Jennifer

I had heard a rumor that the "massage parlors" that had recently begun to open around town were actually thinly-disguised brothels. Yet prostitution was illegal in California, and these establishments advertised themselves in newspapers, along with clearly identifying their enterprises with neon "Massage" signs.

So one dreary night, after my girlfriend had decided my high school drop-out status probably didn't qualify me as ideal husband material, I decided to see about getting a massage. I picked a place at random, parked in a nearby alley, walked around and went through a door marked "Open - Please Come In."

A smiling woman behind a desk welcomed me and asked if I had come for a massage. When I said yes she replied that all the masseuses were busy, but that Jenny should be available in a few minutes. When I said OK, she said $25 was payable in advance. I paid her in cash and sat down to wait.

Soon an attractive young woman appeared and the receptionist introduced us. Jenny smiled and said, "I understand you're here for a massage. My room is down this hallway."

I managed a nervous smile and said, "Right." Jenny took my hand and led me down the hall.

Inside her room she said, "My name is Jennifer — what's yours?" When I replied with my name she said, "Glad to meet you, Don. Why don't you strip down to your shorts and lie down on my bed?"

I must admit to being surprised to see a bed. I was expecting a treatment table like those seen in a chiropractor's office. However, this was a regular double bed with a sheet and two pillows on it.

"OK," I replied with another nervous smile, "I guess I should lie on my stomach?"

"Sure," she replied, "and I'll give you a nice back massage," which she did, kneeling on the bed beside me. Then she said, "I can get better leverage if I'm on top of you. Do you mind?"

"No," I said, "Do whatever works best for you."

With that, she hiked up her skirt and straddled my back, settling on my derriere. She then leaned forward and put added pressure into her massage strokes.

After a while, she dismounted and said I should turn over. But now there was a problem. No way could I hide the bulge that had grown in my shorts as she sat on me and massaged my back. Nevertheless, I turned over and tried to pretend nothing was different. She had dimmed the lights, and maybe she wouldn't notice.

Who was I kidding?

She sat alongside me and began massaging my chest, followed by doing my arms and stomach. "How does this feel?" she asked with another warm smile.

"Wonderful," I replied, although the pain of my confined erection was becoming nearly unbearable.

"You know," she said with a coquettish look, "you don't have to leave your shorts on."

"I — uh, well, I thought I was supposed to stay partially dressed."

"Well, maybe you'd feel more comfortable if I got undressed, too. Shall I?"

"Is this part of the massage?"

"No, not usually," she said. "But I like you and I want you to be at ease."

Believe it or not, I had the feeling she was being sincere and really did like me.

"Here — I'll get undressed and you can take off your shorts."

I sat on the edge of the bed and bent over so that removing my shorts could be done with a modicum of privacy. Still leaning forward after they came off, I watched Jenny disrobe.

The skirt and blouse came off easily, but she asked me to unhook her bra as she turned her back to me. Well, I had to sit up straight to reach the snaps, thus exposing my hardness in all its quivering excitement. But she was facing the other way, so I was able to deal with it.

However, I quickly doubled over again as she turned to face me, as she began removing her pantyhose.

"I hate pantyhose," she said. "They're so darned hard to get off and on — especially putting them on — you know — getting them straight and all."

Well, I thought, since she probably does this a few times every night, why bother to put them on in the first place? In fact, why was she wearing a skirt, a blouse, and a bra? Wouldn't it be more practical just to wear a robe — or maybe a sexy negligee? But maybe she didn't do this with all her customers. What a lovely thought.

I was enjoying the view of her dangling breasts as she bent forward to remove the pantyhose. They weren't the largest breasts I'd ever seen, but they were firm and had a delightful quiver to them as she leaned forward. To me, any view of a woman's breasts in motion is an erotic stimulus that turns my knees into mush.

Now completely naked, she asked, "Shall we get back to the massage?"

Without waiting for an answer she sat down beside me and gently nudged me into a prone position, while I was still trying to keep my about-ready-to-explode you-know-what hidden as best as I could.

"Now lay on your back," she said rather sternly, "and don't be shy. Everything will be all right."

Then, pretending not to notice my desperate condition, she began gently rubbing my chest. Then she moved down to my stomach, and finally to my abdomen, where she made gentle circular motions around what could no longer be hidden. However, she never touched it — just moved around it.

Suddenly she stopped and stood up, giving me a glorious view of her full frontal nudity. She put her hands on her shapely hips and became somewhat stern again.

"I have a question," she said. "Would you like to make love to me?"

"Make love?" I repeated as I sat up and tried to hide my feelings again by leaning forward. "Uh — I'm not sure what you mean."

Now she gave me a look that said, "You know damn well what I mean." But she just repeated the question.

And I still said I wasn't sure what she meant.

"Look," she said as she sat down next to me and put a hand on my knee, "You do like me, don't you?"

"Yes!" I heartily agreed, "I like you a lot — a whole lot."

"And," she smiled, "I like you a lot." (Again, I felt that she really meant it.)

"So if two people like each other a whole lot, what do they usually do?"

"Well, I guess they get to know each other a little better."

Now she drew away from me with a bemused smile. "You certainly have an interesting way of avoiding coming to the point, although I see you have a definite point of your own," she added while glancing at my crotch.

"Well, I came here tonight expecting a massage. I didn't know anyone did anything else here."

"We don't, always. But if I really like someone — well..."

So I decided to bite the bullet and ask the obvious question. "Does the $25 I paid at the desk cover making love?"

"No," she replied with a serious look. "I really need a little extra for that."

"How much extra?"

"Well, for you — another $25 would be okay."

"Sorry, I don't have another $25 with me."

"Okay," she said, "but only for you — how much do you have?"

"Ten dollars."

"Are you sure?"

"Check my pants pockets. All you'll find is a ten dollar bill."

She sat down alongside me again, and took my hand in hers.

"Look," she said, "the boss would never let me settle for $10. I'd have to make up the difference out of my own pocket. He times how long a client is in here — and he can tell what's going on. Your being here would actually cost me money."

"I certainly don't want that to happen," I said, getting up. "I'll just leave — but you can have the $10 anyway."

"Oh, you really are sweet," she said. "And I really do like you. You're different from the others somehow. So, tell you what — I'll let you make love to me, anyway. And maybe you'll come back someday and bring a little more money."

Well, talk about an offer a guy couldn't refuse.

I had never been with a prostitute before, and had always visualized them as hard-boiled cookies who'd racked up a lot of mileage and whose idea of "love-making" was wham, bam, thank you ma'am — out the door. Next?

Yet here was a young (25ish) pretty, warm, friendly, funny, and utterly delectable creature who could have been portraying the proverbial girl-next-door in the movies. How could I resist?

"Okay," I assured Jennifer, "I'll come back with the rest of the money."

"Good," she smiled as she lay on her back and spread her legs ever so slightly.

Well, she was ready for me to climb on and dive in — but I had become uneasy at hearing my stay in the room was being timed. So I sat on the edge of the bed and said, "How much time am I allowed with you?"

"Don't worry about it," she said, as she gently took my arm and pulled me toward her.

Well, I was worried about it. As a business proposition, I knew it would be better for her if I did the deed as quickly as possible and left. But I had become quite enamored of Jennifer and wanted the experience to last all night.

Well, Jennifer really did act as if time were no problem and that I was welcome to stay as long as I wanted. I found this very flattering; but was also worried I might be running up a big bill I really couldn't afford. But she was willing to trust me about the money — so I decided to trust her and just let nature take its course.

Now I must confess to feeling awkward about putting what happened next into words. Were I a professional novelist who made a living describing passionate love scenes, this might be easy. Or, I could just say we had sex, relaxed for a spell, and I went back to my apartment with a warm, satisfied feeling.

Instead, however, I will be unwaveringly honest and give a detailed account of what happened.

I positioned myself on top of Jennifer, who accommodated me by spreading her legs wide apart. The urge to accept the invitation and thrust home was overpowering, but I decided there should be some foreplay. She seemed perplexed at first when my guided muscle missed the opening and lay sandwiched between us as I simply embraced her and kissed her.

In fact, she almost didn't know how to react to being loved in ways other than strictly genital. She seemed further surprised, but quite pleased, when I moved from kissing her mouth to kissing her neck, her shoulders and, of course, her breasts, whose firm nipples got me even more excited.

By now, Jennifer was moaning quietly and her hips had begun to gyrate in a slight circular motion. When my kissing moved to her navel, her moaning became somewhat more audible. Then, as I began to move my mouth further south, she raised up on her elbows and said, "Oh my God — are you going to do what I think you're going to do?"

Well, it was hard to answer with a mouthful of wet vagina and a tongue that was busy looking for her clitoris. Jennifer just moaned even louder as she collapsed on her back and let me have my way with her genitalia. I slid my hands under her buttocks and drew her wetness even closer. I sucked up as much of her insides as I could get in my mouth and ran my tongue all over it. Then I let it all slide out and began nibbling on her golden brown pubic hair. She was alternately grabbing the hair on my head, and squeezing her nipples.

Finally, I was about to come — and didn't want to do it all over the sheet — so I deftly moved into position and exploded inside Jennifer, while she thrust her hips forward as violently as she could.

I rolled off her and we lay on our backs, totally spent.

Well, after our moment of mattress mania, we each had a cigarette and took a nap.

Kidding, of course — neither of us was a smoker, and taking a nap would have run up the bill.

However, we did lie on our backs and talk for a while. She squeezed my hand and said, "That was really great, you know. Do you think you could do it again in a little while?"

Not surprisingly, I was surprised by the question. "Won't you be in trouble if I stay here much longer?"

She squeezed my hand harder and said, "I told you not to worry about it. We can work things out some other time."

Meanwhile, she had reached for a box of Kleenex and removed a few tissues for tidying up.

"Maybe I can get my waterbed in here before you come back," she said, leaning on one elbow to face me.

"You have a waterbed? Why would you want to bring it here?"

"Have you ever made love on a waterbed?"

"I've never even slept on one. Have only seen them advertised on TV, in fact."

Trust me — you'll love it.!

"But don't they require a special heavy-duty frame? Wouldn't that be hard to get in here? And would your boss let you do it?"

"Yes, I've thought of all those things. That's why I've never done it. But if I knew you were coming..."

I couldn't tell if she was joking, or what. So I said, "Please don't move your waterbed. I mean, we do okay without it."

She just squeezed my hand and snuggled up next to me.

Anyway, I had a question I'd been wanting to ask. "When I talked to the receptionist earlier, she said 'Jenny will be available. But you introduced yourself as 'Jennifer.'"

"I know — everybody here calls me Jenny. But I prefer Jennifer. I call my daughter Jenny."

"You have a daughter? How old is she?"

"Four. She's my little angel."

"Well, if you don't mind my asking, who takes care of her when you're here?"

"My mom."

"Not your husband?"

Her face darkened as she turned away said, "Let's don't talk about him."

"Okay," I replied. "By the way, you may think I'm just making this up, but I love little kids. Especially little girls."

"You do? I would love for you to meet my Jenny."

"Hey," I replied enthusiastically, "that would be fun." But I also realized I may be getting in over my head. Waterbed? Meeting her daughter? All I had come for was a massage. But when I looked into her soft, smiling eyes, my heart melted and I wanted to say, "Great! When can we get together?" But sanity prevailed and I didn't.

So, by way of changing the subject, I said, "I think I'm ready."

"To do it again?" she squealed with delight.

"Right," I said, but not really sure I could.

"Wonderful — how about I go down on you this time?" she asked with her eyes aglow.

Now this is hard to explain, but I really don't get as much pleasure out of receiving as I do in giving. However, accepting her invitation would have meant I didn't have to get it all the way up — and it was still a little tired. It's hard to fill a woman's love garden with a zestless zucchini, but when she's kissing it, licking it, or sucking the life out of it, relentless rigidity is not really required.

And don't get me started on where one should and shouldn't have an orgasm. I realize a lot of guys take pride in saying, "My bitch swallows — and loves it!" And I've known at least one woman who says it's no big deal. But it's something I would never expect a woman to do.

Anyway, getting back to Jennifer, I said, "How about next time. Right now I would just like to have my hands all over you — and maybe get into you from behind."

"Doggie-style? Oh, I love that," she said as she got on her knees and spread them.

I didn't expect such a quick response and wasn't sure my battery was fully recharged. But I got behind her and leaned forward to where I could fondle her dangling dingdongs. Well, the hardness of her nipples and the shiver I felt go down her spine gave my flashlight the charge it needed to go searching and stabbing into the depths of her soul.

The moaning and the groaning and the muttering of, "Thank you, God, thank you!" started immediately. And Jennifer became quite vocal, too.

Well, being united doggie-style gives each partner a lot of hip motion latitude, and we did our happy humping with movements of every conceivable kind. I would stop periodically to look down and marvel at the sight of my personal plaything plunging into her warm and wonderful wetness. In fact, I would slow down just to get a better look. I've always wanted to be a vicarious voyeur.

My hands moved from her breasts to her mound of brown hair, while an adventurous finger would try to find her clitoris, in case my other extremity was not making contact. Well, I wish I could say it kept up (no pun intended) for a half hour or so, but it was probably only about 15 minutes before I again unloaded in her.

As we again lay side by side, Jennifer said there was a shower room just down the hall where we could clean up. I agreed that this might be the best thing to do now, as I didn't want the amount of time I spent there that evening to get her into any kind of trouble.

So we showered and then went back to Jennifer's room to get dressed. I promised I'd be back soon and reached for the doorknob to leave. Before I could open it, though, Jennifer hugged and kissed me as though she was afraid she would never see me again. I returned her affection and said, "Soon — very soon. And we won't need the waterbed."