The Masseur

The Masseur

by The Big Bopper

Chapter One

It is unusual to take on a new profession at the age of forty-five, but that's what I'm attempting. Well, yes and no... a masseur is my late career choice, not all that far removed from physiotherapist, for which I trained after leaving school. That was my career choice for ten good years, only for one careless circumstance to deprive me of it one Friday evening.

That throwaway line there leads to more questions than answers for you - the reader. So, I best explain the history before getting on with the present. I was a very good physiotherapist, and managed to get many sportsmen and women back competing after treating injuries that could have ended their sporting days. But one fateful encounter brought my career to an abrupt halt. I recall it vividly.

I was in practice with another two physios'... Richard, a man of my own age (then 28), whom I had met when first enrolling in the physiotherapy course a decade earlier, and Jane, a woman of 35, who had been the driving force in our acquiring many prominent sports stars as clients. Jane had started the practice and recruited both Richard and I when her workload become too much for one.

On this particular Friday afternoon, I had my last appointment at 3pm. I was done with him by 3.45, so, I decided to take advantage of an early mark and stop by the local bar for a couple of beers before heading home to my then wife and kids. I had met Sue at university; we married at 23, quickly having twins - a pigeon pair, meaning one of each... a boy and a girl, the only genders we knew of then.

So, life was good, except I wasn't getting as much sexual activity in the marriage as I felt I needed. Sue usually came to bed tired after coping with two four-year-olds all day.

From my very first full sexual experience with a young woman, I'd been hooked. I needed regular sex daily, so I walked around mega horny when I wasn't getting enough. It's called satyriasis, or satyrs, the male equivalent of a nymphomaniac. I would get an erection regularly, and at the most unexpected moments, needing relief.

Downing my second beer, I am contemplating whether to have one more before heading home when I get a call from Jane, the senior partner in our physiotherapy practice. "John, where are you? Hopefully not home yet?"

"No, Jane, I stopped off for a couple of beers before heading home."

"Oh, that's great! So, you're only around the corner at the local then?"

"If you mean from our practice, yes, of course."

"John, I'm not there. As you know, I was heading out of town for the weekend, and I've just arrived at my hotel. I'm too far away to come back but I've had a call from Jenny Baker."

"The high jumper?" I interrupt.

"Yes, that's her, great girl and highly competitive. She's got a meet on tomorrow and is a good chance to win, but she called to tell me she's strained her thigh muscle. From the way she describes it, sounds to me like she's strained her abductor brevis muscle."

"Ooh! That is a problem."

"John, if she's any chance to compete tomorrow, she'll need some work done on that tonight. She says she can be at our rooms within the hour. Could I ask you a big favour... can you go back to treat her?"

"I was about to head for the train, Jane. Sue will have dinner on the table by 6.30."

"John, I'm sorry to load this on you, but Jenny is a really good client and she's going places in the athletic world. Who knows what other doors it may open for us. Pretty please, partner?"

"What about Richard, where's he tonight?"

"Richard's addressing the coaches at the football academy tonight."

"Oh, that's right, I forgot."

"John, you are the only one who can get Jenny right for tomorrow."

"Oh, okay, I'll call Sue and tell her to keep my dinner warm. How quickly do you think Jenny can get here?"

"She has a day job to finance her athletic career. She's in an office not far from us."

"Okay, can you tell her to hurry, so I'm not too late home."

"Thanks John, you're a gem. I'll call Jenny back to tell her you'll do her and for her to hurry over."

I pass on having a third beer and leave the bar, with Jane's words ringing in my ears,

'I'll tell her you'll do her.'

Would I what? She's a good-looking athlete, just approaching the prime of her sports career at... what, 22 or 23? With the minimal sex activity Sue and I are having at home, it will be very arousing to have my fingers rubbing up Jenny's inner thigh.

The abductor brevis muscle extends all the way to the pubis, the best part of a woman's body. After I work on Jenny, I'll need to talk Sue into getting the twins in bed early tonight.

I reopen the office, prepare a massage table for Jenny to lay on and sit down to wait. Within twenty minutes, I hear someone opening the outer door, so I rise to greet the young athlete. She strikes me as looking even prettier than I recall from seeing her on television coverage of athletic meets. She is wearing a white blouse and plaid skirt. What a temptation this will be, alone treating Jenny with Jane and Richard away and our receptionist gone for the day.

"Hello, Jenny, I'm John."

"Hi John..." she gives me a delightful smile and offers her hand for me to shake. "I've seen you here when I've been in for sessions with Jane. Thank you for staying back, Jane said you were heading home for dinner with the family. I do appreciate you giving that up to look after me. Where will we do this?"

Damn! I wish now I hadn't had those two beers. I think the alcohol is increasing my horniness. I hear her ask 'where will we do this' and think to myself,

'You mean where will you lay down, take off half your clothes and have me touch up your inner thigh?'

I am already having lascivious thoughts before even touching Jenny's inner thigh. Trying to remain composed, I lead the way into my consulting room. "In here, please. You'll need to lose your skirt and hop up on the table."

I wash my hands and dispense some oily cream onto them while hearing the soft sound of a woman's skirt falling to the floor. I turn to see Jenny stretched out on her back on the massage table, wearing only her blouse and a bra under. The blouse barely reaches her pubis, which is contained behind only a thong panty. Her long high-jumping legs are bare, her discarded shoes on the floor alongside her skirt.

I approach the table, focusing on the area of upper inner thigh to be treated, but my eyes are drawn immediately to the flimsy thong panty. The thin strand of material is caught between her outer labia. I expected I might see a camel toe, but instead I can clearly see the two sides of her most intimate body part with the material caught in there.

Does she not know her thong is caught between her pussy lips? Surely, she must have looked down to check herself when she dropped her skirt. Maybe she does know and doesn't care. Could she be on some little adventure to turn on the stand-in physio with nobody else around? Is she as horny as me? I tell myself she could be.

I feel my 28-year-old cock, at the prime of its sexual life, surge in my pants. This could be embarrassing and hard to hide if it fully erects. I apply both hands to her upper inner thigh and begin to firmly press down, making slow long strokes along the affected muscle, each sweep stopping barely an inch before her exposed lower lips and the trapped thin line of black thong material.

I hear Jenny emit some sounds... it's guttural. I'm not sure whether to class them as groans or moans... or even in my warped sexual mind, sighs of frustration because my fingers cautiously stop just short of pressing against her pubis on each sweep. "Am I hurting you?" I enquire, seeking a reason for her reactions.

"Your fingers feel much stronger than Jenny's. If I sound like it's hurting, it's possibly more that I'm surprised at the difference. You have to do what you have to do to make things good for me."

Damn the beers! I wish I hadn't had them. I wouldn't have if I'd expected to treat another client.

'Do what you have to do to make things good for me,'

she said. Can I draw some innuendo in those words? How good does she want things to be? Is she using the word

good

in the same way this horny 28-year-old male, who's not getting enough sex at home, interprets good?

I steal a peep up at her face. Her eyes are closed, and she has a contented look. As I scan back down her body, I catch sight of her nipples pressing through the material of bra and blouse. Oh my god, is that a sign too that my fingers on this attractive young woman's thighs are arousing her? At 22 or 23, is she relishing the firm touch of a man's fingers coming so perilously close to the most sensuous part of her body?

Should I - accidentally on purpose - push my fingers too far on one sweep up her inner thigh... just one longer sweep for my knuckles to brush against the naked skin of her labia, maybe even rub up toward her clitoris, just to test her reaction?

Oh my god, I want to, and my cock has achieved what I feared... it's fully hard. What's the harm... if she objects, I can apologise if her thoughts are not aligned with mine. I look down at my trousers, see not just the tenting but a wet spot has come through from the tip. Oh honey, please don't look down there and see what your body is doing to me.

Here goes... on this next sweep, make it appear like my hand slips. My fingertips lead, keep going... and softly touch those exposed pubes and the cloth between them. Her thong is wet. Not just touch but I rub up and back down. I hear her expressive gasp... is that a sound of genuine pleasure. Hold on, no, it's not. Maybe it's shock? I think I've misjudged the situation.

I hear her voice, louder than it's been to this point, "What do you think you're doing, John? Don't touch me there."

I rush to reassure my patient, "I'm... err... oh fuck... I'm sorry! My hand slipped."

She half raises her upper body, staring at me, her mouth agape. "That was no accident, John, you went for a cheap feel, didn't you? You're supposed to be a professional. How dare you!"

I'm in panic mode now. Every aspect that I viewed as a sign she wanted me to touch her intimately disintegrates in the face of her anger, "How could you, John, I trusted you. Jane trusts you. I specifically asked when she suggested you if I would be safe alone with you. John, she assured me I would, and then you go and touch me down there. What are you?"

"It was just an accident, Jenny," I protest, "I'm telling you my hand slipped."

"Like hell it did. Wait until Jane hears what a cheap trick you tried on me."

"No, Jenny, please don't say anything to Jane.

Jenny clambers off the table. On her feet now, she grabs her skirt, stepping into it. The shoes follow. I see her eyes scan down my body. Can it get any worse? I see her eyes stop, looking at my groin, spotting the incriminating wet spot. "What's that, have you cum in your pants, did you get off on touching me?"

"No... no way! That's just pre-cum. It's the beers, Jenny, I shouldn't have had them, but I drank before treating you. I never ever do that."

"What a letch you are, you shouldn't be a physiotherapist." Oblivious to my excuses, she turns and storms out without uttering another word. I slump into a chair and begin to reflect on what has just occurred in our professional rooms.

I sweat out the weekend at home, concerned that my physiotherapy career may be at a premature end while trying not to be too morbid. I don't say anything to my wife about the incident with the athlete at this early stage, so I attempt to act normally around her.

On the TV news on Saturday night, I see that Jenny won the high jump event. She was obviously able to overcome any trauma from my illicit touch to walk away with the win. Maybe in the washup, she will forgive me because I must have fixed her abductor brevis muscle.

I get through to midday on the Monday morning without a peep out of Jane, or Richard for that matter. I wonder if Jenny's fiery exit was a bit overdramatic and we might not hear any more about it.

But at 12.05, I get a phone call. It's Jenny. I get in first, congratulating the athlete on her big win on the weekend. But she retorts with, "No thanks to you, you letch." Then she proceeds to tell me she's heading overseas next week to compete in the Diamond League, a series of track and field events but that she is short on funding for the tour.

She suggests that she won't say anything to Jane about what she now calls fingering her if I pay $5,000 toward her expenses. A simple cash deposit can make the incident disappear when she boards her flight for the start of a season of fifteen events over the coming five months.

Desperately, I agree to pay her form of blackmail to save my career. Five grand blows everything from my savings account but at least all is normal around the practice in the following months. Until a week before Jenny is due back in town.

Jane and Richard ask me to sit down for a chat one morning. They then inform me that they know the full detail of my indiscretion, describing it as the overblown fingering of Jenny and claiming too that I came in my pants while doing it. They ask for my resignation.

Having to explain to Sue that evening why I am no longer a partner in the practice is difficult. I tell her the full true story and the way that Jenny has embellished it. Of course, it doesn't go down well with her. She jumps to the conclusion that Jenny's accusation is more accurate than my defence that I accidentally brushed her blatantly exposed labia.

Reflecting years later, I am sure my indiscretion was the catalyst for the break-up of our marriage. I can never pin Sue down, but I constantly suspect she's having an affair or even multiple affairs in the years that follow. We manage to stay together until the twins' graduate from high school and leave for college.

It's obvious to us that we are not destined to be empty nesters. She leaves me, moving in with another guy within two weeks. I'm guessing he's been in her life for a long time before our separation.

Chapter Two

After having my physiotherapy career blow up in my face at 28, I took a boring office job and managed to keep at it for seventeen years. On my forty-fifth birthday, I resign and announce to the twins, my mother and my sister that I intend to embark on a new career as a masseur.

Sue moved interstate four years before and she's had no contact with the twins nor I since. My sister is most encouraging, telling me I'll be good as a masseur after I outline my plan for my future. My need to have very regular sex took a major hit in the years while my sham marriage continued.

Sue never completely cut me off but even when I persuaded her to indulge - on average a couple of nights per week - I could see her heart wasn't in it. She basically lay there on her back while I got my rocks off missionary style. While I was sure she was getting hers elsewhere, I mostly remained faithful to the marriage vows until she moved out.

I masturbated a lot as the marriage dwindled. I was 42 when I found myself single again and I put myself out there, dating several women, vowing I won't commit to another marriage anytime soon. It has taken three long years of thinking about it before finally shoving that boring office job.

I sell the family home and buy a smaller house previously owned by a GP. He had two rooms dedicated to his medical practice with a separate entrance to the residence. It is ideal for my needs although I could get by with just one consulting room. Clients won't bank up because I expect it to be strenuous work for my fingers and hands, so I intend seeing only four clients per day in one-hour sessions, each an hour apart.

I open for business with a letter box drop and a Facebook page. The first week, business is slow and the best I get is only three clients. Feedback after each massage suggests that only one will definitely come again. In the second week, I get eight clients, and six say they'll return.

Of my first eleven clients, three are men and eight women. The women range in age from 38 to 79. The reaction of getting erections while massaging those eight, touching their near naked bodies verifies I still possess the overcooked libido I had back in my twenties. I must be cautious and massage with discretion.

I intend for this to be a legitimate business, for adults, despite my erections regularly occurring when a woman is on the table.

On the Monday and Tuesday of my third week, I do well, with four clients on each day, nearing my optimum... three are repeat business. On Wednesday, I have women booked for one-hour sessions at 9, 11 and 1.

The one o'clock appointment arrives, booked as Jennifer Gates. She appears to be an attractive woman, around late thirties perhaps. But hard to assess accurately... she wears sunglasses and a baseball cap, pulled down low, so I can't get a good look at her initially. I hand her a clipboard with my standard client information form to fill out.

I leave her in the outer room while I go into my consulting room to finish my coffee and switch on the relaxing mood music. I rip three tissues from the box, unzip my trouser flies and stuff the tissues inside my underwear. Since opening my practice, I'm having regular instances of my cock leaking pre-cum whenever I touch the bare skin of an attractive women. Best to be safe than embarrassed by wet spots.

I give the woman enough time to complete her paperwork and return to the front room to retrieve my clipboard. I give it a cursory glance then invite her to move inside with my standard speech. "So, I am about to give you a one-hour remedial massage. Please go in and remove everything but your panties. Lay face down on the table, you'll find a sheet there to drape over you when you've settled."

"I'm familiar with the procedure, I've had massages before," she tells me as she walks through the door to my inner consulting room. She leaves the door open, and I don't move to close it. I enjoy hearing the subtle sounds of a woman undressing.

After a couple of minutes, she calls to me, "Okay, I'm ready!" I enter the room, see her laying face down, her head buried in the oval hole at the top end of the table. The sheet covers her near naked body from neck to calves. I see the baseball cap and sunglasses on top of her clothes neatly stacked on a chair.

"So, Jennifer, any spots I need to especially work on, any muscles knotted up, many people have stress in their shoulders."

"No, no stress. Um! On this side, I guess I'd say my bum. I do like to have my arse kneaded... with a k."

"Okay, with a k. That's unusual, generally it's the shoulders and neck but I'll see what I can do with your bum."

"When you get me to roll over, I'll point out the area that needs most attention on my front."

I pour a liberal amount of oil on my palms and rub them together. I approach the bottom end of the table and raise the bottom of the sheet to just above the backs of her knees. I start on the feet and spend five minutes on undersides and heels, gradually working my way up to calves.

I move up along one side of the table, pick up the lower half of the sheet and neatly fold it over and over until her thighs and arse are completely revealed. Yes, completely... to my surprise, she not wearing any panties and is stark naked on my massage table.

My eyes dart over to the pile of clothing and spot a black thong alongside the baseball cap atop her clothes stacked on the chair. So, she didn't arrive commando, but chose to remove her panties for her massage.

Maybe the current generation of progressive women go naked from the confidence that the Me-Too movement will back them if a masseur attempts to take advantage of the situation. Yet I've already had had several women around her age on my table and all kept their panties on.