Massage Therapist Intern

introduction: I have republished this story under a new title to indicate that it is part of a series. A loving mom helps her son land a job with her shapely Massage Therapist. He must practice his new found skills on his mother at the end of each day.

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I had just finished high school and my 19th birthday had come and gone. I was full of doubts and trepidation of what my future might hold. My mother and I were on our own (dad left us before I started high school) and we had decided that I would postpone my postsecondary education for the time being. It would give me the time to decide which direction I wanted to go and to get a job that would give me some skills and to make enough money to keep the inevitable student loan I would need to a minimum.

I could have taken any of the myriad jobs that were available -- landscaping, gas jockey, fast-food server -- but I didn't want to suffer in the heat or end the day smelling of gas fumes or grease. Mom was on the lookout to help me find work too and was excited to let me know that she had found the perfect job! She had just spoken with a neighbor of ours who was looking to hire a summer student. Katie was her Massage Therapist and she needed an "intern" to help out around the house while she ran her massage clinic out of her basement studio.

I had known Katie for several years now as mom was a regular client of hers. They were both single and often hung out together around their respective patios and her pool. Katie had watched me grow up and I had done some occasional joe jobs for her in the past. Mom convinced her to meet with me before hiring anyone else. An "interview" was arranged to follow Katie's last appointment that afternoon - a couple of hours away.

I was caught flat-footed. I didn't know what to expect or how to prepare. Mom offered to help and coach me for my "interview". She sent me upstairs for a shower and followed me into the bedroom to pick out an outfit for me. She used it as on excuse to watch me shower, something she hadn't done since I was 12. I hadn't been naked in my mother's presence since then and I was uncomfortable as she watched me dry myself off. She insisted in helping me get dressed and demanded that I go commando. I didn't even know what the term meant. She was all too familiar with her hands as she dressed me in white shorts, a tight V-neck t-shirt along with sport socks and shoes. I was confused by this turn on my mother's part -- why was she insisting on her son's nudity in her presence?

She shared details of Katie's story with me as she watched me get dressed. I could see that she was vested in me getting this job and she wanted me to understand what the job would entail. Apparently, Katie had worked in a private massage clinic for years and had built up a loyal clientele. She was a licensed MT and had always been booked. A skilled artisan, she had a muscular and chiseled physique and she chafed at some of the modesty restrictions that were imposed on her by her licensing requirements. For one, she felt that draping was a client's call, not to be arbitrarily dictated by her profession's College. Coupled with the fact that she accounted for nearly a third of her boss's revenue, she made the decision to set up her own clinic at home. She offered a client contractor of hers free weekly massages for a year to do the work and had the studio set up for the summer season the next year.

Many of Katie's clients made the transition to her private clinic and she had been busy from Day One. She stopped offering receipts but dropped her prices accordingly if paid in cash. She was branching out with her services and had introduced what she called a Lomi-Nuru to her repertoire -- a body-to-body technique that was particularly popular with her male clientele but would not have been permitted under her licensing restrictions.

For the last four years, she had hired attractive female coop summer students to help her with the clinic. She had them dress in white, tight-fitting lycra blouses with short kilts, stockings and heels. For herself, she had scored a dozen body stockings from a respected sportswear manufacturer that had had to liquidate them. Because they were too sheer for retail, she had managed to buy the whole lot in her size for a song. They were of excellent quality, made of the finest material but their complete transparency and skin tone coloring made them unmarketable.

Katie was not above using a little bare skin and the skimpy uniforms of her coop students to entice her clients. From her own perspective, the sexy and revealing body stockings in the privacy of her own home clinic made her a more effective masseuse. It lowered her modest inhibitions and she had come to realize that dressing naughtily made her feel unrestrained and sexy. In the right circumstances, nudity was not uncalled for.

This year's coop student had fallen through at the last moment. Up until now, Katie hadn't even considered hiring a male intern, but she was desperate and she both knew and liked me. She was willing to meet with me to discuss the possibility. Mom suggested that I use a little flattery with Katie to convince her to hire me. She told me that Katie was a flirt and an exhibitionist and would likely be touchy-feely with me -- she had magnificent breasts that she was very proud of and she loved to hug. It was important for me to return any affection on her part in kind and not to be shy. She suggested that if I was showing my excitement, being commando would allow me to let Katie know when I hugged her back. Mom thought that Katie would be "testing" me to see how I handled risqué or embarrassing questions or situations. I needed to be honest and bold in answering to her.

When it was time to go meet Katie, I strolled down the street to her house, not as confident as I tried to appear. I had never been commando before and freedom of my junk swaying freely was exhilarating. The entrance to her studio was through a patio door at the back - I was to go through the gate to the patio -- Katie knew I would be waiting for her there as she finished up with her client. Moments after I arrived, the drape was pulled back and the door slid open to allow a well-dressed gentleman to exit. Katie remained inside and called for me to "c'mon in" as she stepped aside and invited me into the studio.

As she slid the door closed behind us, I took in my surroundings. I was impressed : a fully equipped space with a hydraulic table, an elevated pedicure chair with an attached footbath (perfect for foot massage) and a large glass paneled shower stall. A wheeled privacy screen was available for Katie and her clients to change behind. Blackout drapes allowed her to block the bright light flooding in, plunging the studio into darkness when called for. A subtle, relaxing atmosphere was created with soft music.

Because of my anxiousness, I was inside her studio before she had the chance to slip into a robe. At first, I was shocked, thinking that she was nude. Her erect nipples were impossible to miss and her body stocking was soaked in oil, giving her profile a glossy sheen. It hugged her like the stocking it was -- her bald pussy perfectly framed by a transparent cameltoe.

It never ceased to amaze me just how impressive Katie's physique was. I had done my fair share of sports in school and had grown to just over six feet tall with a slim, muscular build. But Katie (who was my mother's age) was Amazonian in her dimensions. Just short of six feet tall, she had a svelte and curvy figure, her firm and prominent breasts making her appear a bit top heavy. She had strong, muscular arms and legs from the years of practicing her trade. There was nothing frail about her, grace abounding.

She apologized profusely as she took a moment to cross the studio to fetch a terrycloth robe. It was entirely too small and clung to her oil-soaked skin, hanging open as she "struggled" to draw the lapels together. Not before I got a good look though - an extended glance at her exposed thighs and torso. As I stood there with my tongue hanging out, she slowly and immodestly fiddled with the robe, now soaked in oil, explaining that her last appointment had run a bit late. I wasn't sure how that explained her wardrobe disarray or whether all of this bare flesh was an accident or for my benefit but my 19 year old hormones were raging. My shorts had a distinct tent that was hard to miss.

Remembering my mother's advice, I rolled my tongue back into my mouth and told her I was fascinated by her line of work and that I admired her for it as I watched her fumbling with her robe. I told her I was interested in anatomy and physiology as I caught a generous view of her muscular torso. I enthused that I wanted to learn from the best as she appeared to give up on modesty and didn't bother to close her robe, the lapels left hanging open, exposing a generous glimpse of cleavage. She seemed flattered by these assertions on my part and she told me that she was quite taken with my honesty. I was seeing some hope here that she would consider hiring me as she left her cleavage exposed, her skin glistening with the oil.

She told me her clients were used to her having a female summer intern. Previously, those interns had learned to give foot massages with her training. Would I be willing to learn how to give a foot and leg massage? Further, would I be willing to give her a daily foot massage at the end of our day? To work together with her on her clients if she asked? I told her I would love to learn and do whatever she required of me. Anything!

With that, the tone of the interview changed -- she appeared to have made up her mind to hire me. My flattery had worked. No doubt, my excitement showed. The atmosphere was now more relaxed, but she wasn't going to let me off the hook quite yet. As mom had warned me, Katie was going to make me squirm. Over the next ten minutes, she asked if I had ever seen a naked woman that I didn't share a last name with? Had I ever peeped on a neighbor? Had I ever deliberately expose myself to a stranger? Up close and personal? Would I be comfortable practicing my newly found skills on my mother?

The last question caught me by surprise. Mom was a beautiful woman with a dynamite figure that she was proud of. My buddies all though she was hot (a MILF so to speak), but I had never thought of her that way. My mother's behavior today in preparing me for this moment had been a shock - I wasn't sure where this line of questioning was going, but I didn't say no. No doubt a test of my commitment to practice the skills that I would be learning under her tutelage. Had her and mom discussed this beforehand? Was mom going to let me practice massage on her?

Despite my misgivings, I was finding myself turned on by the idea. My buddies all thought my mom was hot and would, no doubt, hop in the sack with her given the chance. I did not disagree with them, my mother was hot, but it just hadn't occurred to me that skin-to-skin with my mom was in the realm of possibilities. Katie took note of my erection as she went on about our new "arrangement".

Initially, I was surprised when she told me that the majority of her clients (47 of 55) were women. All of her male clients were either loyal, repeat customers or were there on referral. She was a licensed MT and had no desire to deal with unfamiliar men who were only looking for a rub-and-tug. She screened each new potential client over the phone and relied on personal references and her gut. Although men tended to tip more, Katie was more concerned about the integrity of her art. Her clients had to appreciate her skills and techniques and not just the fleeting pleasure of a happy ending.

Katie went on that massage therapy can be demanding work and that she had a busy practice. She needed someone around to keep the place in order while she dealt with a string of (mostly) female clients. Summers were busy so she would be able to hire me on a more or less full-time basis. Her house was just down the street from home, so I could be there on short notice. My day would start a half hour before her first client arrived (usually 10 AM). She reserved the weekends for private, one-on-one sessions, so my schedule was limited to weekdays only - the perfect wet dream job for a 19 year old.

Besides the light housekeeping and her outdoor pool maintenance, I would be responsible for the laundry and making up her massage table between clients. There would be a steady stream of them filing in and out of the patio door where she had set up her studio. Katie would introduce me as her "apprentice" to her clients the first time we met, so that they would get used to seeing me around. I was to be careful not to be underfoot - to stay out of the way as her clients came and went.

She would deliberately schedule a full half hour break between each appointment, giving me plenty of time to strip the table of it's fitted coversheet and collect the various items for the laundry. It was my responsibility to fill the foot bath attached to the elevated pedicure chair with warm water and Epsom Salts if there was a foot massage scheduled.

As she finished outlining the job's duties, she asked me if I had a girlfriend. Seeing my puzzled look, she told me that if I took the job, there would be a number of attractive and often scantily clad women on hand. Because I was eye candy (her words, not mine), they might well come onto me, if only because of the charged atmosphere in the studio. When I assured her that I wasn't dating and I would be able to handle her clients' flirting (that I would be flattered) she relented. With a sigh and a visible relaxation of her shoulders, she stood up, opened her arms (and consequently her robe) and invited me for a hug as she offered me the job - it appeared that my flattery had worked.

I had overcome her hesitation to hire a male intern. She asked me when I could start. I could see that there was work to do already (laundry at the very least) so I told her I could start right now. She brightened at that -- it was the answer that she had wanted to hear. She stepped right up to me and gave me another hug -- this time an enthusiastic one -- and I hugged her back. My t-shirt and shorts were now soaked in oil.

I took it upon myself to start to gather up the laundry -- some of which was scattered about. I found a laundry basket that already had some towels in it and stripped the massage table of it's soiled sheet. The laundry room was just to the side of the shower stall and Katie took the time to show just how the washer and dryer worked. I noticed that the laundry room was soundproofed to keep the studio's ambiance tranquil. As I prepared a load, Katie casually tossed her robe and her outfit into the washer, completely naked now. Without asking, she helped me out of my t-shirt and shorts which needed to be tossed in as well. As I was commando, I too was naked, only my shoes and socks spoiling the picture.

To be continued