Nighttime Therapy

It was a cool night. Cool and quiet. I just finished my third glass of wine (or was it my fourth?) and decided that since there was nothing much to do my nightly bath sounded scrumptious. Relaxing and soaking at the end of a tough day is one of my favorite activities. As the hubbub of daily life winds down so do I, alone with my inner thoughts in a candle lit environment enveloped by sensuous water with my CD player close at hand pouring out romantic music. All this provides much needed peace and comfort.

The telephone shook me from this solitude and since phones are my fetish I have six strategically placed throughout the house including one here in the bathroom. After all, a girl just never knows when someone important may call.

"Hello."

No answer.

"Hello" this time using a bit louder voice.

"Are you taking a bath?"

It was a man's voice.

"Who is this?" I wanted to know then after a moment's hesitation and the realization of what the caller just asked fully sunk into my head I was concerned by its implication. My tone became defensive. "How do you know where I am and what I'm doing?"

"I heard water splashing and a hollow bathroom echo in your voice. You had to be in the bathroom either in the tub or about to get in."

"What do you want?" I was a freaked out by his seemingly x-ray vision and decided that my best plan of action was too proceed cautiously. In hind site it might have been smarter to simply hang up, but I was intrigued, gullible or just plain stupid. Not sure which.

"I want to touch you." came back the voice and said in such a way that was every bit as sensuous as my bath. "Not just touch you but give you pleasure through the best massage you've ever experienced in your life." His tone was calm, his words short which shot a spark up my spine.

I was hooked, couldn't hang up now. I wanted to know more. Half playing half concerned I inquired "And what makes you think I would

ever

want you to touch me? What makes you think I want a massage, or even

need

a massage? Are you some kind of freak, pervert?" I was in charge now!

He ignored this inquiry and got right back to the question at hand. "I just know. You like the touch of firm hands upon your back, you enjoy the pleasure as your muscles are being kneaded, and I know that when your scalp is massaged you melt from ecstasy. I know. I know that you crave what I have to offer and how good it makes you feel."

For a second or two my mind began playing tricks on me. His words transfixed me to actually believing the deed was happening right now, that I was being pleasured by strong, safe hands in that special way. Then I snapped back to reality realizing that what was swirling around in my head were just words and I was still in my bath. I was surprised to hear the next words coming out of my mouth, "Mmmm, a massage does sound good. Really, really good." That wasn't the message I wanted to send, at least not consciously.

He continued his end of the conversation slowly, patiently and confidently. "Here's what I want you to do. Enjoy your bath -- for now. Let the warm water embrace you, the soap cleanse away the last ounce of tension. Then when you're finished get out of the tub and dry yourself off. Don't bother putting any lotions or powers on your body, that won't be necessary. Next I want you to walk to your bedroom and get a simple thigh length t-shirt, nothing special and not one of your good ones. Just in case if you know what I mean." I wasn't sure I really knew what he meant, but he had my attention.

"Lastly, pull back the cover on your bed a slip in between the sheets. Then wait. Do you understand me?"

"Oh, I understand you but what makes you think I'll listen to you?"

Silence.

"Cat got your tongue?" I taunted.

"What I described should take you about ten minutes to accomplish. Fifteen minutes max. If you would like something more then by all means listen to some soft music but no television. Then wait."

"Wait?"

"Wait."

"Wait for what?"

Again, no answer. I hate when he does that.

"Hello? Hello?"

The line was dead.

"What a strange call," I thought. Eerie and bizarre, it was a call like I've never experienced before. I thought I knew who the caller was although I wasn't sure. Time tends to blur the mind and it had been a while since last hearing that voice. Was it who I thought, who I hoped it was, or simply some sadistic bastard? Oh please don't let it be the latter.

His words. I kept coming back to his words, they sounded familiar in sort of a déjà vu way. Was it someone who had given me a massage before? Who I dated? If so then that narrowed the field of possibilities down to double digits, okay, high double digits but double digits just the same. One thing I didn't let on to sas that he got me mildly aroused. On the other I was very nervous and confused. Actually, more than slightly nervous. What if it was someone who wanted to do me harm? Then again if someone really wanted to harm me, would they call ahead of time to announce their intentions? Probably not. But what if it wasn't who I thought it was? No, it had to be him. Didn't it? Maybe not, then what? Those three glasses of wine I had consumer (or was it four?) were playing tricks on my mind.

With all this thinking, time started to get away from me. Besides, the water was turning cold and my fingers were pruning from being in the bath so long. My body was a real mess -- ripples from the water and goose bumps from the cold. My body looked like a mosaic of color and bumps. The towel felt good against my body as I dried off. The clean fragrance from the Downey filled my nose and the softness of the cotton was a joy to my skin.

After this I thought, "The hell with it. I'm not going to put on a t-shirt just because of a stupid telephone call from some strange man. And who gave him the right to tell me anything, I'll be damned if I'm going to do as he says."

Next thing I know I'm rummaging through my closet looking for a t-shirt. Did I mention that I'm a bit ditsy? And I'm not even blond!

I must have put-on and taken-off six t-shirts before I found the right one. Then I went around the house picking up stray papers and cleaning up. Besides being a bit ditsy I'm also neurotic. I checked all the doors and windows just in case. That made me feel better.

I did a big sign walking down the hall to my bedroom, then pulled back the covers and crawled in amongst the sheets. I realized the room was too quiet, then it hit me. I got out of bed, walked over to radio and put on my favorite station that played "love songs" at night. That's better. Back in bed I then realized my glass was empty and needed water, so I threw off the comforter in a huff and steamed to the kitchen, pouring myself a glass of water then marching back across the house and putting the water glass on the nightstand then got back into bed, again, for the third time in the last five minutes. Ditzy! Finally I was in the safety and comfort of my own bed and it felt good.

The relaxation of the bath, warmth of the comforter and softness of the love songs must have worked their magic acting as the perfect catalyst for falling asleep because as much as I desperately wanted to stay awake . . . just in case . . . .it was not to be. Poof, I was out like a light.

I did not hear the front door open. I did not hear the quiet footsteps steadily coming down the hall then into my bedroom. I vaguely felt the bed depress from someone sitting down near me. What I did hear was my own scream when my eyes lazily opened and saw a man sitting not five feet away. The scream startled him and scared the hell out of me. My heart was racing so fast it could have taken pole position at the Indianapolis 500. I was awake. Yeap, I was definitely awake.

I began yelling and asking as a crazy woman. "What are you doing here?" After asking the question I realized how stupid it was. After all, he was the one who called me only a short time ago and told me what we was going to do, so why was I so shocked now that he was sitting right next to me on the bed?

"Why do you think?"

"That was

you

on the phone"?

"Un-huh."

"I knew that."

"I doubt it."

"No, I really knew that." I wasn't even convincing myself with these words.

He wasn't convinced either. What I realized is that my moment of relaxation was long gone and I was fully awake and freekin' out and startled half out of my mind. My eyes were the size of saucers my heart pumped a mile a minute and I could barely catch my breath. Sure, I was ready for a massage -- give me a break! I was more likely to get a baseball bat and bop this no good rat of a man over the head for scaring me half to death.

"What are you doing here?" I wanted it to come out more menacing then it did. It actually sounded wossie.

"Didn't we discuss this over the phone?"

"No. It was more like you telling me, there wasn't a lot of discussion."

"I thought I would surprise you."

"Yeah, thanks for that. You owe me big time you know."

"For what?"

"For . . . I don't know, let's just say on general principles."

"How about I pay off that debt?"

"And how do you propose to do that?"

"Lie down."

"Yeah, you'd like that wouldn't you?" Then I thought to myself, hey, I might like that too. "Hmmm, let me think about this for a moment."

This time his words came through more as an order than a request. "Lie down."

Why argue, this could get interesting. "Okay, okay, I'm lying down. You don't have to get pushy you know."

I did as instructed and lied down on my bed on top of the comforter. The anticipation was getting to me. I mean this man has two of the best hands that have ever been placed on my body. He instantly knows how to use those hands and they are firm yet soft, tender yet rugged and oh, they are sooooo warm and this warmth is so yummy. I mean it's like wrapped yourself in a towel fresh from a hot drier. It just doesn't get much better then that.

Like always he starts with his fingers wrapped around my shoulder, his thumbs buried deep into the base of each shoulder blade. Slowly he begins rubbing his thumbs in a circular motion, not to firm, not to light the touch that it is soothing without hurting. After a few minutes I'm in heaven. There is something so relaxing about being massaged. Personally I think it is about the closest human contact two people can have, other than sex of course. Think about it, at no point will anyone else have such willing access to my body, that alone is a luscious thought.

Now he moves his thumbs closer to my backbone giving me shivers. First slowly down my back until his hands reach my tailbone; then slowly back up again massaging every inch of skin, Back down his hands go . . . now back up. Please, please don't stop I think. Next he begins massaging my shoulders using only the heal of his hand. Tension is melting away faster then snow in summer. My total concentration is on his hands and the affect they are having on my body and my mind. Relaxing, comforting, pleasing my total being and mellowing my mood along with it.

Probably no more than fifteen minutes passed for this to happen and in that short time felt more like fifteen seconds. In fact, time seemed to stop all together. Oh my God, he's just moved his left hand to my neck. He has this way of putting one hand on the back of my neck with his thumb on one side and fingers on the other then he rubs the length of my neck up and down. A smile instinctively comes on to my face that luckily he can't see, why give him the pleasure? Then, taking both hands, he begins to deep massage my scalp. A girl can't be worried about her do at a time like this. Kneading my scalp sends chills through my body and clear down my spine. This isn't fair, nothing should feel this good, but it does, it certainly does. Any excitement or extra heart-pumping that I felt only a short time ago waking up and seeing him stand over me dissipated like smoke. I am totally relaxed from head to toe. I am more then relaxed. I am content.

Darn, he's done with my scalp already? This can't be so. What's next? For a minute or two his hands explore the back of my body from head to my round slightly chunky ass. Once reaching the bottom of my t-shirt he reaches under and using his fingernails lightly makes them dance over my skin. I should be embarrassed by my lack of clothing and his easy access to my most private parts, but I'm not.

One moment his fingertips are at my waist and the next they've moved up along my sides and only inches from my breasts, then back again to my spine and down again to the top of my ass, over and over he does this and each pass feels better than the last. His fingers move like partners do on a dance floor, free flowing, gliding, confident and knowing. The tingling sensation I feel is delicious.

His hands stop. He bends at the waist until his mouth is near my ear. "Take your shirt off."

How can I say no? Why would I want to say no? I peel the tee off with ease. My nakedness is complete and it feels so natural. No embarrassment, only the joy of being free of clothes. It doesn't matter that my body is not perfect. A few extra pounds here, an inch or two more there, who cares at a time like this? The feeling of being imperfect is swept away by the delight of being touched. Of having someone so close who wants to touch only me, who likes to touch only me and who I like to have touching only me. I am deep in the moment when he takes a hold of my left arm and slowly squeezes every inch from my arm pit to the wrist. Fingers constantly massaging, moving back-and-forth, my arm is like putty in his hands, yielding to his every wish. My fingers twitch involuntarily every now and then as if to acknowledge the delight in it all. He takes the palm of my hand and wraps both of his hands around mine. His thumbs begin to press deep into my palm while his fingers massage the back of my hand. My total focus is literally in the palm of my hand. Then he takes each finger and begins pressed them one-by-one. First the pinky right on down to my thumb. The same activity takes place on my right arm, hand and fingers and it has the same effect -- absolute perfection.

How can one possibly pay someone back for making you feel this good? This isn't a job, it's not about money. It's something given from the heart. As good as this makes me feel I often wonder what he gets out of this. How does this make him feel? It can't be nearly as good as what I am getting and yet he does it so willingly. Thank God for men.

I am shaken out of this thought process as his hands take hold of left thigh. At first I want to giggle, I always do. My next thought is being self conscious of where his hands are at the moment but I need not be. Two thumbs press into my quads as two hands massage the rest of my thigh. This continues slowly, luxuriously moving down to my ankle and just like he did with the palms and fingers of my hands, he now does to the soles of my feet and to each toe as well. Those little Piggies never had it so good! The hands are then transferred to my right leg and the process begins anew as do the good feelings that go along with them.

I hear the whisper in my ear. "Turn over."

Don't ask me why but I'm always slightly embarrassed by this. I mean it's not like he hasn't ever seen me naked, lord that's happened dozens of times. Maybe this slight discomfort says more about me than him. All I know is that I am quickly overcome the feeling. How can I not after having his magic fingers work the back half of my being for the past half hour?

The shoulders once again, he starts at the front of my shoulders. Slow circular motions starting where my shoulder and arm meet the joint gets rubbed, squeezed, pleasured and then he begins working down each arm. Two hands on my abdomen at just the right pressure and I automatically tighten my stomach. I wish my abs were tighter. I wish my stomach was flatter. Oh hell, why don't I just enjoy this and stop wishing?

My nipples seem to know that he is about to touch my breasts even before it happens. They seem to sense the oncoming attention. They stand up all on their own to take notice, and I of course notice them. There is something about having your breasts massaged and nipples touched for the first time that can absolutely send me up a wall. When it happens I involuntarily suck in a breath of air and I think my toes curl too, but I'm not sure. Other things begin to happen as well. I start having funny little feelings down below. It's not really a full tingling sensation, it's more like an internal notice that changes are about to happen, wonderful changes -- very female changes.

I know he is enjoying this part of the massage as much as I am, (and possible even more) but he doesn't linger, at least not

too

long. Instead he again his fingernails lightly travel down my midsection to the curls of hair above my lips then up they go and back over my breasts. It's for sure now; I want more than a friendly massage. I want it all. My relaxation is being replaced by a hint of anticipation. Slight tension is building, not between the two of us but within me. I'm waiting, oh, am I waiting. Waiting to see where his expert hands go next. Waiting to see how he will touch me and where, how he will ratchet up this tension to the next level. Oh dear God, please let it be soon. Please, please

please

! I love his massage techniques but really, a girl can only take so much. The palm of his hand is now over my mound and he is caressing the insides of both thighs. "Oh yes" I think, "YES." His hands now surrounding my thighs and the feeling radiates out to a much more centralized location. There is a definite tingling now and moisture too. My body is responding as it should and I am so happy for it. I almost want to scream out and say, "Here. Touch me here." But I don't, I patiently wait because I know that sooner of later, his hands and fingers will find my promise land.

I don't have long to wait. One finger begins tracing the outer portion of my lips; and they are so willing and giving. The finger beings touching the inside flesh then recedes back out again. Now he probes with a finger by inserting it into my vagina about an inch, then he slowly pulls it back out, then in again and out. With each thrust his finger gets wetter and goes deeper. With each thrust I experience increased pleasure and I know that pleasure will build from here. Without even realizing it a low "Ummmmm" escapes from my mouth. My body does the rest of the talking. Before long a second finger joins his first widening my lips and probing ever deeper. He maintains a steady rhythm that is driving me wild. This feels so good, so unbelievably good.

And then he stops. His wet fingers are outside tracing my womanhood upward to where my two lips meet. With his other hand he expertly draws back the flesh and I know that pure ecstasy is only moments away. His finger, the one with my juices, finds its intended target and I jump yet again. He has found my clitoris and now all is perfect, or at the very least oh so close to it. Slowly he rubs in a circular motion and looks at me straight in my eye lowering himself to my face. Or lips part and tongues meet. I am happy beyond belief. We kiss each other deeply, hungrily finding fulfillment beyond belief. He kisses me deeply probably because he is horny as hell, and he likes me too, I know that's true.

On the one hand I want this feeling, this joy, this bliss to last for hours on end. On the other hand a ticking bomb is inside of me just waiting to explode. My moisture is now more like a steady trickle. I can feel the wetness run down my leg. I can feel the tension building in my body with each pass of his finger over my most tender places. Our kisses probe deep into each others willing mouth; tongues trace lips and butt against each other as in a ritual mating dance. I want to crawl into his body, for our two soles to become one. I want him to experience the feelings that I am experiencing. I want us to explode each other, everything together. I want . . . I want . . .oh, there is so much I want.