I saw him every couple of weeks for almost a year.
Licking my lips, I texted my friend: "That was just the most intense hour of foreplay EVER!" The only thing that made sense at the time was to walk next door and dive face-first into a huge juicy hamburger. I left feeling bewildered - and incredibly turned-on. "That's ok," he assured me, "We can do whatever we want in here, and no one would ever know." Gulp! At one point, I moaned quite loudly and embarrassed, promptly apologized. It was in the way he brushed my hair aside, the way he touched my forearm, and the way he stroked my inner thigh. His massages were a bit more, shall we say, sensual, than ones I've received before. He could pleasure women for HOURS, he said. Yes, yes he did, because he went on to discuss in detail how much he enjoyed pleasuring women. He was young and sweet and it was actually nice, for a change, to get to know my therapist.Ībout 20 minutes in, he said very casually that he has been researching the art of vulva massage and that he would love to perfect his technique, if only he could find someone to "practice on." I paused for a moment and had a "did he just say what I think he did?" moment. At first I cringed, but it was benign small talk about where we had grown up and where we lived now. However, as soon as he walked back into the room, he started chatting me up. I don't talk during a massage, and I don't like my therapists to talk. I got naked, as usual, and relaxed on the table.