I had been down on my luck lately. Due to corporate downsizing, I had lost two jobs in the past three years. My bills where going through the roof. I soon found it difficult making both my house mortgage payments, as well as the lease on my one bedroom apartment.
A close friend of mine had just bought a house, and suggested that I should move in with him since he had a spare bedroom. I normally would have refused, but with the economy the way it was, I decided it was an option I could no longer refuse. I figured it would be a change, yet had no idea how much. I have been on my own since college, and was now a 37 year old renting out a room.
We moved in on Friday, and spent most of the weekend unpacking boxes. On Sunday, my buddy and his wife decided a break was due, and we all had a barbeque. They invited some friends over, including their former upstairs neighbor Samantha.
Samantha is a very attractive, single mom that was in the process of finalizing her divorce. She had just taken a job as a telemarketer, and was not used to sitting down for hours at a time. My buddy introduced me to Samantha, and when asked what I did for a living, claimed I was a massage therapist.
Not being one to lie, I mentioned that I did like giving massages, however, was not certified therapist. He said that I was being modest, and that everyone he has ever talked too has stated that I am really good. His wife chimed in that she absolutely loves getting massages from me, and that it was just like heaven.
Samantha asked if I would give her a massage and I stated “ Sure, why not.” I half felt like she was joking, so I told her to get a buzz on and I’ll give you “The best massage money can buy”.
She quickly retorted back ”Cool, how much do you charge?” I was a wise ass, claiming that I normally charge $100 bucks an hour, yet since you where close friends, that I would do it for free. Samantha agreed and we started partying, enjoying the sun and the great weather. As the sun set, people started to say their goodbyes. It was soon only a few of us remaining, when Samantha came up to me to remind me of the massage. Stunned, I said sure; just let me get the room together. I ran up to my bedroom, threw any odd clothes in the closet, and put on a soothing massage disk on the CD player.
I acted very professional (having had many legitimate massages in the past) and laid out a large beach towel. I warned Samantha that some of the massage oils I use may stain her cloths, and she may want to use one or more towels to maintain her modesty. I then told her that I would be back in a minute after I had washed my hands, and that she should lie down on her stomach.
