The Preparation

"The cab's here. Goodbye!"

Jack kissed me and ran out the door into the rain, his rolling suitcase trailing behind him. I stood at the threshold, watching as he loaded it into the trunk and dove inside. And just like that, he was gone.

It would be three days this time. Three glorious days.

Don't get me wrong. I love my husband, but after ten years of marriage a girl sometimes likes to have her space. And her vices. And there are some vices that not even a husband should know about.

I'd been waiting for this moment. I pulled out my phone and dialed the number that was discreetly labeled "Salon". It rang twice before someone answered.

"Dragon Massage," the female voice said. The voice had a bit of a Chinese clip to it, but just barely, the voice of an American who was raised by immigrants.

"Is this Jeannie?" I asked hopefully.

"Yes. Laura?"

I smiled at the recognition. It had been four months since my last visit, but she always remembered me. "Yes, it is. I was wondering if you had an appointment available today."

"For you?" Jeannie laughed. "Always. What time?"

I looked at my watch. I probably should wait until Jack was actually on the airplane. "It's noon now. How about five?"

"Five starts getting busy. How about three?"

Jeannie knew that I hated being there when it was busy. Too many men, all gawking and leering. I liked it when I was the only customer in the place. "Three it is. I'll look forward to it! Oh, and ... uh ..."

"Yes?"

I don't know why I was so shy about it. It's not like she didn't know. "Um, can I do a four hand massage today? You and Lily?"

"Ohhh, like last time? Lily's here. We'll be ready for you."

I smiled and bit my lip in guilty glee. "See you then!"

The next three hours took forever to tick by. I had a light lunch, then stretched and went for a jog. When I got back, I stripped and showered, giving myself a good scrubbing so that I would glow. I toweled off, grabbed a hand mirror, and went to the bed.

I had gotten myself waxed last week, all the way since Jack likes it like that. I lay down on the bed, positioned the mirror between my legs, and inspected myself to be sure that I was still bare. With my light skin and dark hair, I had to be diligent. Using the fingers of my left hand, I stroked down my mons veneris, across my outer lips, and with some mild gymnastics inspected further back to the extent that I could see.

No stubble at all yet. Good. Lying there on the bed, I couldn't resist spreading my lips, inspecting the pinkness inside. I was moist and ready, anticipating my visit. I allowed myself one slide up and across my clit, then another.

Then a third. It felt so good.

No! No spoiling my massage! I forced my fingers away, and they somehow went to my breasts and nipples, teasing me in defiance of my willpower. The thought of the vibrator in my nightstand was almost irresistible.

No!

I looked at the bedside clock. It was 2:00. Only 40 more minutes until I could have my little adventure.

I reluctantly arose, willfully ignoring the protests of my unsatisfied womanhood. I went to the dresser and pulled out my sexiest underwear that wasn't purely for sex. I wanted to look good, but not slutty. I picked a small red thong and a matching low-cut, lacy bra that offered minimal support and maximum cleavage. I always felt good about myself when I wore this. Humbly, I have a nice body, slender yet curvy, and for some reason this particular outfit really sets it off.

When you're going to a massage parlor, it's important to dress right. Not slutty in a mini skirt, not sloppy in sweats, not dressed up like you're having a night on the town. You want to dress up like you're out for the day and you innocently decided that you need a massage. It's a fine line between feeling sexy while also not attracting attention.

In my case, it's also important to have clothing that unfastens from the front. Bless those Chinese women and their petite figures, but there's something I love about seeing their faces as they first open up my top and see my nice, full C cups spilling over my bra. Sometimes their eyebrows arch, sometimes they smile, and sometimes I just see their nostrils flare a little as they stare and ponder what they're about to do. As far as I know, none of them are lesbians, and I think that's perversely part of the appeal for me.

I settled on a nice, high-waisted dress. It fit snugly everywhere and was a deep plum in color, strikingly form-fitting when you took a close look but conservative enough that it wouldn't draw undue attention. If Jack's flight was canceled and he ended up waiting for me at home, it would be a believable outfit to wear to the mall. And yes, it zipped up the front.

I finished my hair and looked at the clock. 2:42. Time to go! I practically had an orgasm just thinking about it. My pussy was begging me to get into the car. I dug into my sock drawer and found the nondescript white pair in the back that bulged with my mad money. Another little wifely secret, but I figured that Jack probably did the same thing. I quickly counted it and took out $300.

It was a fifteen minute drive to the parlor, which was located in a non-descript strip mall in a working-class part of town. On its left was a shoe repair shop, and on its right was a low-rent Greek restaurant. I parked the car in front of the Greek restaurant and waited to get out since there was a family walking nearby.

I was so naïve the first time I came here. My shoulders had been stiff and my regular massage therapist was on vacation. I'd been stressed and uncomfortable and one night I finally did a search for a massage spa that was open late in the evening. I found the Dragon and didn't really think twice about it. I was a good girl, and always have been.

When I had shown up, Jeannie was at the front counter. She owned the place, I found out later. She looked me up and down, clucked and shook her head. "No appointments, sorry."

"Nothing?"

"Maybe try that Avanti spa tomorrow down the street. I think they'll take good care of you."

"But I really need a massage tonight." I rubbed my tight shoulders for emphasis.

I remember to this day her look of conflict. She licked her lips and glanced out into the parking lot, which was serendipitously empty on that particular snowy night. "Y'know, I guess I could take you. An hour?"

Jeannie gave a great massage. It was perfectly innocent and clinical, just like I expected. Maybe it was too good, because I came back again a month later, and then again after that. Jeannie became my regular and I became hers. I loved the fact that they were open so late and that I didn't need an appointment. And when she wasn't there, there were other girls, and they gave good massages too even if their English was poor or non-existent. I learned to recognize them and their Americanized names on sight: Lily, Erin, Lana, and others.

I was blissfully ignorant until my sixth or seventh visit. Jeannie and I were very friendly by then and chatted before and after the massage, sometimes even during. It was a warm summer evening when I first heard the noise. I was face down and Jeannie was working on my back when a moan came through the walls.

"What is that?" I asked. Thinking back now, I was kind of an idiot.

Jeannie had seemed a little embarrassed. "Uh, I think they're a little loud in the next room."

The moaning became louder, more regular. It gained in intensity to the point where I raised up on my elbows. A slow recognition dawned on me. "Are they having ...?" I listened again to be sure what I was hearing, and conspiratorially whispered the next word. "Sex?"

Jeannie was working a knot out of my back. She gently pushed me back down on the table. "Not sex." She hesitated before continuing. "But ... well ... he's probably getting a happy ending."

"A happy ending? What's that?"

Jeannie giggled incredulously. "Are you kidding me?"

I raised up on my elbows again and looked over my shoulder at her. "No. What is it?"

"Promise not to tell anyone?"

"Sure. What is it?"

Jeannie smiled almost apologetically. Raising her hand, she made a motion that could only mean one thing.

My eyes widened and my mouth dropped. "She's giving him a hand job? Seriously?" I looked at the wall as if I could see through it. I wanted to see through it.

Jeannie seemed bemused. "It happens sometimes."

I half-turned on the table to see her better. The small towel that covered me shifted and I had to grab it to keep it from falling off and giving her a show. It's funny how you remember those little details. "No! You do that? It's allowed?" As I said it, it became obvious that the man next door was in the throes of a very happy ending.

"We don't allow it, of course. It's strictly against policy. But ..." Jeannie shrugged with a sheepish smile, "the door's closed and the girls like to make money."

"Do they - I mean, is there more than just ...?" I couldn't even say it, so I mimicked the pumping motion that Jeannie had just used.

She shrugged sheepishly. "I guess it's possible that there's a blow job every once in a while, but certainly nothing more than that. This is a clean establishment. I'd fire them in a heartbeat if they were having sex. Now lie back down."

She was working my calves now. The next room had gone quiet. But after a few minutes, I couldn't resist. "So ... do you do it? Do you give happy endings?"

Jeannie was silent for a long moment, and her hands faltered briefly. "I have a few good customers who tip well," she said. "And I like to go out for a nice dinner once in a while. But I don't do it for just anybody. Only the best."

I was simultaneously horrified and intrigued. This woman, my friend, my massage therapist, gave handjobs for money? I battled my curiosity, but it won out. "Tell me about it. What's it like?"

"Our little secret?"

"Of course."

So Jeannie gave me the story, the whole story of how it worked. How a man would come in, and the woman would give him a massage, and how she would pick up clues about him the whole time, whether he wanted it or didn't want it or whether he was a policeman who liked to pick on Asian women. She told me how she figured out if a guy was safe, and when she would make the offer, and how the men always took it. It was a great way to double or triple her income.

"But nothing more than handjobs?"

"For me? Never. At least not at work." She laughed. "Handjobs are easy, they're profitable, and there's no chance of catching anything. Plus, they're really pretty fun."

We both laughed.

The whole time she was working my hamstrings, and I suddenly became very conscious of it. I lay back down, and I guess I'm to blame for what happened next. I don't know what possessed me to ask, and can only assume that it was some sort of Freudian thing. "Do you give women happy endings too?" As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I realized my mistake.

There was an awkward pause, and then Jeannie laughed. "If they want one and they're a good customer, I guess I would do it. Honestly, I have very few women customers. I've never offered one before. But it's ... intriguing."

We were silent for a few minutes, and she finished up my back. But suddenly every touch felt different. I don't know if it was her or me or both of us, but her touch felt lighter, more sensual. As she worked down my back and flowed over my glutes I couldn't help but suck in my breath. Things suddenly felt different, and I wasn't sure if it was her or me. I was afraid it was me.

"Okay, time to turn over."

She lifted the towel in the usual manner, low enough to see my face and high enough to shield my body, and had me flip over. But instead of laying the towel back on me, she held it. I could tell that she was in thought. Our eyes met and she was achingly beautiful at that moment.

"Would you like to be my first female customer?"

So there I was, stark naked on the table, looking up at her. My heart was beating like a hummingbird's.

It took me way too long to answer. "I'm, uh...,I'm not a lesbian," I stammered, but it came out with no conviction.

"Neither am I," Jeannie said. "I've never finished a woman before." She brought the towel down and brazenly gazed up and down my exposed body. "But I think I'd be good at it, and I kind of want to try. How about if I give you a free sample? Try it out for both of us."

I remember my mind reeling with all of the implications - my marriage, my conscience, my sexuality, even the very nature of who I was. But in the end, who's going to turn down an orgasm? I should have told her that I was married. I should have told her that I liked men. I certainly should have told her that I was a professional woman who didn't procure sex in an Asian massage parlor. But for some reason the only word that came out was a breathy 'okay'.

And the rest, my friends, is history.

I'm not a lesbian. I swear. But I like to be touched and I love having orgasms, and I have to admit that Jeannie is very sexy. She opens my mind, not just my legs. But in the end, I have admit that my main thrill is simply the fact that I'm doing it. This whole thing is all so out of character, so unlike me. I'm a happily married professional woman, and yet I have this secret life where I sneak into a massage parlor, show my naked body to a woman - a woman! - and let her reduce me to a quivering orgasmic mass. All of those elements are thrilling far beyond the orgasm part.

Jeannie's not a lesbian, either. She's a businesswoman, and she meets her customers' needs. She asks what I like and how it feels - Jack never does that - and each visit's learning builds upon the last. Every time I visit, she experiments and my experience gets better. My kinks rise closer to the surface, and she figures them out and exploits them for my pleasure. Jeannie may not be a lesbian, but she's really good at figuring out what a woman wants and then giving it to her.

And while I don't want to think about it, the knowledge gets passed along to the other women as well. The first time Jeannie wasn't there, I still got what I wanted from cute little Lily, much to my surprise. Oh, that little Lily. Don't even get me started.

A horn honked in the parking lot. I blinked back to reality and looked out the windshield at the entry. No one was going in or out, and the front windows were tinted black so I couldn't tell if a customer was in the lobby. I just had to get from here to there, and bliss would flow upon me. I didn't see anyone at the other stores, and the sparse population of the parking lot was just bored people living boring lives. No one was paying attention to me.

I would never cheat on Jack. That's not who I am. This is different. At its core, this is a business transaction, trading payment for a service. It's no different than a manicure or a makeover. Or maybe it's an adventure, like something that innocently happens in a tent on a camping trip after a night of beer and s'mores. Whatever it is, I know I'm not going to fall in love with Jeannie or Lily or any of the other girls. I'm not having sex with them, not really, and I'm not having an affair. They're women, for god's sake. I'm just going to a spa and getting a massage that is very, very thorough.

I got out of the car.