It was a typical suburban house in a typical suburban street in an Essex town called Woodford. As I had been requested, I left my car a hundred yards or so past number 42 and walked back. That in itself was a struggle as it was raining and the wind was howling. From under the umbrella I was trying to stop blowing away I saw 42 and noticed that it was a well- kept, mock Tudor, quite imposing house with a neat front garden, gleaming paint and sparkling windows. That made me feel good and gave me some faith in what Ben had told me on the phone.
"It's a very clean, tidy house; you will feel at home with me."
"Hi you must be Amanda," the tall, quite good looking, grey haired, dark skinned man said when he opened the door. "I'm Ben."
I walked in and we shook hands. The place smelt clean, he was clean, he hadn't been leading me astray on that, which gave credibility to the other things he had claimed in the e-mails we had exchanged.
He was about 50 with quite long, grey wavy hair and piercing blue eyes. He was slim and talk, quite good looking and had a very upright posture.. That made me think the massage would be wonderful, that he would have the educated hands he claimed and that he would, in his words. "Ensure I had a wonderful time."
But I wasn't sure that he actually really offered what I was after. I thought he probably did, I guessed that he would make me cum, but I hadn't been able to summon up the courage to ask him.
I followed him up stairs.
"OK Amanda, you can change in here," he said showing me into a small bedroom. "The bathroom is next door," he added, leaving me alone.
There was a white towelling robe on the narrow bed, which I assumed I should put on. I stripped down to my panties. Should I keep them on or remove them, I wondered looking in the mirror. I saw in the mirror that my long, chestnut coloured hair was a total wreck from the wind and rain and was tumbling down onto my bare shoulders in lank, wet tresses. I grimaced when I looked at my body. I had put weight on my tummy and hips and my tits that had always been full had ballooned up to their double D size, something that always happens when I put weight on. 'Maybe he won't notice' I thought trying to fix my hair into some semblance of order, but that was hopeless so I gave up.
There was a knock on the door. "When you are ready Amanda please come across the landing, I'll be waiting" Ben said.
I slipped into the robe, knotted the tie, opened the door and went across the landing. Ben was standing just inside the front bedroom, which was dimly lit. There were several candles flickering and some soft classical piano music, probably Bach, playing. Ben had changed clothing. Gone were the jeans and tee shirt. He was now wearing a shorty, silk dressing gown, which, like mine, was tied at the waist, but his was dark blue silk and ended mid-way down his thighs. Where the lapels gaped I could see his fairly hairy chest, the hairs varying in colour from black to silver. His lower legs were bare and he had nothing on his feet that, for some reason I noted had unusually long toes.
"Come in Amanda" he said, holding the door open for me.
He shut the door behind me and dimmed the lights even more.
I was surprised not to see a massage table, but instead there was a mattress on the floor covered by a white sheet with a large blue towel in the middle.
"Yes we don't use a table" he said guessing, or seeing my surprise, it's more relaxing on the floor."
"Ok," was all I could manage rather hoarsely, momentarily wondering why in earth I was putting myself through this.
"For both of us he added" taking hold of my elbow. "Would you like to lie on your front first, Amanda?"
I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do about the robe, so I hesitated, with my hands hovering by the bow. He turned his back and picked up a couple of towels from a pile on a table.
"Yes take that off please" he said in a rather officious tone.
I lay down as instructed, oddly pleased that he averted his gaze. The mattress was soft and warm and had a lovely sweet smell; it was pleasant to lie on and quite relaxing. He knelt beside me and covered my body in two or three warm towels. It was just like being in a regular, straight spa. If it hadn't been for the way he was dressed I would not have even thought that there might be the 'other services' I wanted, but wasn't sure I would request.
I had been divorced for a couple of years and I was desperately lonely. My sixteen year old daughter who lived with me in a smashing flat in London Docklands needed me less and less and although I had numerous friends most were married. It's not easy suddenly being unmarried at forty five for most of your contemporaries are married or at least with partners.
I'd had a few dates and a couple of flings that had involved sex, but I wasn't satisfied or fulfilled by them. It was like a charade. Neither party expected and in my case certainly wanted, to find love so the whole seduction bit seemed a little false. Other friends, however have told me that they find that the most enjoyable part. To me sex without some emotional involvement is rather pointless. Or so I thought. That is until I did some research and read more about it.
Ben started on my back by peeling the towel back a little and pouring warm oil between my shoulder blades. He massaged me fairly deeply all over my upper back and shoulders. It felt good. That finished, he repeated the exercise with each of my legs. Each time merely rolling the towel back to expose the part that he was about to massage and, with both legs, tucking the top in a little round my bum. I was beginning to worry that maybe I had read the situation incorrectly and that this was just a straight massage, so similar was it to all the spa treatments I had experienced. But then I rationalised even if it was it would be enjoyable for he was giving me a good massage and had said that.
After a while I had found myself coping ok with the loneliness of being a single woman again. I really didn't mind being by myself and in any case through my new job I was making friends. I joined a tennis club, started a course at a local college and began piano lessons. I persuaded myself that these actions were to enrich my life and meet new friends. Deep down I knew that was a lie. What I was looking for was sex. I was not so much lonely as frustrated. After all during my twenty year marriage I probably had sex on average three times a week; that means I had been fucked over three thousand times. It was that what I missed. But I didn't like dating so I was in a fucking Catch 22, literally!
That's when I read about women who use escorts. I was very tempted, but could not bring myself to do it because he would have to come to my home. Oddly, the cold blooded nature of having a stranger I have just met fuck me didn't disturb me that much. It was the detached, business-like nature of it that overcame my normal reservations with dating. Then you have to pretend there is more when there isn't, with an escort there is no pretence. It is a completely transparent transaction; you are there to be fucked and he is there to fuck you. Simple and straightforward. But there is the where do you do it issue and I didn't fancy paying out a hundred and fifty pounds for a hotel on top of the two hundred or so good escorts charge. And you could hardly do it in a car could you? It was I thought to myself, though, something I would treat myself to one day
