your favorites list" I chided when she opened the door to let me in.
"Oh no", she responded. "It's just that I've been unusually busy. Go hop on the table and I'll be in after I take off these boots."
I stripped down, jumped on the table, covered myself with the heated blanket, and shouted through the closed door, "Ready when you are."
