Hot Secrets (4 page)

I look
her in the eye
. “How
did this
happen?” I ask
.

“I don’t know,” she smiles
again
. “I guess it just did.”

“Yeah,
” I agree
. “I guess it just did.”

“So, there’s only o
ne remaining question,” she says
.

This brings
a stab of panic to my chest.
I’m not sure where she’s going with this. Or what she expects.

“What’s that?” I ask
tentatively.

“Am I still fired?” 

By
Gianna
Day

I’m
long overdue
for a massage. Physically, I am
recovering from my first attempt at a ma
rathon, a grueling event I vow
never to repeat.
It’
s a miracle
I di
dn’
t drop
dead of a heart attack during the rac
e, but my muscles still scream
at me for what I’
ve
put them through.

Emotionally, I need
to check out.
My regular stress at work i
s
compounded by a new boss who co
me
s
with the unfortunate compulsion of constant
ly licking his lips. It’
s sort of like a nervous
tick, but whether he can
control
it or not, it
creeps
me out either way. After a day o
f working with the lip-licker, my reward will be to
return ho
me to a household that resembles
a warzone
and two boys whose greatest de
light i
s in trying to cause serious physical harm to one another.
A massage i
s definitely in order.

Without telling a soul, I leave
my office in the middle
of the day. My co-workers won’t be happy with me, but I do
n’t care.
And as for the lip-licker, being fired and never having to work with him again honestly doesn’t sound all that bad. I turn my phone off and head
to a place called The Massage Center
on the other side of town. I haven’t been
here
before, but want to try it out. There’
s something about the building, flanked by trees and framed with y
ellow flowers, that communicates calm. If there is one thing I need, it i
s calm.

“Hi. Welcome to
The
Massage
Center.”
A pretty blonde smiles
at me from behind the reception desk. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Actually, no.
I came here on impulse.”

“That’s no problem,” she says
. “I’m sure we can fit you in. Would you prefer a male or female masseuse?”

My household is male. My workplace is male. These are the things that I’m trying to escape from, so after only a moment of thought, I reply,
“Um, female please.”

“Absolutely.
And were you looking for any specific type of massage today?”

“Not really. I have sore muscles and I want to zone out for an hour. That’s about it.”

“No problem. I’m going to set you up with Jillian. Just wait here for a moment and she’ll be right out.”

The
receptionist disappears
down a long hallway and returns
a minute later, trailed by
a tall redhead. Fiery curls spri
ng from her
head in all directions. She has
vibrant blue eyes and a gorgeous smile full of perfect white teeth.

“Hello, I’m Jillian,” she
says
, extending her hand.

“
Gianna
,” I reply
. Her skin is soft, but her handshake is firm.

“Follow me this way and we’ll get started.” She le
a
d
s
me down the hallway to the las
t door on the right. The room is dimly lit and smells
of
lavender. Ocean sounds emanate
from an iPod and dock.
I feel better already.

Jillian
gesture
s
to the massage table in the middle of the room. “I’ll give you a moment to undress. You can remove everything or leave your undergarments on, it’s up to you. Then get under the sheet and we’ll begin with you on your back.”

“Okay,” I nod. She leaves
and
I kick
off my heels, slid
e
down
my skirt and undies, and remove my shirt and bra. I
fold
my clothes neatly and place
them on a chair ne
xt to my purse. After double checking that my phone is on silent, I
slid
e
under a thin white sheet on the massage table.
It feels cool and cle
an and exactly where I want to be.
Sta
ring up at the ceiling, I will
myself to force all of the stres
s from my mind
, I picture it floating up out of my body and dissipating through the ceiling, into the sky and out into space
. Jillian returns
with a soft knock at the door before entering.

“Okay,” her voice i
s calm and at low volume. “I want you to relax and feel free to let me know at any time if the pressure is too much or if you’d like a little more.”

“Will do,” I say
.

She stan
d
s
above me at the head
of the massage table and reaches
for lotion from a dispenser next to the iPod. With a last gl
impse of her red curls, I close
my eyes. The sound of her rubbing he
r
lotioned
hands together fills
the room against the backdrop of the iPod’s ocean music.

Jillian places
her hands on either side of my
neck. The simple act of touch i
s soothing
in itself, regardless of pressure. I feel
my neck melt into
my shoulders as she works
t
hrough the muscles. Her hands a
re warm gliding along my skin.
After working my neck, she moves to my right side and massages
the muscles of my upper arms, down to my forearms, a
nd finally my hands. She strokes
each finger down
to its tip,
then
moves to the other arm. I doze off at one point and when I wake, Jillian i
s working on my c
alves and feet. Ocean sounds have
turned to rainforest.

“Okay,” Jillian says
. “I’m going to lift the sheet and then I’d like you to go ahead and
turn over.” I do
so, nestling my head
into the face cradle. I study
the beige car
peting beneath me as she covers
me back up with the sheet.

“Are you comfortable?” she asks
, leaning down o
ver me, close enough that I feel
her hair brush the back of my neck.

“Yes,” I answer
. “I’m very comfortable.”

I am
about to doze off again
, hovering in that sweet spot between wakefulness and sleep, when she says
, “I can tell that you carry a lot of stress in your shoulders.”

“Yes, I do.”

She pulls
the s
heet down to my waist and works
my bac
k with her elbows. Again, I feel
her hair brush against my skin. I have
to do this more often, I think. When she’s
worked all the way thr
ough my lower back, she replaces the sheet, but then folds
it up from the bottom, exposing my fe
et up to my thighs. She massages my legs and I’m
in
a lavender-scented
heaven. 

“Let me just
get some more lotion,” she says. She continues
on my legs, moving fart
her and farther upward. I stare
at the floor and soak
in every second o
f her touch. When she reaches the tops of my legs, she begi
n
s
massaging my butt.

“Oh, that’s good,” I say
.

“Yes, you carry a lot of tension in your butt, too.”

I
giggle
,
a sure si
gn that the stress of the day is forgotten. She massages
my ass for what seems like a welcome eternity
,
then
moves
one hand to rest on the back of my
upper thigh. The other hand keeps
massaging.
The hand resting on my leg begi
n
s
a slow creep in between my legs.
Suddenly I feel a new sort of stress and my body tenses. I’m wide awake now, with no danger of dozing off.

“Jillian?”

“Yes.”

“I just want a regular massage. I, um, I didn’t know that this was one of those places.”

“It’s not.”

“It’s not?”

“No.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“It’s just me and you,” she says
. “We’re the only ones here, we have tim
e, and we can relax.” She works
her hand deeper between my legs
until my thighs tense, stopping her, essentially denying her permission to go further.

“But I don’t even know you,” I say. As soon as the words leave my lips, I realize how ridiculous they are, as if any sort of acquaintance would somehow make the situation appropriate.

“
Of course you know me,” she says calmly. “We’re the same. We’re women with lives and families and worries that
are
outside of this room. But we’re also women with bodies and needs that are inside this room. All of the thing
s that are outside this room are
completely separate. They have no bearing on what is inside this room.
Now, are you sure you want me to stop?”

Her hand
is still
, smooth with lotion. T
echnically speaking, nothing has turned sexual yet, though it is dangerously close. All that is outside of the room flashes through my brain, my husband, my children,
my
creepy boss. I have mounting debt, chronic anxiety, and a daily routine that’s becoming increasingly more difficult to face.
Every nerve in my body feels frozen, waiting for the next step, ready to turn from ice into fire.
I think
about her question, my tensed thighs relax slightly, and I exhale deeply. “No,” I say
, “I don’t want you to stop.”

“Good,” she whispe
rs
, and slid
es
her hand farther still between my legs, this time barely grazing my
vagina.
“Just relax.”
Her left hand continues
to massage my ass. Her right hand slid
es
up and down in between my thighs, each time going a little a deeper.
With another deep breath and exhale, my muscles relax completely, all tension melts away.

She pulls
the sheet off of me entirely, letting it fa
ll to the floor in a heap. I am
face down and completely naked, at her mercy.
Sounds of the rainforest turn
to thunderstorms
, which somehow seems appropriate
. The
thumb of her left hand wriggles
in
between my buttocks and hovers
just over my asshole.
Goosebumps cover my arms and legs, though I’m not cold. At the same time, a light sweat
breaks out in the small of
my back. Jillian’s
right han
d moves deeper and begins working
in and out of my cunt in a slow, metered movement.

“Jesus,” I whisper
.
No matter how much
alike
Jillian may say that we are, she’s still a stranger. That fact, combined with her touch, is undeniably thrilling. My body is reacting at an accelerated pace.

“Don’t come yet,” she orders
. “
We’re just getting started.
In a minute I’m going to turn you over.”

“Okay,” I obey. I don’t want to come yet. I want
Jillian to
keep moving those fingers in between my legs and sliding them inside me, I want Jillian to
fuck me
,
for as long as we can
keep stealing time.