She had heard about Taylor from a friend. A "relaxation therapist," her friend had called him in an email. He gave unique massages that carried you far away and seemed to know exactly what felt best, Madison had said. "Just call him and make an appointment. And would you believe, he makes house calls!" Shannon had saved his phone number for weeks before calling him one morning as she was deleting old emails whose useful life had expired.
After the expected introductions, she made an appointment for 5 p.m. the following Thursday and gave Taylor directions to her house. "Will there be anyone else home?" The question surprised her. Alerted, "Why?"
"It's just that if it will be quiet I'll be able to help you focus differently in relaxing." Seemed sensible. "It will be just the two of us. My husband's working late so I thought I'd treat myself and Madison said you were really good." A shiver of guilt washed through Shannon, inviting a stranger at a time she knew her husband would be out. The shiver settled low inside her before disappearing. It felt good.
"Good." "Here's what I'd like you to do. Just before 5, I'd like you to take a shower or bath. When you're finished, put on any underwear you like and a soft robe. Just wrap yourself in the robe and tie it snug, as I'll need to roll it back in places as I work on you."
"Okay, I'll see you Thursday at 5," said Shannon. She hung up. Jeez, now I'm going to be showering for a stranger I've never seen. He's going to have his hands on me at home, alone, and my husband doesn't know. Madison'd better be right about this. She realized it had been a long time since she had gotten ready for someone to touch her. What the hell, maybe I'll wear that thong and bra I bought months ago. It'll be under the robe so that's okay. As she walked away from the phone, she didn't realize she was smiling.
Shannon found herself watching the clock in her home office on Thursday. It seemed as though it were frozen on what turned out to be a slow day. That just made matters worse. She was surprised at herself. She wasn't altogether comfortable with a man coming into her home to give her a massage. But she never seemed to find time to do anything for herself. And he was recommended by Madison who can be pretty picky. Still, maybe it would have been better to go to a day spa somewhere.
At 4 o'clock Shannon decided she had stalled long enough that it was too late to cancel. She wrote one last email, hit "send," and shut down the computer. She closed the door to her office, her cat asleep in his bed next to her desk chair. About the only time she locked up the cat used to be when she and her husband were planning a brief sex encounter. But that was a long time ago. So why was she locking up the cat now? That brief tingling sensation returned at the unanswered question. She decided not to take a stab at an answer, just not think about it. Put it in the too-hard-to-think-about box.
She turned and headed up the stairs to her bedroom where she had laid out her new underwear and a robe earlier that morning after her husband had left for work. Just putting them on the bed had produced another brief quiver. She opted for the shower. More time to get ready that way.
As Shannon stepped into the shower, Taylor checked the small, dark blue gym back he took on house calls. He unzipped it, reached in, and felt around. Everything he might need was there, including the freshly filled massage oil bottle. He hoped this next house call might turn into a regular client. He could use a few more. He opened the bag once more and checked again, to be sure. I should spend a little extra time with Shannon. Wouldn't it be great if she became a weekly client? It would really be something if she were attractive and responsive. Taylor always preferred the clients who responded to his touch. It made his job a lot more pleasurable for everyone involved.
At the sound of the doorbell, Shannon nearly jumped off the couch. She opened the door slightly. Taylor was standing almost two steps back from the door. "Long" is the first word that came to Shannon's mind. Everything about Taylor was long. His legs. His arms. Even his fingers. He had the build of a tennis player: long and lean masculine legs emerging from white shorts and tapering to trim ankles. There's that quiver again.
After introductory pleasantries, Taylor asked where Shannon would like to receive her treatment. "Up there," she said, nodding toward the stairs leading to her bedroom. "Stay here while I go up and get settled," said Taylor. "I'll call down in just a minute." Shannon watched him walk up the staircase. He ascended the stairs soundlessly, the effortless glide of an athlete. She watched him until he turned to enter her bedroom.
"Okay, it's time for your treatment!"
