An Unexpected Massage Experience

So how in the world did a fairly boring, divorced, 45-year-old, suburban high school teacher, mom of one, find her way to a sexy website like Literotica? I ask myself the same question. At times it's been intensely enjoyable, but, goodness, what a long, strange trip it's been.

I guess one of the first things that occurs to me to tell everyone is that although there are certain things I still respect about my ex-husband, Drew--he's a good father, a decent man--he was never one to be adventurous or even tolerant of anything that smacked of actual eroticism. He refused to be vulnerable or emotional about intimacy.

He was a "guy," so he watched his share of porn and such, and I am sure he had an adjacent fantasy component of his own, but he had a complete inability to translate that into real passion or a shared experience. For almost two decades, I felt stifled, nullified, frustrated and sad. I would buy sexy lingerie, make hotel reservations when our daughter was spending the night at a friend's house, wear a sexy dress for Drew to take me out in (we are both foodies, so we went out a lot with respect to that), but it just never felt like we were on the same page when it came to intimacy. It was just this gaping void in my life.

He almost never told me I was beautiful, or sexy, or appealing in that way. He never noticed when I got my hair styled or colored. The vast majority of his romantic expression was to paw at the (very expensive) lingerie for about ten seconds and expect oral sex the second he flicked the bedroom light off. Foreplay? Kissing? Expressing himself verbally? Sharing fantasies? No to all of it.

We married quite young (he was my college sweetheart) and we met when I was still in my teens. Coming from a conservative and sheltering family, I had no idea what a real sexual relationship was all about. I assumed if we were having sex, that was a sexual relationship. But I was so naive to so many things. Public sex? People did that?? Bindings or blindfolds? Pfft, that was wacky Cinemax stuff. Multiple or same sex partners? Might as well have been science fiction for how I regarded things back then.

Those kind of things were for weirdos and perverts, and not a soft spoken 12th Grade American History teacher with a decent rack. My entire life felt like it was a cold gray roller coaster without any hills or twists. But I figured, eh, at least it's a roller coaster, right? It's amazing what we tell ourselves when we don't know better.

When I turned 35, my younger sister moved to China. Her husband was a developer, and they decided to follow the money and make a new life. Because of the time difference, we didn't talk as much after she moved, and I missed her even more than I ever expected. We'd make arrangements to talk, but the plans drifted wider and wider apart. I think she sensed that my husband and I were not exactly on the best ground, so she invited me to visit her in Beijing. I finally convinced Drew to hold down the fort while I traveled, and I was so excited to see my sister again.

Despite my relative inexperience, I actually loved sex and eroticism, even if it was my own "dirty little secret," which is actually how I regarded it. I have always responded in ways that made my heart pound out of my chest to "naughty" things, even if I couldn't express it with my partner. I loved giving oral sex. I loved feeling a man's eyes on me in a crowd, even if he was a perfect stranger. I loved having an excuse to flaunt my curves, even if the occasions were few and far between. It still gives me the butterflies to admit here to perfect strangers that I loved making a man orgasm. I didn't realize it yet, but I wanted so much more.

My husband and I shared a laptop, and so every once in a while (forgive me Lit'ers) I would be nosy and check the history. My husband seemed to have watched an enormous amount of porn, so I thought, eh, maybe if I watched a few of the movies he watched, maybe, just maybe, I could better understand what drove him mad, sexually. So every once in a while when I had the house to myself, I'd pour a glass of wine, pop some corn (kidding) and check out what the Mr. had been up to that week. And after a few times, across several months, I realized something. I realized I wasn't just watching out of curiosity or a sexy fact-finding reconnaissance mission. It took me a while to be able to admit this to myself, but I can admit it now, here.

I liked watching people fuck.

And it was more than that. Knowing that my husband had watched the movies before me, I felt like I was almost eavesdropping in a way, or retracing his steps. I would watch a movie, and wonder which part caused him to orgasm. I never asked, of course, but in my own mind I felt like I could actually sense it. It thrilled me. Up until that point in my life, a steamy romance novel on the beach was about as "hot" as my private experiences got. Now, suddenly, I was watching my husband's porn and masturbating to scenes of three men having sex with the same woman. It was like my brain would shift into this strange mode, and I needed to feel what she was feeling. To feel not just wanted, but ached for. Shared. Not just needed, but worshipped. I'm getting wet right now just recalling the sensations as I first felt them.

When I got to China, my sister was the perfect host. Her husband worked insane hours, so we had a lot of time alone to sightsee, explore, dine out, drink a bit too much, and most importantly, talk.

And talk, and talk, and talk.

Within a week, she had absorbed my entire marital story, given me advice for how to spice things up, you name it. I kept thinking, "Jesus, Kim, how the hell do you know so much about sex?" And then she began to explain.

I was envious. Bitterly envious. My little sister had the entire world in the palm of her hand. A handsome mover-shaker husband, a 13 million yuan apartment with a view, a scalding sex life, and hair that didn't take 45 minutes to blow out straight. Me? I had some pretty good go-to restaurants at home, a job with summers off, big tits, and nights alone with a bottle of Rodney Strong cabernet and my husband's leftover porn to masturbate to. The scales were not exactly balanced, and maybe the fifth or sixth night into my visit, I was actually crying myself to sleep.

Kim heard me, and gently knocked on the door. It was her home, so I couldn't exactly tell her to leave me alone. She came in and we talked some more. She told me I had to start expecting more out of Drew, and my marriage, and my life. It sounded like a standard rah rah pep talk, but she meant it and it resonated. Everything feels a little more "right" when you're cuddled up in 1,200 thread count bed sheets, crying on your little sister's shoulder. She smiled and told me tomorrow she was going to book me a massage, and promised I would feel better afterwards. To be honest, I actually felt better just knowing someone was willing to look out for me.

The next day, she drove me to the spa, which was different than the chain spas I was used to in the states, which were perfectly fine. But this spa--I couldn't quite figure. It was spotlessly clean, but not extravagant. Everyone was impeccably professional, but it also felt kind of "cruise ship" chic. A few too many tight t-shirts and linen on the men. A bit too much eye makeup on the women. No matter, I thought, I was going to enjoy the next 90 minutes of bliss without question.

I was asked if I preferred a male or female masseuse, which was a formality--Kim had already called in a favor to make my appointment with less than 24 hours' notice, and she asked for a male on my behalf. I would have picked the same. I was cordially met in the lobby by my handsome, young masseuse and we shook hands. He wasn't Chinese, but he didn't speak English either. Ok, I thought, I hope this all works. He led me to his bamboo-adorned room and dimmed the lights, presumably offering me time to disrobe and settle under the sheets on the table. I have no way of knowing--it was mostly pointing, smiling, gesturing and nodding, before he left the room.

The table felt so relaxing. I nestled my face in the cradle, pulled on the heavy blanket, and almost fell asleep waiting for him to come back into the room, which wasn't more than five minutes. I had stripped, but left my panties on--I didn't know what the correct custom was, but I sure didn't want to err on the side of being improperly deviant and not be able to apologize or explain myself. I smiled when I heard him approach me again, as if he was walking on feathers. He was so gentle when he peeled the blanket from my back I was almost startled by the silky motion of his fingers on my flesh. This was already perfect. Everyone should have a sister like Kim, I thought.

The way he touched me was indefinable and difficult to describe. It felt almost like he was a part of me, the motion of his long languid strokes felt as though they were absorbed rather than felt by my body. Within the first ten minutes, I heard myself sigh. My magical-fingered friend heard it also.

He whispered something indecipherable to me, and tapped the back of my thigh. I didn't have the foggiest clue what he was going on about, so I just nodded, already in a state of bliss. Then I sighed again--a bit louder this time--when I realized he was beginning to stroke my thighs the same way he stroked my back and arms. Long, silky, dangerous applications of pressure that made me somehow magically part my legs, just a bit. I felt my temperature rise, and my heart was beating like a hummingbird. I craved his touch.

After a few minutes, he patted my ass the same way he patted my thighs. I don't remember nodding this time, I just remember him carefully and gently peeling my panties down. Oh, Jesus, what was I doing? I could barely control my breathing as his expert fingers pressed into the flesh of my ass in seductive and tantalizing circles. I regret that I don't have a more delicate or "pretty" way to describe it, but with each motion, I could feel his thumb pressing deep between my cheeks, applying pressure between my anus and vagina, and massaging there as if we were making love. My head spun. Was this ok? My god, I had never in my entire life felt that. His hands were lotioned or oiled and warm, and felt like they knew me, were a part of me. Over, over, over again he would touch me in the same way, and I started to pant involuntarily. I was 20 minutes into a 90 minute massage session, and this complete stranger was about to bring me to orgasm.

My body started to writhe. I had no idea what I was supposed to do, or if I was experiencing something aberrant. I almost wanted to ask him permission to feel what I was feeling, but I knew he wouldn't understand my words. I was almost startled when I felt him pat my behind again. "Huh?" I didn't know what he was asking this time, but I didn't care. If he patted my purse right at that moment, I would have given him my Chase card and PIN number. I nodded. Oh god, I nodded long and demonstrably.

I felt a low growl purr from a place inside me I never knew existed as his slippery fingers penetrated me. I was dizzy, I could feel my eyes blurring and rolling. This was no back seat, high school "fingerfuck." This talented masseuse was massaging my pussy as expertly as he had massaged my back and thighs, and I knew I couldn't hold back. I panted the words, "I'm sorry" to him even though they wouldn't be understood, and my body started bucking with an intense climax so explosive I couldn't help myself from squirting just a tiny bit on the table (something I have done since, but never before).

My mind was reeling and running away from me almost like a dream. So many thoughts were spinning in my head. Was I cheating? Was this normal? Did this count as an affair? Did my sister know about this place when she booked the reservation? And...what the hell was going to happen over the course of the next 70 minutes after I was practically convulsing from my orgasm, face down on the table?

I was about to find out. It was already happening.

Even with my face still in the cradle, I could almost see my masseuse sliding his soft linen pants off and folding them onto the side table. I could hear the fabric. I thought I could almost hear both of our heartbeats over the monotone new age music wafting in the room. I was paralyzed and aching. Purring and trying to catch my breath as he stepped to the head of the table and slid his hands again over my shoulders and back, massaging again for a few moments. I was waiting for what might come next, and didn't have to wait long.

I felt his hand pat my shoulder, and somehow knew he was asking me to roll onto my back. Nervously, I did. The blanket was gone. My panties were gone. I knew I would be exposed, and I didn't care. I liked it. I wanted it. I was never very good at breaking the ice in matters of intimacy, but since this amazing young man had just given me the orgasm of my life, I kind of considered the ice sufficiently broken. And there we were. Naked. Both of us. O. M. F. G.

He depressed the nose of the lotion bottle that was on the table once again into his hand, and began to massage my breasts in the same way--perfectly. Erotically. And his cock, which was already erect and protected by a latex condom, seemed to become as solid as iron as he touched me. Panting again, I didn't wait for him to pat anything this time around. Almost by instinct, I rolled onto one elbow and opened my mouth over his cock, whimpering as I did. He didn't protest. Heart skipping, I started to wonder how many times he had done this. Dozens? Hundreds? But with the condom on his thick pole, I just lost myself, sucking him not just hungrily, but overwhelmingly needy, almost as if I needed to prove to him I was worth....whatever all this was. I sucked him like the women in my husband's porn movies, and moaned when I felt him building to his own orgasm. And I had no intention of stopping. Condom or not, I wanted to feel him spasm and erupt in my mouth. Thrusting gently, and rolling my nipples at the same time, that's what he did. Massively. I came along with him, a second time. Obviously I couldn't taste his cum, but the pangs--the physical pangs and contractions of his cock and orgasm seemed to go on forever, and I knew I had pleased him. It was euphoric. Surreal.

I couldn't get my mind around what just happened. I was generally embarrassed taking my top and bra off for a mammogram in a physician's office, and now here I was. Naked, oiled, panting from my orgasm, gently milking a stranger's still-erect cock into a reservoir tipped condom that sagged like a small water balloon, heavy with his creamy hot seed.

I smiled and blushed. He smiled back and patted the table next to me, apparently asking me to roll back over on my tummy, which I did. My mind was exploding. I had nobody to ask the thousand questions that snapped in my head like firecrackers. I didn't realize how much I needed that until that moment. I didn't realize that sex could be spontaneous and dangerous and naughty. I didn't realize that "real" people like me could experience such a seismic and transformative revelation all at once.

And I almost chuckled as I repeated something I had whispered in my own head not more than a half hour ago: Everyone should have a sister like Kim.

I got comfortable again with electric expectation. After all--I still had half of my 90 minutes remaining. This was heaven, and I never wanted it to end.

There is more to this story, I hope you'll be interested in reading what comes next.

To be continued.