Well, it happened. Rebecca quit her job!
I'm proud of her. She hated it. She worked as an office administrator for a local tech company.
She said she was one of the only women in the office, and by far the most attractive one.
After her big black boss had been offered a position at another company, she said all of the annoying wimpy men thought they had a chance, and always tried to flirt with her. She had to be polite with them to keep her job, while also fending them off. She said it was exhausting, and the pay wasn't even that good.
She had always wanted to be a massage therapist. We did some research and it turns out it's quite easy to get licensed as a massage therapist. She went to a couple classes, got her certificate, and was ready to start!
The only problem was that she had no experience whatsoever. Massage parlors generally only hire those who have at least a year of experience. It's a bit of a catch 22. Need experience to get the job, but can't get experience without the job.
I suggested she post some ads on various classified ad sites to see if there was any interest. I said I would help her. So we did.
We received a lot of replies from unsavory men who had confused her legitimate posting as a stealthy advertisement for prostitution. The only real replies we got were from athletes from the local state school who could not afford to go to more established parlors. Eventually, we managed to get three interested applicants. She scheduled them for the same day. I bought a massage table and helped clear out a room in our home so that she would have a space to work.
On the day of, my wife dressed in regular athletic attire. She said it was only right, considering there were athletes coming over. She was wearing a pair of very tight yoga pants along with a tank top. I was a little concerned with how much cleavage was showing. And she didn't appear to be wearing a sports bra. I could see her straps and a little bit of her bra it was peeking out of the tank top.
I expressed my concern. She brushed it off.
"I have to be comfortable," she said. "Plus, they told me that the real money in being a massage therapist was with repeat clients. I need tips!"
It was true. She was charging very little, to the point where a regular college kid who spent all his money on beer could afford to have her hands all over him.
The doorbell rang and I got up to answer it. I opened the door and shook hands with the young man in front of me. He appeared to be either a freshman or a sophomore. He was a little short, maybe 5'9. But very fit.
"Welcome," I said. "My wife is right this way."
Why did I phrase it like that? I quickly followed up to turn the conversation away from the fact I was leading a man to be massaged by my wife.
"Play sports?" I asked.
"Soccer," he said. "You cool with this?"
"With what?" I replied.
"You know, your wife and the massages," he explained.
"It's her profession," I replied curtly. We didn't talk after that. I seethed quietly at his attitude.
I led him to the room where my wife would be working on him and opened the door. My wife was standing over the table, rubbing massage oil between her hands. Even though it was part of the job, it looked very erotic. Her ass was nicely outlined through her yoga pants and I got the urge to rip her straps down to expose her large breasts to the young man.
"Hello!" she said happily. She was in a great mood. Working from home, and without those annoying office nerds!
"Hey," the athlete said. He sounded slick. I closed the door, still a little annoyed at him, and walked over to my office door, which shared a wall with the room my wife would be using to massage the young athletes. I sat down at my desk and put in my headphones to try and get some work done.
A few moments later, my office door opened, and my wife entered. I took off my headphones.
"He's getting undressed," she said. "Exciting, isn't it? My first client!"
Trying to be a supportive husband, I nodded in approval. She stood there for a few moments, then exited to go back to the room.
I took my headphones out within a few minutes. I wanted to hear what was happening.
I couldn't make out the exact words, but they were definitely having a conversation. It sounded like the soccer player was sweet talking my wife as she massaged him. I found myself getting angry, but I managed to calm down by remembering that this would only be temporary until my wife had the experience she needed to get hired at a real massage parlor.
The massage lasted about an hour. After it was done, I heard my wife let him out the front door. Then she knocked on my office door and entered.
"How'd it go?" I asked.
