Friday afternoon dragged on, but by 3.30 the end was in sight. My phone buzzed with a text from Ally. "FML, just tested positive for Covid -- can you believe it!!! Sorry, no cocktails for us tonight." The sad face and heart emojis after her message didn't lessen my disappointment. Ally had been my rock in the months after the split with Peter, and now I was left with an empty Friday night.
After briefly wallowing in misery, I got to thinking about how best to use the time I had open now at the end of a week which had left me tense and stressed. A quick one-person brainstorm came up with a massage as the perfect solution. But where to find one at short notice? Kelli, my normal massage partner-in-crime was sadly busy tonight, but she did suggest a possible solution. Her co-worker, Elena, had a cousin recently arrived from Bulgaria who was a qualified masseur. Her friend had already had a session with him, reporting that he was a great masseur who was desperate for any referrals to help build his practice here.
A call to Elena confirmed that her cousin was indeed looking for new clients. He couldn't afford any studio space yet, so he was doing sessions at her apartment. As a woman, she realized that I may not be comfortable being alone for the first session, but told me that she would be home until eight that evening. That way, I could have my massage while she at the apartment too.
While this wasn't what I originally planned on, Elena seemed so nice, and it felt good to be helping out somebody trying to get up on their feet in this country, so I agreed to come over at six. She seemed to really appreciate it and said she would let her cousin, Danail, know.
I felt a little nervous as I arrived, but Elena greeted me warmly, put me at ease and introduced me to Danail. "Good to meet you, Sara." he said. "Everybody struggles with my name. It's pronounced Dahn-ah-ill, but you can call me Dan, or Daniel if you like. But never Danny!" he said, with a warm laugh.
I had no clear image of a Bulgarian in my mind, but Danail was a nice-looking guy. I would guess he was a couple years younger than me, maybe 26 or 27. He was dark-haired, a few inches taller than me, with broad shoulders and well-defined muscles.
Danail showed me into the spare bedroom, where his massage table was set up. "Just to reassure you, I am a fully-qualified masseur in Bulgaria," he said, pointing to the framed certificate on the wall. "I want you to be completely comfortable. Do you have any questions for me -- anything at all you would like to know?"
I appreciated his concern, and shook my head. "No, I'm all good. Thank you, though"
"Okay," he replied "in that case, I'll leave you to get comfortable. Please take off as many clothes as you wish and lay down on the table. There are some towels here for you. I'll come back in a few minutes, but let me know if you need anything."
This left me with a decision to make. Previously I always had a woman masseuse, and it was my normal practice to be naked with a towel over my butt. But with a male masseur? After a moment's consideration, I figured that he was a professional and that I already felt he would treat me appropriately, so I should do the same here.
It was a little strange to be getting naked in a stranger's house, but as I removed my bra and underwear, I had to admit that the thought was turning me on a little. I checked out my body in the mirror on the wall, and was surprised to feel slickness between my legs. This was confirmed as I reached down and quickly touched myself, producing a little shiver.
Pulling myself together, I laid on the table and covered myself from mid-thigh to lower back with a soft white towel. After a couple minutes, Danail knocked softly on the door. "Okay to enter?" he asked.
"Yes, come on in," I replied. Danail walked in softly, lowered the lighting a little and hit some appropriate relaxing music.
"Is this all okay, temperature, music, candle scent?" he checked, and I relaxed just a little more, noting his easy manner.
As we ran through the standard pre-massage questions, I explained about my occasional lower back pain and tight hamstrings from running 5 days a week. He promised to pay attention to both, and encouraged me to speak up if anything was uncomfortable. "I'm going to start with your arms and shoulders," he said.
Kelli's friend's report was accurate - Danail was a very good masseur. He did nothing which took me by surprise, his touch was strong but not excessive, and he moved slowly and consistently over my skin. We chatted as he worked, and he told me about his two-year training as a masseur, how he perfected his English working as a waiter in the Sofia Marriott, and how much he was looking forward to his new life in the US.
After a while, Danail stopped talking and focused on my back. Having a male masseur was a very different experience from a woman. Perhaps boosted by my lack of sex recently, the thrill from my nakedness continued as Danail's hands massaged my spine and ran gently down my side, skimming the edge of my breasts.
I hadn't really been interested in sex since Peter and I had split two months before. There had been no revenge hook-ups and while I had occasionally reached into the nightstand for my vibrator to help me sleep, this was generally a routine path to a ho-hum orgasm. So having a man's hands moving slowly over my naked body was lighting me up, reminding me of how good skin-on-skin felt, and I could feel the dampness growing between my legs. As Danail worked on my back, I spaced my thighs a little wider to increase the thrill, enjoying the cool air now playing on my pussy.
Danail's competence and silence relaxed me, and I became completely attuned to the sensation of his hands on my body, feeling each pass intensely, lingering in a state of covert arousal.
"Everything okay?" he asked.
"Yes, this feels awesome." I replied, turning my head sleepily. "You're a very good masseur."
"Thanks," he said "that's great to hear. I'm going to finish by working on your legs. Is it okay to touch your feet also?"
I nodded my assent and Danail moved to the end of the table, explaining how all the muscles in the leg were connected. He then picked up my foot to massage it. As he bent my knee to do this, I realized that my pussy was likely now exposed to him. This thought electrified me, producing a racing heartbeat and a flood of wetness.
I tried to focus on the massage to lessen my arousal and calm my heartrate. That didn't help, however, as I was now finding out just how erotic it feels to have hands gently work on your insoles and toes. Peter had occasionally offered me an amateur massage as part of foreplay, but this was in a completely different class. It felt like my foot had a direct connection to my pussy, and it was electrifying.
My blood was pumping and I felt the urge to grind my pussy down hard on the table to get some relief. But I resisted the temptation, not wanting to put Danail in a difficult situation, trying instead to quiet my breathing and appear as calm as possible.
This task only increased in difficulty as he moved from my feet to my legs, working first on my calves and then the backs of my thighs, applying warm oil-soaked hands to knead the muscles.
