I was on my way over to Karen's little home studio, Bob Segar was wailing away on my stereo, I was feeling fine.
Karen always made me feel fine, if you saw her you would know just what I mean.
Maybe 30 at the most, she is a Licensed Massage Therapist. ALL massage therapists should look like her, long dark hair, a set of boobs to die for. Just a trace of a pouty Bardot type tummy and sway back, blending down to an ass that gave me a reason more than once to reach for my dick.
Yep...legitimate..never would dream of anything more, just dang.. Still, worth the $40 an hour, her hands would flow over me and I would be lost.
At only 28 myself, I could still post a boner at a set of tight slacks from behind, way it is. But somehow Karen would reach out and place her hand on my stomach, smile, tell me to take a deep breath and my pecker would wilt, just like that.
She understood, didn't mind, had everything completely in control.
Darn it.
This went on for almost a year, every Wednesday I was over there. Hell, I knew what I was going to get, hoped for more but she filled a hole in my week. Besides, I had this little gal named Patti I was seeing, she got the benefit of it all. She would come home and never make it to the kitchen, I plowed her on the carpet, the couch, once out on the lawn in the rain, that was fun
Thinking of Karen.
I suppose that is wrong, I shouldn't admit to that, but what the hell, I wanted to bend karen over the back of a couch and jam her until she squeaked.
Actually, that was what was in my mind that day as I pulled off the freeway onto the side street to Karen's studio.
Sneaky little mental games, some hints. I already had her wearing her hair down for me, she knew I liked it that way. The first few sessions she actually tried to look like a schoolmarm, that didn't work.
Yep, Karen would rub my legs right up to my nutsack, give me a bump or two by "accident". She always managed to get the back of her hand against my dick, without fail it would twitch and rise right up.
Yep, good massuese, the kind we all dream of, always teasing, always keeping me right on the edge.
All that was on my mind, I parked my ratty old Camaro and walked up, knocked on the door.
Usually the door was ajar, she knew I was always right on time, she told me many times to just come right on in.
Today it was shut, so was the screen door. I knocked out of politeness, no answer for quite awhile. I knocked again.
The door opened, here stood a whitehaired lady about 60 or so. Bit of a chunk, too, she was around 5'4", and my best guess was 250.
"Hi!" she said, I instantly recognized Karen's voice and Karen's eyes.
"Uhhh..." I said, cleverly.
"You must be Dan, come in! I am Hazel, Karen's Mom."
I entered, confused.
"I am sorry, Karen had an emergency, we tried to call you."
I realized I had been nowhere near my phone all morning, I had stopped for breakfast, killing time. Then bought a paper and read it, looking forward to my session.
I guess the disappointment must have showed in my face.
"I am sorry Honey," she smiled, "One of those things."