Introduction

This is a true story – or at least parts of it. I'll let you decide which parts. If you are just looking for sex; skip to Part 1. But the introduction sets the stage and is just a little naughty.

*****

I had been depressed. My former massage therapist had finally taken one too many mushrooms and decided to go find what was left of herself as a hippie in California. It left me alone. I was married with kids, but my wife had given up physical intimacy years before. I loved her and we were friends, but we were roommates. During arguments in years past she had lashed out in anger at my suggestion that I needed a girlfriend to take care of the physical needs. "As long as you don't bring anyone or anything home."

I wished it were that simple. I wished she had been serious. It would have been easy. But I knew my wife well enough to know that cheating on her would probably get me murdered – or at least castrated. Instead, I decided to do the noble thing and remain faithful – at least physically. Without my wife to fantasize about and an overblown sense of loyalty, I had few options.

Years after my wife's libido had evaporated, I took up running. In my fantasies, if I was in good shape, some random woman might just find me attractive enough to take me home for a romp. "If you catch me you can have me." Instead, I found that I actually enjoyed running for the increased energy, and reduced stress so it continued. It even helped me think about something other than sex – which was beginning to consume my thoughts like it hadn't since I was a teenager.

But as I gained muscle and lost weight, my age was telling me that I was certainly no teenager. My back, legs, and joints all ached. That's when I heard an ad for one of those big-box spas; the ones that hook you into a monthly contract. I went in with high hopes. The fantasies were rampant leading up to the massage. Perhaps I could get that "happy ending". But I knew it was unlikely – this was a legit place and frankly, this first one was going to be a couple's massage with my wife.

This wasn't my first full-body massage. I had been on vacation some years previous and had naively gone to the nearest "spa" for a walk-in massage. The old lady behind the screen could barely speak English and it didn't raise any alarm bells. Then she buzzed me in and took my cash – still no alarm bells. When she turned me over to a slightly younger and slightly more attractive massage therapist, I didn't think anything of it.

It wasn't until "Table shower?" was uttered that I started to wonder what I had gotten myself in to.

It wasn't bad a mediocre massage from an exotic, middle-aged Asian woman with broken English. And that was the extent of my expectation right up until she uncovered me, grabbed my dick, and started pumping. I got my happy ending and the cops didn't break down the door. I had no idea what kind of tip I was supposed to give. I dressed and hurriedly left in shame. If not for the aching muscles, I'm not sure I ever would have gone back for another massage.

I had never seen my massage therapist for the box-store; though I had insisted on a woman. I had massages from men before – but never naked and vulnerable on a massage table. That just wasn't for me. My wife – in her asexual mind also wanted a woman. I guess the thought of any man touching her had become repugnant. What a shame. She was still beautiful.

We arrived and we disrobed. She insisted on keeping her panties on. I was thrilled to strip bare; though I got a disapproving look from my wife. "That's perverted", was all she could say. I rolled my eyes, slipped under the sheets, and almost immediately began to drift off.

A pair of therapists came in. I got Carly. She weighed about 250 pounds and was shaped like a linebacker – not fat – just big. She was pleasant enough, but that was another nail in the coffin of that fantasy. I found it ironic that my wife got Joanne – a little older, but relatively cute.

The details of that massage are not important. It wasn't very good. I got a nice deep-tissue massage, but I felt like Carly was tenderizing me for dinner later that evening. It was far from relaxing with four people in the room each talking occasionally and randomly.

After that, my wife and I both decided that separate rooms made more sense. I was surprised we hadn't already made the same arrangement at home – but the last shred of intimacy kept me in our bedroom to keep the boogie man away.

I didn't complain about the new arrangement. We would arrive at the spa together, greet our massage therapists and toddle down to separate rooms. I usually just asked for random girls – wondering if each might be better than the last – or at least better looking.

I got Carly again once or twice, but went out of my way to occasionally ask for someone different. I don't remember all of their names anymore. There was a cute one, but I could barely feel her touching me and heaven forbid if she would ever touch my ass. As a runner, my glutes were in some desperate need. At least Carly would do some decent work through the sheets.

This continued for about a year. I was shelling out a good bit of money for my wife and I to get this pampering; but to be honest, I was kind of getting tired of spending money for an hour of relaxation when it was usually wasted by the time I drove home. I was on the verge of quitting altogether when I got injured and ended up in the hospital.

I needed physical therapy anyway and had some money left in my account because I had to skip several months' worth of sessions. During the break, I guess my wife had the same idea – she stopped going too; something about wanting me to be there – ever the protector, I guess.

But with the leftover credit in my account, I decided to get a 90 minute massage when I returned. That's when I met Travis. Travis was a female. In fact, she was one of the prettiest girls in the place. I wasn't sure why I had never gotten a massage from her before. I believe our schedules clashed.

Travis was immediately chatting – something that I didn't mind during my massages. I was still fairly quiet; thinking that it was expected, but once in a while she'd ask me questions about my work, running, and even my wife. That was nice. And she would return information to me from time to time; her age, some of her interests, and often a story or two about her boyfriend. All the while she was pinpointing some sore spots I didn't even realize I had. I have to admit, I got flushed when she peeled back the sheet to reach my lower back and glutes. "Athletes need direct contact with the glutes and IT band". I didn't know what an IT band was, but I was happy to have her work at it.

Then the unexpected happened. The sheet went back up and she suddenly climbed up on the table with me. "I'm not really supposed to do this, but you are one of the most inflexible people I've ever met."

"My wife would agree". That elicited a laugh. The next thing I know she had her knees in my rear-end and elbows in my back and she started rocking back and forth. It hurt so good.

It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. I walked out of the spa that day light as a feather. And I still felt good hours later. My next run was one of my best. Needless to say, I requested Travis again on my next visit. The next time I was again surprised when I was face up near the end of the 90 minutes. She strategically stuffed the sheet around my privates and lifted my leg. The next thing I knew, her leg was across me. You'd think it was erotic, but she started stretching my hamstrings almost to the point that I was looking at my own leg. "Leverage" she said as I grunted. "Breathe".

"I'm beginning to see why some guys are into domination." Another laugh. Not a giggle – there was no embarrassment. I'm not sure what triggered it, but she started regaling me with another story about her boyfriend and how she had given him a massage that ended in rough sex. Now I was truly intrigued by this girl. I had been staring at her ass whenever I got the chance and now she was the one who had broken the ice about sex. The fantasy moved to flirting – or at least I felt free to unburden myself about a few things – skirting the edges of taboo topics. That's when I started to really notice the difference in our ages. She was probably 15 years younger than me in her mid-20s. I was a middle aged guy from an earlier era and had been raised not to talk about such things.

The massage sessions didn't end as I had originally planned. Instead, they went on month after month. Each conversation became a little more risqué than the next. At one point I finally confided in her that I was probably addicted to sex and she whispered, "me too". From then on we never looked back. We were kindred spirits. I would tell her about my fantasies and dreams of screwing my wife again – and with some imagination, and she would tell me stories that weren't fantasy at all. Her stories were wild and exciting and I wished I was living them with her.

Some days she would just shuck the sheet when I was face down. By now it was pretty obvious that she had seen all of me and I didn't mind. I hadn't realized that I was a nudist at heart – or at least an exhibitionist. In all of the conversations there was never any suggestion that she would ever take things further. She once admitted that she had given a happy ending or two, but really only to guys she was dating.

We were just two friends sharing our addiction and our fantasies. She was more than just my massage therapist and evidently, I was more to her as well. I respected our friendship too much to ever push my luck – and the massages were fantastic. Twice, I was lucky enough to give her a massage. It wasn't anywhere near as extensive as mine, but she went topless as I politely turned away. She instructed me how to kneed her muscles. The feel of her skin was delightful. I was getting my intimacy if not the happy ending.

Two years into our strange relationship, she called me to talk. She was going through a rough patch at work and wanted to talk. We had gotten together once or twice away from the massage – but it was very rare. So I left work early and headed over. I even let my wife know; having found that the truth rarely got me in trouble. To hide a visit to my massage therapist's home without telling my wife would have been asking for trouble.

Imagine my surprise when Travis answered the door in a towel. "Oh, I was just about to get ready to go." I admit I was dumbfounded.

I numbly followed her to her bedroom where I had received a massage or two over the years (having abandoned the big-box store months before). I couldn't help but notice the shapely legs and a peacock tattoo I had never seen before. I longed to see more.

We chatted for a couple of minutes. She was bitching about her coworkers and life in general. Several times she seemed on the verge of tears while I sat on the bed watching her open drawers and flit around the room.

Without warning, the towel dropped. She paused for a moment almost as if to allow me to take in her stunning body. She had a dragonfly tattoo over one breast. The head was her nipple. She was completely shaved, but had an intricate tattoo just above her feminine cleft. That was one lucky tattoo artist. I imagined how she smelled and tasted. My dick stirred but I valued her friendship too much to do more than just stare. Years of a sexless marriage had trained me to avoid the thoughts that would lead to an embarrassing hard on.

She turned and moved into her bathroom to take a shower. I guess I'm an ass man. I had never realized how magnificent she was. My dick stirred again; threatening to speak more than my words ever could. She motioned for me to sit on the toilet seat and we continued to chat while she cleaned up. I couldn't really see in there, but I was dreaming that I was that lucky bar of soap.

Our friendship changed then, but not for the worse. Our relationship was cemented with a strong sexual tension. Our conversations had no bounds. She trusted me and confessed that she could tell me anything. And I felt the same way. I told her about my frustrations with my wife and she told me about her threesome – in specific detail. That was the only time the stimulation overrode my self-discipline. It didn't help that she was massaging my inner thighs at the same time. My face reddened as I tented the sheet.

She didn't skip a beat. "It happens". My turn to laugh. After that I confessed my lust for her. I could tell she wasn't surprised. "That's why I like you," she said. "You're always so respectful."

I don't think we were having the same conversation.

We were comfortable with each other and I had the intimacy I craved. At the beginning of one session, she commented on the heat and needed to change her shirt. "You can fulfill a lifelong fantasy and stay topless if you want." My inner pervert was really pushing the limits.

But a funny thing happened. She stopped and paused. I was face down so I couldn't see her expression, but I could feel her thinking. A full five seconds went by. "Not today", she said and then continued on as usual.

I had to wonder what she was thinking. Was she tempted? It seemed a little strange but I got the distinct impression that she had given my fantasy some serious thought.

But I would never know if she might reconsider my fantasy at some point. Not long after, she told me that she was planning to move. I was heartbroken. And my addiction was shattering. This was such a great way to get the therapy I needed – both mental and physical. I would never find another as good as her.

Or so I thought...