Michele, her face buried in her pillow, was sobbing now. Not sure she'd even heard her, Annie squeezed her ankle. Michele nodded her head in the affirmative.
Annie's only experience with massage was rubbing her mother's neck after a long workday, or rubbing her feet while they watched TV together on the couch. This crisis was something entirely beyond Annie's ken.
She knelt at the end of Michele's bed, carefully undid her shoelaces, pulled her shoes and then socks off. Annie grabbed her feet and began to squeeze and rub them both with all the force she could muster. She pressed much harder than she would ever have dared to use on her mother, but Michele was much taller and more powerfully built than Annie's mother - taller and more powerfully built than any woman Annie had ever met for that matter.
She could feel corded tendons through the soles of Michele's arches and used her thumbs to grind into them. Michele, her face still buried in her pillow, cried out, but didn't protest, so Annie pressed on. Still kneeling at the end of the bed, she began working even harder into the arches of the stronger girl's feet with all her might, then using the heel of her hand to stretch Michele's curled toes, and using both hands to hinge her frozen ankles as best she could.
Rising onto her knees, Annie began to work her hands up Michele's calves. She brushed away dry mud; jealously admiring the other girl's firm muscular legs. Her skin was perfectly smooth and still tan from summer. Annie burned easily, she described herself as "skinny fat", feeling her own skin was pasty, that her 'muscles' were doughy. Her hands looked suddenly tiny and pale; her arms felt bird-like and inadequate against Michele's spasming bucking calves.
Shaking off her harsh self-deprecating thoughts, Annie focused on squeezing as hard as she could. Even though her forearms ached with the strain, she felt like she was hardly having any effect on the stronger girl. She wished she were stronger, wished she was bigger, more capable. But she worked the cramping muscles as best she could, sweating and grunting with the effort, not giving up. Like her feet, the tendons in Michele's calves felt rigid, her muscles spasming, fighting Annie.
With Michele's feet still hanging off the end of her bed on either side of her, Annie did her best to work both legs at the same time. But more often than not she needed both hands for one leg, or to abandon the calves altogether, in order to return to the work of pulling open Michele's cramping feet. But slowly Annie worked her way upward, pressing her hips into the edge of the mattress, reaching forward as far as she could.
Annie wiped sweat from her lip and climbed onto the foot of the bed, kneeling again, but now on the mattress between Michele's legs. Annie wasn't sure, but as she worked back and forth, from one leg to the other, she thought she could feel the other girl beginning to relax. If nothing else she had finally stopped sobbing.
Now, rather than kneading and grinding with all her force, Annie began to rub and massage more gently, working from Michele's toes upward; straddling one leg and then the other. She allowed her hands to climb a bit higher now, less and less worried with each pass that her feet would begin to spasm again.
Annie's mind drifted. She imagined how Michele would be grateful, that they would become friends; inseparable. Annie, who felt very much alone at her new school, imagined her roommate easing the way for her socially. Having transferred in as sophomores, Michele from a big school down South and Annie with credits from an accelerated program. Both started out the year on the back foot, Annie even more so, not just because of her age as she had transferred in a year younger than their classmates, but because she was painfully shy. Michele meanwhile seemed to be in demand socially, having already made lots of friends. And while she and Michele were friendly, Annie knew that they weren't friends.
After a long while of working up and down Michele's legs, it became clear that the crisis had passed. Michele was breathing deeply, almost as if asleep. Michele made no move to try and get up or otherwise end the massage whatsoever; so Annie, enjoying this work now, continued. The stronger girl had grown still. The only time she would move, even slightly, was when Annie shifted from straddling one leg to the other.
Allowing herself for the first time to reflect on what she had done, Annie felt curiously proud of herself, like a hero - something she was very unaccustomed to feeling. But she also realized, now that it was no longer an emergency, despite how much she was enjoying massaging Michele.
Annie had always thought her mother was beautiful and loved touching her, making her feel good. The neck and foot rubs she had given her were discrete, however, not like what she found herself doing now. As she worked up and down Michele's long legs in turn she found the contact itself pleasurable - even erotic.
Annie wondered why she had never massaged any of the boys she dated - it wasn't a long list, 'three' she thought glumly. Part of the problem was that the boys she seemed comfortable with were almost as timid as she was. She had been too afraid of things going "too far" to allow any of them to do much more than kiss and grope, and paralyzed by the idea of instigating anything herself. Annie tried to remember the last time she'd touched anyone, or been touched. It had been her grandmother hugging her goodbye, her uncle's big hand holding her by the shoulder.
'That was more than a month ago,' she thought, the sweet memory suddenly making her feel a bit glum.
But as she pressed into Michele's thigh, Annie was enjoying the feeling of the powerful shapely leg in her hands. The skin on skin, her small thumbs pressing into the stronger girl's smooth rounded muscles, the pleasure she was clearly giving, all seemed to drive her loneliness away. She realized, with a start, that she was getting turned on.
Until that moment, Annie had been cooling down from the heat of the hard work of the crisis, but now she felt herself blush with sudden embarrassment. She had been so lost in the effort, and then the pleasure, of what she was doing, but now she looked down at Michele with new eyes. Her face was still hidden from view, buried in her pillow. And while her breathing was heavy and slow - she still hadn't stirred - Annie was sure however that she wasn't asleep. Michele's jaw was clenching. Her arms, wrapped around her pillow above her head, were flexing, her hands rhythmically squeezing her pillow as Annie continued to massage her legs.
Watching the pulses of Michele's fists, clenching and unclenching, Annie felt her own breathing shorten and go jagged. Her stomach seemed to fill with heat as her hands wrapped and moved up the back of Michele's thigh. She let them climb higher, sliding upwards until her fingers were just brushing the hem of the red running shorts; she felt lightheaded. Again she worked her way down, feeling herself relax as she did, almost as if she were backing out of danger.
She studied Michele as her hands moved slowly up again. The muscles of her bare shoulders were better defined than any of the boys she'd dated. And while her back was muscular and sculpted, her chest and waist were narrow and delicate. Down and up her hands moved, pressing inward, feeling abruptly cool and oddly light as they climbed - as if they had bird bones or bones made of glass.
Annie started to rise, intending to stop, but Michele seemed to anticipate that she was just switching legs again, the stronger girl shifted. Annie watched as Michele's back arched ever so slightly, lifting her ass a tiny fraction, almost imperceptibly parting her legs.
'Making room for me', Annie thought.
Annie went still, hovering there, her eyes riveted to the red shorts as they rolled upwards, even ever so slightly. Annie found herself admiring Michele's hips and round muscular ass.
'Plump' she thought, surprising herself.
Annie placed her hands on either side of Michele's hips. Suddenly aware of how quiet and dim the room had become. It was twilight; the failing light was painting everything blue. Climbing off her right leg Annie let her head droop and elbows flex. Her face very close to the small of Michele's back, and those red shorts. She listened as Michele took a shallow stuttering breath.
Annie was awake. Something had awakened her, maybe a sound, but she couldn't be sure. She tried to remember where she was; her room, the dorm. Behind her in the dark was Michele's bed; was Michele.
