The Ally reaches around and unclasps her bra, and it joins her skirt and shirt on the chair.
I feel a sharp tug in my groin, and I’m not sure how I’ll survive the next hour. This is supposed to be clinical, not sexual, and there are two massage therapists waiting in the hall.
But Ally’s going to be lying beside me, wearing nothing but those pink panties.
She lies down on the massage table and pulls up the sheet, covering herself from neck to toe. The sheet helps a bit, I guess, but I still know what’s underneath it.
There’s a knock on the door, and I realize I’m still fully clothed.
“One minute,” I call hoarsely. Ally turns her head toward me and looks surprised to see that I’m still fully dressed. I feel the heat of her gaze as I strip off my clothes and dump them in a heap on the chair.
By the time the therapists knock again, I’m facedown on the table and ready to begin.
My therapist—a perky woman named Helen—starts with my right shoulder, and I try to force myself to relax. There’s soft music playing from a hidden speaker, ocean waves crashing on a shore, and I imagine I’m on a beach. Alone.
But I can’t imagine the beach. I know I’m in a tiny room, less than three feet away from Ally, who’s naked except for those pink panties. And a sheet, but it’s been folded down so the therapist can work on her upper back. Like me, she’s lying facedown, and I can see the side of her breast.
“You’re holding a lot of tension in your shoulders,” Helen remarks. “Try to relax.”
“Sure,” I mutter. There’s nothing less conducive to relaxation than being told to relax.
I turn my head so I’m looking away from Ally. Unfortunately, my eyes land on the clothes we just took off, and I can see her pink bra.
A squawking noise splits the air, and I twitch in surprise. “Fuck!”
Helen stops working and rests a hand on my back. “Are you all right?” she asks in concern.
Another squawking noise, and I realize it’s the music. In addition to the ocean waves, we now have bird calls. “Yeah, fine,” I grit out. “I was just startled by the music. The bird calls.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Helen says apologetically. “I’ll turn it off.”
“Thank you.”
She steps away to turn off the music, then returns to work on my upper back. “You’re still very tense,” she murmurs. “Is the pressure okay?”
“Yeah,” I tell her. But the truth is I’m barely aware of what the therapist is doing. I’m only aware of Ally, naked except for panties and a sheet, and less than three feet away from me.
I thought sleeping with her would ease this need, but it hasn’t. If anything, it’s made it worse. Now I know the feel of her skin and the weight of her breasts. Her softness. The way she tastes.
The noises she makes when she’s excited.
“Mmmm,” Ally murmurs.
I twitch again, and this time it wasn’t because of the bird calls. I know Ally’s just reacting to the massage, but honestly.
“Are you okay?” Helen asks.
No, I’m definitely not okay. I feel jittery and feverish, and I’m starting to sweat. Pretty soon, Helen’s going to ask me to turn onto my back, and when I do, I’ll tent the sheet. I’m hard as a rock, and it aches, and . . .
“Actually, I’m not feeling well,” I blurt out. “I think I should go home.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Helen says, her voice full of concern. “Was it something?—”
“No, the massage was great,” I interject. “But I think I’m coming down with something. Nothing serious, but I think I should go home.”
“We’ll step out while you change,” the other massage therapist says.
As soon as the door closes behind the two therapists, I vault off the table and scoop up my clothes. Then I turn to face the wall so Ally won’t see my erection.
