Yesterday, I returned back to the frozen yogurt shop where Crystal, a pudgy, cute, Hispanic teen works. I tried not to stare at her bouncy cleavage, which was pressed tightly against her t-shirt, the company's logo emblazoned upon it. It was the 3rd time I had seen her and she recognized me when I walked in. She joked with me and asked if this place was going to become my second home, to which I laughed. She seemed cute and innocent, and I didn't see any ring on her finger (although I doubted there would be, given she is probably a recent high school graduate).
Casual conversation ensued, with her telling me she lived with a couple of roommates, in an apartment a few miles away. After she asked, I told her I lived alone, seeing how I was divorced, and without children. Upon hearing this, her eyes lit up, even though she attempted to play it cool. More chatting between us led me to declare that I was a massage therapist, which is technically true, I suppose, if I don't claim to be licensed. I handed her my card and she looked it over, but got saddened when she saw the listed hourly rate, saying she couldn't afford it. I told her not to worry about it, saying I could be flexible with payment.
If she would be willing to be flexible in other ways, heheheh.
After her boss and a line of customers gave us annoyed looks for holding up the line, I asked her to boba tea after she got off work, to which she agreed.
After the seeming eternity it took for her to finish work, we did as planned. She sheepishly told me she didn't have a car and asked if we could take mine. We entered my flashy German-made car, her arousal practically dripping off her. The ride to the boba tea shop was mostly inane chatting, albeit chatting that ignited a fire of lust and desire within. I assume passersby figured me to be her stepfather, which turned me on even more. In a nutshell, she and I had a great time, and even though it was damn hard to be a gentleman and not try to seduce her, I held off. We held hands on the drive home from the shop, a forearm concealing the bulge in my pants. Once we arrived at her apartment complex, she informed me she was off from work the following day, asking, with a naughty twinkle in her eyes, if I could still work with her on a discounted rate for a massage. As guessed, I assured her it wouldn't be a problem, and we parted ways with a simple peck on the lips.
***
She sent me a text in the late morning, informing me that her roommates were out for the day, and soon thereafter, she invited me over. My heart beat wildly as I drove over to her place, anxious that she might discover I was no more an authentic massage therapist than I was a world-renowned surgeon. Despite this, I overcame my anxiety, my eyes darting around while I stood in front of her apartment door. Opening the door, she beamed a smile at me. Her cinnamon-hued skin complemented her brown eyes and black hair perfectly; her legs exposed by short shorts, while her plump cleavage was pushed up underneath a tank top.
"Hey, come on in," she said, our bodies embracing in a tight hug.
To test the waters, I let my hand and forearm slide down, brushing atop her curvy ass. I exhaled in relief when she giggled, her eyes tilting up to look at me with a dreamy expression.
"I hope this doesn't sound weird, but can we have the massage on my bed? Again, if that's too strange, we can find somewhere else to do it."
"That won't be a problem, we can do it there," I answered, the double entendre maybe, or maybe not, lost on her.
With a neutral expression that took all my acting skills to pull off, I told her that clients usually get naked and cover themselves with a towel when getting an oil massage, but I wanted to keep a feigned sense of modesty alive, so I mentioned she could wear a bra and panties instead.
"Hehe, okay."
Leading the way to her room, we entered, closing the door behind us. Subtly, she locked it, acting as if she was just making sure it was closed all the way.
"I can look away while you strip down," I offered.
