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All characters are over the age of 18 years old and all players are consenting adults.
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When the opportunity of full-time work at a retirement home came along I couldn't believe my luck and I jumped at the chance. Massage is a tough gig. It's kind of ironic that a process that makes a body feel so good is notoriously difficult to provide to people. I've been looking for steady work for years.
St. Ophelia Retirement Village is a high-end gated community on several shady acres, centered around the main building, a big old three-story Gothic structure built in the 1800s.
Today it is a picture of modern efficiency. The clientele are either housed in one of the little freestanding bungalows that surround the original building or in the Sisters of Mercy complex that is more like a luxury hotel than a dormitory.
Apparently it wasn't always like it is now. A bit of digging around online revealed and that St. Ophelia was considered by many to be less of a saint and more like a witch. The original convent had a notorious reputation. There were dozens of stories of young women and nuns being imprisoned, assaulted, and tortured - all led or condoned by, mad Ophelia. The grainy old photographs I found didn't prove much but those old nuns certainly looked intimidating and 'where there's smoke there's fire', right?
Finally there was a big investigation in 1962 and several people went to jail or were 'moved on' from lack of evidence. There must have been at least some truth to the rumors.
The basement of this old building is where my massage room is hidden. At first I thought it a bit dank. There are no windows, the walls are the original old stonework and the floor is covered in large black and white checkered tiles... like a dungeon. The big modern looking massage table with its black leather cushioned surface and chrome fittings looks out of place. After the stories I'd read a medieval rack would seem more appropriate.
The room has been renovated though, fitted it out beautifully, sparing no expense. Apart from the massage table sitting on a large thick Persian rug there was various purpose-built nooks and crannies that house the tools of my trade. The warm, low lighting reflects brilliantly off the large floor to ceiling mirror on one wall.
Most importantly it is situated away from the general population. It is quiet and discrete and has its own separate entrance, a simple staircase leading down from outside to the comfortable little waiting room.
So I was to be paid well, given free room and board, was doing work that I was good at and that I loved - but none of these are the best part. The best, most charming, and enticing part of this job will be my clientele.
From a very early age I've lusted for older women. It is an Oedipus complex that I happily acknowledge and embrace. The fact that about 90 percent of the 300 residents were women and are over sixty years of age was like a dream come true for me.
Of course the other ten were old men but that didn't phase me. Most men don't like massages from other men. I can be as professional as the next masseuse if it comes to that but their natural aversion suited my fine.
There was only one unfortunate aspect of the whole affair and it was a pretty big negative. The final stipulation of my new job was that a senior staff person who would be with me at all times. I would never be alone with any of these glorious sexy women.
Management was adamant on this point. This was how they wanted things to be and it was not negotiable. I was told that the village was run along very strict moral guidelines, stipulated by the church. It would be considered very inappropriate for a young man such as myself to be alone with any of the village residents.
What could I do? I had to accept it.
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On my first morning I walked into the massage room to find my chaperon was already there.
Sitting in the corner at a little school-desk, almost hidden behind a huge pile of yellow folders, was a middle-aged bookish sort of lady wearing old-fashioned horn-rimmed glasses. She looked up when I entered, closed the file she was working on, and stood to greet me.
She was plump, of small to medium height and wore a dowdy old nurses uniform buttoned up tight to her neck with small white buttons. The pale blue uniform dress included a white apron, black stockings, black patent leather shoes, and an old-fashioned 1950's style nurses cap perched on a wavy mop of peroxide blonde gray hair that had been 'permed' too many times.
Prominently displayed between the jutting shelf of her massive tits was a large silver crucifix and on her left breast a name badge read ADAMS in big black block capitals.
Nurse Adams' round face was hidden behind large brown, horn-rimmed glasses that magnified her myopic eyes like an owl.
"I have been informed," she said without any preamble, "that we will be working together in this room when you are providing your massage services."
These were the first words Nurse Adams ever said to me in her brittle British accent.
Walking around her little desk she stood in front of me and continued her 'welcome'.
"I am one who speaks her mind young man," she continued, rocking back and forth on her heels, her hands officiously clasped together behind her back.
Somebody who cared should have shown her how to apply makeup. She used too much red rouge on her cheekbones and the bright red lipstick she wore looked like a child had applied it with little or no consideration for where her lips started and her face began. It could have made her look like a clown but was closer to some sort of weird fetish whore.
"I must tell you I find this situation objectionable, nay, intolerable. I do not believe that your services are appropriate or required by our residents and I have said as much to The Reverend Mother."
"However my objections have fallen on deaf ears," she went on, getting more and more agitated. "The Reverend Mother thinks differently. I am obliged therefore to accommodate this ridiculous farce in my workday!"
She finished on a mad sort of up-note, her face red, her eyes crazy wide and her mouth set in a grim line.
"Not a very Christian attitude Nurse Adams," I said, as calmly as I could. I was a bit shaken. Not a promising start.
I became aware of the mammoth ass that was counterbalancing her massive teats. It was huge and protruded behind her. Even the dull nurses' uniform couldn't hide its huge size and the folds of fabric falling into the cleft of her bum gave an indication of its depth.
She was obviously a terrible bitch but her body was voluptuous.
"I have no doubt that this venture will fail and you shall be off these premises by the end of the week," she continued, ignoring my inspection, "and that, young man, will not be too soon!"
I felt like I'd been slapped. Reeling inside I had to ignore her attack and prepare for my first customer. Turning on the gentle synthesized 'whale sounds' that people expect in situations like this and, taking a deep breath to calm myself, opened the door to the waiting room.
All the chairs were empty... except for one.
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Emma
The voluptuous woman who walked into my room that day, so happy and excited, was in her mid to late 60s. Her face was tanned and crisscrossed with fine lines and her skin was sagging a bit as it will eventually. On the other hand her clear blue eyes, radiant smile, and generous wide mouth made her look glamorous.
Her hair was lustrous and long, falling down to her shoulders in an immaculately maintained old fashioned bouffant, like Mary Tyler Moore. Thick and wavy it was proudly silver-gray and looked terrific on her. Here was a woman who was stunning in her day and still beautiful now. She was dazzling.
