I was in heaven. The soft comforting sound of piano notes blended with the lavender scent emitting from the yellow candle burning in the corner to create a harmonious mixture. The outside world had been-at least for the next hour-successfully evaded. Instead of traffic noise, am talk radio, cell phone chatter, and air pollution, it was time for soft music, pleasant aromas, & Monica's strong yet tender touch.
Ugh!! I groaned as Monica's fingers made their way up and down my spine, boring into the pressure points. Ugh ugh! I groaned louder as I felt her elbow sliding down my back, clearing out the tension blocking the blood flow. For the past 18 months I'd turn up here once every 3 weeks so I could feel Monica's strong yet tender fingers work the tension release points up and down my body. I'd lie there naked under the sheet with my eyes closed luxuriating in feeling the tension melt away, peeling off in layers as if I were descending into a dark tunnel while Monica's fingers poked, prodded, and pushed. Sometimes she'd push with such strength it sent the breath whistling out of me. Other times she'd push just so and the resulting sensation would hurt so good I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Monica definitely had that god given intuitive sense of where to press and how much pressure to use.
Besides great hands, god had blessed Monica with pretty good looks. Monica was blond, with shoulder length hair, about 5'4, with a open friendly face that generated a big white smile. She'd been a gymnast and her body was more athletic than elegant. Her breast were probably around 34 or 36 C-just right not too big or too small. Once Monica was wearing a peasant blouse and when she leaned over in front of me, I got to enjoy the splendid view of the tops of her creamy globes nestled in her red bra. Her legs were more than the long distance runner-more short and stocky than long and lean. If you had those of the sprinter to guess where her ancestors came from, you'd almost certainly pick northern Europe.
When I'd arrived for this afternoon's massage Monica looked awesome. Her skin was all tan and shiny against her white peasant blouse. Her blond hair seemed more vibrant and radiant—as if replenished by the sun. Monica looked totally relaxed and delicious--no sign of the bags I'd occasionally see under her eyes. By now, I'd gotten to know Monica a bit since she'd given me around 20 massages. Sometimes we'd talk a lot and sometimes we'd talk a little but we'd always talk some. I now knew that Monica was married to a cop, was raised a Catholic, was an avid reader, was a very curious, an enthusiastic person, had a degree in kinesiology, and had started her own little massage practice about 5 years ago. I also learned fairly early on that the marriage wasn't going so good.
As her hands made their first of many journeys down my spinal column I asked about Monica's trip to Baja. It was great she replied, her elbow now sliding under my scapula causing my toes to tingle. Soon Monica let out the fact that while Baja was great -- snorkeling, hiking --there had been something missing. What was missing she went on was that sense of intimacy between a husband and a wife—"you know that emotional bond" she said. She had not felt it on the trip and it bothered her.
As her knuckles worked my spine I heard Monica say "Ok, frankly it was the sex. My ears perked up and I'm sure my semi-hard dick must've twitched a bit too. Or lack of sex as it turned out. Monica was upset because her husband had only fucked her a measly three times in 9 days she painfully confessed. She felt hurt and confused and it all came pouring out. Monica told me her husband said he "doesn't need it as much as I do." He told her "men peak at 18" and he's "not that interested in sex but that her prime is still now." And, her husband wasn't really interested in getting her off. He didn't like to eat her pussy and wasn't into fun stuff like her dressing up in his police uniform and roughing him up a bit.
I was flabbergasted. Her husband was an idiot. Monica was a fox and any guy who didn't want to eat her pussy needed to have his head examined. More than once I'd fantasized Monica would "accidentally" brush her fingers across my cock or my fingers against her beautiful breasts. And, I'd jerked off thinking about her a few times too, imagining her standing there leaning her pink nipples over my face while she massaged my swollen dick as my fingers probed her wet spot. And, what Monica was saying really struck a chord in me because my wife has little interest in sex. I'd been feeling the same awfully frustrated hurt feelings as Monica.
