The trouble with being a busy business woman, in her forties, with a very demanding job, is that since I got divorced five years ago, I have not found time to form a new relationship. I'm frankly too busy. Five days a week are completely taken up with work and I like to relax at weekends with tennis on Saturday and a slob out day on Sunday.
You might think that a tennis club was an ideal way to find someone but it really isn't. They are all either complete numpties or married with wives that keep a very close eye on them when there is a divorcee around. You know the, "she knows what it's for and isn't getting any" thought process. Actually, judging by the attentions of the married men, some of them aren't getting anything like enough either. Tennis outfits don't hide a lot and you can usually tell whether someone is a bum man or a tit man very quickly! But that's not for me, way too complicated, far more so than Mr Magic Rabbit and he just goes back in the drawer when I'm done!
Saturday evenings I usually meet up with a bunch of girls in the same situation. We have a meal in the pub, a few drinks and put the world to rights. One Saturday, after several glasses of rather fine Malbec, the conversation got even more racy than usual and I confided in my friend Lucy that Mr Magic Rabbit didn't always get full marks and she laughed and told me I ought to go and see Jerome.
"Who's Jerome?" I enquired.
"He's a masseur, in town, and a very good one" she replied.
"It's not just a massage I need." I joked
"And it's not just a massage you'll get!" She winked knowingly. I couldn't believe my ears and without wanting to seem too eager pumped her for as much information as possible. Eventually she flipped me his card and said "satisfaction guaranteed".
When I got home I pulled the card from my bag and read it. "Jerome, Ladies' Masseur, for the ultimate in relaxation" and a telephone number. It took me two weeks to work up the courage just to call him.
"Jerome," said a strong masculine voice.
"I have your card here and would like to make an appointment."
After a few more questions and mutual diary hunting we agreed on the following Friday at 7pm.
I couldn't believe what I'd done. From what I'd gathered from Lucy, I had just booked an erotic massage with a man I'd never met who was going to, let's face it, ahem, bring me off! I spent the whole week wondering how I would cope and whether or not I should cancel. The usual insecurities haunted me. My body's not in bad shape, a little saggy here and there when I don't have the support of Victoria and her secret but Jerome is going to see rather a lot of it and this put butterflies in my stomach.
Friday came and dragged all day, eventually the office closed and I shot home and jumped in the bath. To cancel or not to cancel, that is the question. Maybe I should just reach for Mr Magic Rabbit and stay at home. But I already knew that that was not going to happen, I don't need a bath before Mr MR visits. I got out the bath, towelled myself off and pulled on a pair of Vickie's best although why I should worry about underwear that was coming off pretty soon escapes me, an uplifting bra and a shift dress completed the look. All set? Quick check in the mirror; yeah all set!
The taxi pulled up outside an elegant mews flat and I rang the bell of number 42. The door buzzer operated as the strong masculine voice said "Welcome Jenny, come on up." I mounted the stairs slightly hesitantly, butterflies going mad in my stomach, to be met by a tall slender man in his thirties wearing fashionable white jogging pants and a tight white T shirt, he had a winning smile and a mop of wavy black hair. He held out his hand, which I shook and after the usual pleasantries, led me to his studio.
I was relieved to find the blinds were drawn and it was only lit by a handful of candles with soft music playing, the many mirrors reflected the flickering flames giving the impression of a larger room and oodles of candles.
"You can take off your things behind se screen and settle your self, face down, on the table under the towel. I will come back shortly." Just a trace of a French accent made this all very alluring and I went behind the screen while he left the rom. Big swallow, butterflies jumping, what the fuck am I getting into? You're a big girl now and his hands really are marvellous. Shift dress off, bra loosened and dropped on chair. Do I part with my knickers? For sure he expects me to but it's my last line of defence. Excitement caused my hart to flutter as I lowered them to the floor, stepped out and placed them on the chair.
Now I was totally naked in a stranger's flat and what's more with a nipple erection. Two paces had me by the side of the table, up onto it and under the towel. Safe! A few minutes later Jerome returned and I caught a glimpse of him in one of the many mirrors, his white T shirt had gone and his bronzed chest was almost hair free. His white joggers hung loosely from his hips where a draw string held them up, just. Jerome chatted away briefly as he folded the towel expertly down to my bum and started work.
His hands and technique were fantastic and I so nearly drifted off as he worked on my overstressed shoulders and neck. As he worked I could see him or his reflection from all angles and I couldn't help noticing that, judging by the gentle swaying motion in his joggers, they were all he wore. He massaged my feet and rolled the towel up to my bum and worked on my calves, then upwards to my thighs. Bliss. His hands slid up my thigh to the crease of my buttock then off to each side only just missing the edge of my neatly trimmed bush before making their way back to my knee.
"Are you comfortable, relaxed? ".
