by Betsy Anne
“Melanie! Hi! I’m so glad you’re seeing Caleb for your session this morning! He’ll really get you going!”
More double entendres from Melba Motormouth. She smiles, and pirouettes into the place. I know she saw me staring at him, she must have. I swallow my drool, and follow her in. I drop my things in a locker and head upstairs to the cardio floor. He’s since moved over to the stretching area, and he’s doing some serious crunches.
“Hi, Melanie! You ready this morning?” he calls, not missing a beat in his crunch routine. He has more than a six-pack. His abs are ridiculous. No fat or flab anywhere, just like one of those high-end jeans models. If I can get over my animal lust, maybe he can help me after all. I’m sure he’s accustomed to women gawking at him. He’s no fool; they’re his bread and butter. I don’t care. If that’s what I get to stare at and all I have to do is workout, I’m in.
He gets me started on the treadmill to get warmed up. I’m already warm and have been since the parking lot. After twenty minutes, he has me follow him to a small room with a few machines in a circle, a circuit routine to be more specific. Two minutes on each machine with a minute break in between, two rounds to start.
“Where are you from, Melanie? I love your southern drawl.”
I’m already sweating heavily, and I think this is his way of distracting me. It works.
“I’m originally from Georgia. All my family is still down there.”
I may have turned up my accent just a bit for dramatic flair.
“Well, I like it. You don’t hear that much around here. How long have you been in Chicago?”
I have no desire to get into my messy story of what brought me here, or what keeps me here. He can remain unaware.
“Oh, I moved here for work years ago. I just love it, but of course it’s not home!”
I turn up the southern charm a few more notches. Use what you got, right?
“I hear you’re the best masseuse in this place. I’ve been so stressed out; I could really use an hour or so in your schedule. When are you free?”
“I’ll have to check the master schedule, but I’m pretty sure I have an hour tonight or tomorrow. If you give me your number, I can text you so you don’t have to wait around.”
I finish my sets, and down the rest of my water. That really felt good; I could get used to this. I give him my number and tell him to text me as soon as he finds out.
“The sooner the better would be great. It’s been so long…”
I blush as I say that. It came out much differently than I intended. I haven’t had a massage in such a long time I meant. This place must have pheromones pumped through the ventilation system.
“Will do. Great job today, Mel. Let’s go over your training schedule, assuming you want to stay with me.”
Holy Moly I’m going to melt. Just try and keep me away!
He sends me a text about an hour after I get home. Tomorrow night works better for his schedule. I’m the last massage of the evening. My next workout with him isn’t until Friday, so I can get some beauty rest tonight. I need to call Katie and thank her for this morning.
“Hey, girl! Thank you so much for helping me out today. My trainer Caleb sends his love too!” I giggle.
“Oh my Lord. You have the hots for him, don’t you? I hear it in your voice. Since he’s a trainer, I’m guessing he has a nice body?”
“Oh, honey, you have no idea. Well, you’re married to Jason so I guess you do. He has abs holding up more abs so that his abs don’t get too tired. He’s dreamy. I hadn’t realized after all this time just how much I’ve missed sex. I’m so horny, I could scream!”
She drops the phone, and I hear her laughing. Knowing Katie, she probably peed her pants, too. I hear her scrambling to get the phone back to her ear.
“Melanie Grubbs Kennedy! I’m shocked!” She says with mock indignation. “Don’t you have any toys? After all this time being shut out by Chris, how have you not done some online shopping?”
She’s laughing again, but I know she’s serious. She’s joked with me before about needing a “boyfriend” of the plastic variety. The best thing is they don’t come attached to a lying mouth. I would never even know where to begin. That’s something they definitely didn’t teach us at cotillion!
“Dear, the salad fork is always on the outside, and never choose a dildo larger than a medium-ripe banana.”
“I will, I promise. I have to do something, because I may just jump this guy in front of everyone at the gym. Did I tell you I was staring at him through the window while he was jogging with no shirt? I felt drool run down my chin. Drool. I’m a sad sack, Miss Katie.”
Before the boys come bounding in from school, I sit down with my laptop and a large glass of orange juice with a little vodka. Liquid courage. I make sure to turn on the private search settings so my kids don’t stumble onto any of the websites I visit. Trying to use the classiest term I can think of, I type “adult products” into the search engine and wait. I feel myself blush as the websites begin to load. There are so many! I click on the first one to pop up, and, boom, there they are. Vibrators right on the front page. There are so many, I don’t fully understand what they all do. One looks like a children’s toy! Bright pink with little colored balls inside. Another one looks like a loaf of pumpernickel bread. Dear God, who could use that? I notice one that isn’t particularly daunting. It looks exactly like a normal-sized penis, and it comes with an optional insertable vibrating egg. Well, gee, that’ll be handy for those special occasions. I place my order and add some suggested lubrication. How thoughtful, they thought of everything. Ooh, I get a free DVD with my purchase. What has become of my life? Free priority shipping, and send.
I send Katie a quick text that simply says, “done.” She’ll understand. As the day wears on, my energy level hits an all time low. I’m sleepy from my OJ and vodka, exhausted from my workout, and emotionally drained from online shopping. I feed the kids some mac and cheese and salad and call it a night. My head hits the pillow at 9 o’clock.
The alarm sounds extra annoying this morning, and I crankily make my way to the bathroom. Everything on my body hurts, even my hair. How the hell does hair hurt? Things are straining and popping, and I feel like I want to go back to bed and never exercise again. It’s not a gym I signed up for; it’s some kind of cruel, masochistic den where you voluntarily go to be punished. John helps get the other boys ready for school, as I gulp down my coffee. The caffeine is worth the burned throat. The phone rings and I jump.
“What?”
“What a grouch! What’s your problem?”
It’s Katie and I hear the smile in her voice. She knows exactly what the problem is. She knew I was going to have an exercise hang over and is calling to tease me.
“You know what my problem is. I can’t fucking move! Even my toes hurt Katie, my goddamned toes! How am I ever going to exercise again? The only light at the end of the tunnel is my massage later. Other than that, my plan for the day is to stay horizontal for most of it.”
Kind of bitchy on my part; I should be a little more specific.
“Well, sorry. I also did a little online shopping yesterday, and it made me a little antsy. My ‘boyfriend’ comes tomorrow, courtesy of UPS, and I will ‘come’ courtesy of the new ‘boyfriend’.”
That sends her into another fit of laughing. I’m so glad I can be comic relief when I feel like I want to peel off my skin to remove my muscles. If I didn’t love her so much, I’d hang up. The absurdity of it all gets me laughing, too, and I clutch my aching side to ease the pain.
“Aren’t you seeing Caleb tonight? Can’t he scratch your itch?”
Another peal of laughter.
“Very funny. He is a professional masseur, and will only be scratching the appropriate areas this evening.”
“Sure, sure. Call me later, hon, let me know how it was.”
She’s enjoying the hell out of this. Living vicariously through someone else is always more fun than reality. S
ex as a single mom should have been a sit-com in the Seventies. I’d love to have a guide about how to scratch my own itch. Maybe that will be in the free DVD. I make my way to the big comfy couch and lie down. I may never get up.
My phone buzzes with a text, and I see I’ve been sleeping for a couple of hours. The early wake-up yesterday just about did me in. It’s from Caleb. He’s confirming my massage at 6 p.m., and wants to know if I’d like to grab a bite to eat afterward. What? Is this a date? I don’t know how to respond. I’ll be oily and gross post-massage so I’m assuming no date, just a quick bite to go over my goals again. I text him back: Yes, I’ll be there. You’re going to have your work cut out for you though, just a warning. I feel like my arms are going to fall off any minute. Whoops, hang on; there went the left one. See you at six. One-armed Wonder Woman.
He replies immediately: You are too funny. I knew you would be sore today, smart of you to schedule a massage so quickly. How about dinner? You didn’t answer that part. BTW, nice one-handed texting.
Still no idea what the tone is of the invitation. Drat! I’ll put my toe in the water, and see how it feels: Assuming I’ll be a bit greasy, what did you have in mind?
OK, the bait is out there.
He replies: I thought maybe you could shower and change at the gym. There’s a great Italian place around the corner. Don’t worry; I’ll burn it off of you on Friday.
OK, he obviously thinks it’s a date. How can I say no and then show up on Friday? I don’t want to say no anyway. I’d love to have dinner with him. Jason is taking the boys out to a game of some kind, so I’m free until 10:00 p.m.
Sounds good, I’ll make sure and pack a bag. See you soon.
Chapter 5
I’m a ball of nerves. I’m pacing around the house, just looking for something to turn my attention away from the fact that in one hour, that guy’s hands will be all over me. First dates are awkward enough, but right after someone feels your entire body? Sees every mole, bump and wrinkle? That should come after, way after. In the dark, and under sheets. This massage was supposed to relax me, but I’ve never been so tense in my life.
It’s almost 5:00 p.m., and I need to get in the shower and shave my legs. I try my best to lather up but my hands are shaking so much I can hardly hold onto the shave gel. I slice my legs deep in a couple of places, great! I do my best to dry off while losing a pint a minute from my wounds. These will never stop bleeding in time. I wrap half a roll of toilet paper around each cut, and try my best to get my clothes on. Thank God I already packed my bag earlier when I was a calmer. I’m bringing a cute little dress and cardigan, with a pair of strappy sandals. It’s a little too cold for the outfit, but it looks the best on. What’s a little frostbite when you’re trying to impress? It’s time to leave and I look like a Civil War casualty. Can’t do anything about it now so I grab my bag and run to my car.
It’s a half hour drive to the gym, and, barring any traffic I’ll be five minutes late. I hate being late. I don’t want him to get a bad impression. Blessedly, no cops are around and I make it in record time, with a minute to spare. I race into the building and stop short. I have no idea where the massage rooms are! I find the small map of the place tacked to the bulletin board. It looks like the spa rooms are between the locker rooms. I go to the women’s side and notice a door in the back that says Quiet Zone. That looks like where the rooms should be based on the map. I open the door, and step into a beautiful space. It’s a wide corridor with two doors on each side. There is an aroma of incense and a bubbling fountain in the corner. The lighting is sparse, and it’s silent except for the water. I must have beaten him here. I sit in one of the plush chairs by the fountain, and pour cucumber water from a large pitcher sitting on a small ornately carved table. Why didn’t they show me this place on the tour? It’s magnificent. I put my head back on the big chair and relax into it.
“Hi.” I it hear as a soft whisper. It’s him. I sit up quickly and try to gather myself.
“Oh, hi! This place is amazing. I was just relaxing.”
“No need to apologize, that’s why you’re here, right?”
He’s very quiet, and I figure that people are probably in the other rooms trying to relax and would probably prefer to not hear my voice.
“I’m sorry if I was loud. I don’t want to disturb anyone,” I say sheepishly, embarrassed now.
“You’re fine. We’re the only ones here. I’m just trying to set a mood. Speaking softly helps the mind quiet down.”
Dear God, he sounds sexy. He approaches me slowly. Set a mood? His eyes seem intense so I’m not sure what mood we’re going for. So much for being relaxed for sixty seconds. My nerve endings are on high alert. He takes my hand and leads me to the room opposite the lounge area. There are two candles lit, the only light in the room, and faint music playing. I’m either in heaven or hell, I’m not sure yet.
“I’ll step out for a moment, take off your clothes and we’ll start face down.”
That’s a hell of a way to start out what could be a date.
“OK.” I squeak out, with a very dry mouth.
He leaves the room, and I bump around trying to take off my clothes in this tiny area. My makeshift bandages are bloodied and disgusting. I’d forgotten about them. I ball them up and toss them in the trash. Maybe it’s dark enough in here that he won’t notice. I hop up onto the heated table and snuggle in under the blanket. Ah, this is amazing. I’ve been so tired all day I pray I won’t fall asleep on him. A quick tap on the door, and he peeks in.
“All ready?”
“Yes, I’m good.”
Here goes nothing!
I hear him shuffle around the room a little, and he comes to stand in front of my head. I smell the oil he squirted into his hands as he rubs them together to warm. He places them gently on my shoulders, and slowly but firmly, makes his way down my back. His hands are large, strong and warm and it doesn’t take much imagination to picture them on other places on my body. Once again, I’m lucky not to be a man right now. I wouldn’t be able to stay on my stomach. I try my hardest to focus on the here and now, but our dinner is on my mind. I take one long inhale, and let it out slowly. It relaxes my whole body, and he notices.
“That’s it, Melanie, just breathe into it and relax.”
Another strange remark for a date but not for a massage. I obey and take another deep breath. He uses the rhythm of my breath to work deeper into my muscles. I may just seriously melt right off this table. He modestly lifts the sheet so that my hip and leg are exposed. He oils his hands again, and firmly slides them down my side, just grazing my butt. I hold my breath, and he whispers,
“You have to breathe or my hands can’t do their magic.”
I’ve decided; I am in hell. I’ve never even had foreplay this good. How am I going to be witty and charming at dinner after all this? I’m going to want to propose to this man. How am I to interpret anything he says or the way he touches me? For all I know, this is his usual massage for anyone and everyone, and he wants to take me to dinner to teach me how to eat properly. He could be one of those super flirty guys at the gym, but my instinct says he’s not. But, listening to my instinct hasn’t always proved well for me. Oops, I did it again. I’m so lost in my own thoughts that I didn’t hear what he said. He taps me gently on the shoulder.
“Time to turn, sleepy head,” he whispers softly.
I can picture him naked in bed, whispering sweet nothings of a more spicy variety. He oils up again, and his hands are on my chest. He’s moving them so carefully, just skimming the top of the sheet that is just covering the top of my boobs. Why can’t someone invent an invisible underwire to keep those things together when you’re lying naked? I’m keeping my arms close to my body to help the girls stay up and out of the armpits. That doesn’t help when he removes my arm from the blanket to rub it down. Flop. There goes my right tit. Hope he doesn’t step on it.
As incredible as this is, I’m ready for it to be over. I have to know if to
night is a date, or not. My mind isn’t going to stop racing until I know. He leans his body over mine from the side to adjust the blanket, and I feel something hard. Since I can’t see shit in this cave, I don’t know if it’s him or the oil bottle. I’m going with him for my fantasy. I’d like to think I could make a man that hard again.
He finishes up by sitting on a stool at the top of the table where my head is. He rubs my temples, my scalp and neck. Paradise.
“All right, we’re all finished. You hungry?” He asks a bit louder than his spa voice. He turns the lights up a little, ouch, and blows out the candles.
“Oh yeah, I’m starved. That was incredible.”
I sit up a little too quickly and the sheet falls. I’m exposed down to my waist, with no beautiful candlelight glow. His eyes instinctively go down, and when he looks back into my eyes, his are black with desire. I scramble to cover myself as I hear myself saying, “Sorry, I’m sorry, oh my God, I’m sorry.”
He takes two steps toward the table shaking his head. He grabs my wrist to stop me from covering myself.
“Don’t. Let me see you. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I’ve been hard for an hour touching your amazing skin.”
So it was him. I knew it! I don’t know what comes over me, this guy is a virtual stranger, but I let the sheet drop. My breasts and torso are exposed, and I’m not embarrassed by it. Maybe the fact that he’s been touching me for an hour has something to do with it, but I need this. He leans down so that we’re face to face.
“I could get fired for this, and right now I don’t care. Can I kiss you?”