I have a bad and unending, incessant headache which is the inspiration for this story. It was written during the headache, too.
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Headache
After the surgery on my sinuses I had a side effect of a bad headache. It lasted 24/7, and I was in day nine of the continual headaches. I was beginning to lose it. Tylenol was like taking M&Ms, and the other over the counter meds were not any better. I was taking Motrin for its anti-inflammatory properties (via a recommendation of the surgeon), and of course I hoped it would help with the headache, but it didn't.
My friends felt bad for me, especially my closest friends, and even more especially, my friend Sue. Sue called me each day to see if there was something I needed or wanted. She was really sweet. Finally, I broke down and told her what I'd love is a head massage like the ones one gets at a fancy hairdressing salon. I knew she had once worked as a hair washer at a salon while in college, a long time ago. I do indeed mean long ago, since Sue is in her mid 40s and I myself am in my early 60s.
There was a long silence. "Are you still there?" I asked into the phone. I assumed Sue was considering such an unusual request.
"Yes. I'm at work now, but I'll pass by your place after work," Sue said.
"Why?" I asked.
"To give you a head massage, you idiot!" Sue said. "It's been a while, but it's not rocket science, you know. I still give them occasionally to Mike, anyway." Mike was her on again, off again partner. This was an off again period, and it had been a fairly long one. I wondered if they had broken up definitively?
I told her she did not need to do that. She affirmed she was going to anyway, and I then told her she was a doll. She replied to that saying, "I know." Sue has long blonde hair and a pretty face. I suspect she is anorexic or something, because she is painfully thin. She works out at the gym daily, though, and her arms have some nice muscle tone. Her legs however resemble toothpicks and I always worried they were going to snap or something. She does have nice breasts, and she always, and I do mean always, tries to show off a little cleavage. No complaints here.
I got some care packages in the mail. One was a lovely package of goodies from my sister in Indiana. If there is one thing I hate it is packing peanuts. I admit they do a good job of protecting breakables one ships, but when you go to open the box, especially if your brain is muddled by an incessant headache, the peanuts go everywhere! They go all over the floor, and zip underneath furniture, too. If it hurts your head to bend over, as it did mine, cleaning up the peanuts is a great way to poison one's mood.
After cleaning up the peanuts, I was indeed in a bad mood. I was trying to get some work done despite my addled brain and stumbling around and generally quite grumpy when the doorman called to tell me Sue was here, and should he send her up? I said yes, and Sue, equipped as always with some nice cleavage, was up at my door a few minutes later. She had brought me flowers.
As was our custom, Sue gave me a kiss on the cheek, and we sat and talked for a bit, catching up on the latest politics, both local and national. My exciting news was that our building had just hired a new doorman to replace one who had quit and moved to Florida. In other words, I had no news. Sue is a chatterbox, so I did not have to contribute much to the conversation. This was a good thing, given my miserable state.
At one point she took my hand, pulled me up, and led me to the bedroom, her boobs bouncing before her, pointing the way. "Lie down on the bed, on your stomach, Mark," she said. I complied.
She began to message my head. She was sitting on my ass, a leg on either side of my torso. She must have hiked up her skirt to be able to do that. Pity all I could see was my bedspread. Oh my, she was good. The way she worked my scalp, rubbing it just the way they do at those fancy beauty parlors, pressing hard at all the right places, was heaven incarnate. She put her fingers at my temples and applied pressure, moving them around in little circles. She was beginning to make me feel grateful I had a headache, since it begat this amazing massage.
The massage was sensuous and having a sexy, good friend sitting on my ass giving me one made it so much better! She must have given me a massage for at least twenty minutes, and I have to say it worked wonders both on my mood and my head. She got off me, and I just lay there, enjoying my bliss. I guess I missed the sight of her pulling her skirt down and straightening it out. At that point I did not care.
"Sue, that was wonderful. I already feel so much better! You are an angel," I said.
"I'm glad you liked it. I also give full body massages. If you'd like one, let me know," Sue said.
"No need to think about it, I'd love one! What can I do for you in exchange?" I said.
"I'll think of something. I may call you if a spider shows up in my bathroom, or for another emergency in the future. Men can be so handy, you know?" Sue said. She added, which I took suggestively given her tone, "For all sorts of things."
"Tomorrow then for the full body massage? I'll come by again after work. Wear a towel," Sue said.
"What do you mean, 'wear a towel?' I asked.
"You need to be naked for a full body massage, and I don't want to be staring at your privates while I give you one," Sue said. She smiled. "I'll bring some baby oil, for my big baby," Sue said. It was my turn to smile.
"Oh. Of course," I said.
"You know, in college, I used to give men massages while I was naked. I charged a lot for those," Sue said.
I just looked at her. Why was she telling me this?
"Are you judging me?" she asked, seeing my expression which must have been unusual. "I needed the money. No sex was involved. But men will pay a lot if the woman massaging them is naked, even if there's no sex," she said.
"Weren't you worried about being raped, or something?" I stupidly asked.
"Of course, I was. I'm not an idiot. The massage parlor had a big bruiser standing by and I never had to call upon his services, thank goodness. Some of my friends did, though. Men can get carried away, as I'm sure you know," Sue said.
"Alana actually was raped. The client, as we called the men who availed themselves of our services, had a gun. A gun trumps muscle. Luckily Alana was a bit of a tramp, and she took it well. We used to call her 'No drama Alana.' She was an impressive girl," Sue said thoughtfully. "The fool paid with a visa card, so Alana was able to press charges, and the client went to jail. Guns are serious business in New York City."
