Page 63 of Studious
And also, “We have to take off our underwear?” I ask.
“Up to you. It gives the massage therapist better access. They can do these moves from your hips down to your feet and whatnot. But if you’re not comfortable, don’t do it. A massage is about pleasure and stress relief, so anything that will make you tense is a bad idea.”
I decide to bite the bullet.
Grateful for the muted light, I shove down my briefs and climb up on the table. He can see my bare ass, too, and I wonder if he looked. After I situate myself, I glance over, and he’s grinning unrepentantly.
“What?” I ask.
“Nice cakes.”
I redden.
Then we just lie there, naked mere feet from each other, in a dark, scented room with quiet music playing.
I might fall asleep. Either that or go from semi to full chub. Or both.
After a moment, I let out a big yawn and try to turn it into a sigh. “Sorry.” I giggle.
“That’s nothing to be sorry about. That’s the point. To relax.”
Unfortunately, relaxing apparently means blurting out the first thing that comes to my mind, which happens to be, “Do you think people have farted while getting a massage?” Then I wince, because way to be a dork, Alden.
He chuckles. “I bet it happens all the time. Daily. Here.” I look up and see him sliding his hand from under the blanket and reaching toward me. It takes me a moment to extricate myself, but I mirror his movements and take his hand. “Don’t worry so much,” he says. “I’m not going to judge you by any noises you make or things your body does. You’re not yucky. You’re just Alden.”
He squeezes my hand and then settles his own back under his blanket, giving me the smallest glimpse of an expanse of tanned skin.
There’s a knock on the door, and two muscled, hot men come in.
And my mind goesthere. There to where this becomes some kind of orgy. Even though I know that’s ridiculous. One orgasm with another person, and now sex is all I think about. I mean, I used to think about it before, but now it’s constantly on my mind.
One of the guys puts his hands on the back of my neck. “Do you have any places you don’t want to be touched or that I should otherwise be aware of? Allergies? Anything that hurts?”
I mutter a no, distracted from my dirty thoughts by the sensation of another person’s hands on me.
Strong hands.
Strong hands covered in oil. Making their way down my back. Following the muscles and ligaments or whatever.
I groan, and it’s loud. I hear Danny chuckle. “You okay there?”
“Yes,” I say into the cloth-covered doughnut pillow. “I’m fine.”
“I think we can do better than that,” Sven says.
His name isn’t Sven, but I wasn’t paying attention when he said it, and he sort of looks like a Sven. I sink into the massage. I let myself enjoy the rhythmic sensations of hands on my body—of Sven rubbing the muscles of my arms, legs, back, feet, and even my scalp.
“Danny,” I murmur after a while.
“What, babe?”
Babe. “This is amazing.”
“See? I knew you’d enjoy it.”
I turn over per the massage therapist’s urging, and as I do, I can see the other guy still working on Danny’s muscled back. While part of me is self-conscious because my back is nothing like that, at least I can enjoy the view for a little bit.
Also, at least I don’t have an erection. I was worried I’d turn over and be tenting up the blanket.
