Thursday, November 15, 2012

Trapping Oneself

Kent L Johnson

I hail from the Central Valley of Northern California. I write novels and short works of fiction as something I do when I'm not paying the bills. I am a biologist, I've traveled the world, I own a motorcycle leather store and website and lots more. You can find more about me at http://KentLJohnson.com

 
Trapping Oneself


“It's my frickin' neck again. God, I can barely move my head.”

“I think you're a hypochondriac,” my current girlfriend, Sandy, tells me. “Your neck, your carpal tunnel, numbness in your fingers, vertigo, a small rash from God only knows what... tennis elbow.”

“But it does hurt. I must have slept wrong or something.”

“Slept wrong? Christ, you were bouncing all over last night. Kept waking me up.”

“I'm sorry,” I tell her meekly.

I look at her and notice she has black lines under her eyes from lack of sleep. She's still in her robe sipping coffee. She'll get ready for work in about ten minutes.. The robe hangs loosely open and I can't help but stare at her breast. The soft tissue just laying there, her nipple erect.

“What you need to do is go out and get some exercise. Just because teachers get the entire summer off, doesn't mean you should lay around and watch movies all day. Get out, go for a bicycle ride, do something.”

I'm still focused on Sandy's tit. I'm in my boxers and I can feel a little tug on them as my cock moves on it's own, just slightly.

“Maybe I'll go get a massage today.”

“Walk there, get your blood moving. I'm going to spend the night at my apartment tonight. I need to get some sleep, so I won't be over after work.”

Sandy finishes her coffee and stands up. I move next to her and put my arms around her. “I'm sorry for keeping you awake.”

I give her a hug. I can smell the coffee on her breath, that acrid aroma that filters up from the esophagus when she exhales. Her chest pushes tightly against me also as she breathes and I can feel her breasts rubbing on my chest.. My cock twitches again, so slightly.

I grab my coffee cup and follow her into the bedroom. I sit on the bed mute. She enters the bathroom. I hear water from the faucet splashing into the shower pan. I move to the far end of the bed just in time to see her step into the stream. I marvel at the vision of her ass as it moves into the steamy environs. I recall how her buttocks feels when I grab both cheeks during love making.

It's been a while since we screwed around, I don't know why.

I hear the shower turn off and I get up and make my way back to the kitchen. I refill my coffee and walk outside in my boxer shorts and get the newspaper that lays next to the sidewalk. I see a curtain move aside from across the street. Someone watching me. Kids out of school, most likely. My head and neck ache as I lean over to pick up the paper and the blood rushes into them. I'm a little dizzy upon rising, paper in hand. The dizziness goes away rapidly. I turn and walk back into the house.

I hear a blow dryer shut off and I know she is almost ready for work. She appears in the doorway of the bedroom. Sandy looks great, her hair clean, fresh makeup. She always dresses in chic clothes that look so comfortable.

“Bye,” Sandy says. She kisses me on the cheek, then walks toward the front door, car keys in hand, purse over her shoulder and overnight bag under one arm. “Don't forget, get some exercise.”

“I'll try.”

I scan the front page of the paper, nothing new. I call my masseuse and get an appointment in just an hour. I hop in the shower and quickly wash yesterday's grime off my body. I put on loose shorts, a Hawaiian shirt and sandals. I make the bed before I leave, then take the car to the strip mall where my favorite massage artist works.

It's an Asian massage parlor. Michelle is my masseuse. She's a tiny Asian girl of perhaps a hundred and five pounds. Her face is smooth and child like. Her smile is contagious. Michelle is her Americanized name. She emigrated from Hong Kong three years ago. Her Chinese name is Meixiu. For such a small girl, she can beat and dive into the muscles of my body thoroughly. I sometimes hurt for two days after a massage.

I pay for an hour, then walk to Room 6, enter and close the door. I peel off my clothes and hang them on pegs. I take a towel off the massage table and throw it over my bare bottom as I lay face down on the table. A knock comes on the door and Michelle walks in. We exchange pleasantries and she begins to massage my back, grinding on my shoulders and neck. She walks across my back on her knees and leans into the muscles, pushing bundles apart and smoothing them back again. I grunt and my face contorts at times because it is painful. She works on my arms and hands, then brings out body oil and rubs the silky liquid all over me pushing down hard as it rubs into my skin. She removes the excess oil off my back and arms with hot towels. The towels sting at first before the heat dissipates.

She starts on my legs, spreading oil evenly over them. Michelle deep rubs my calf muscles and applies pressure points to the inside of my knees with her tiny hands and I almost scream in pain. She moves up to my thighs and and uses both hands to rub around them and as she does, she makes sure her hand rubs across my dick. She spreads oil on my ass and massages those muscles and she ever so gently runs her fingers down the crack and across my anus. She repeats the ass massage a few more times. She covers my ass with the towel and then lightly runs her fingertips up the inside of my legs in a swirling pattern, and then she tickles my balls. She knows just where to touch. At the base of the scrotum she applies a little pressure and I can feel my cock stiffen and convulse. I lift my butt in the air and her hands find their way under me, and she strokes me a couple times before she climbs off and wipes me down with hot towels.

Michelle tells me to roll over on my back. She covers my sex with a towel, making a tiny tent. My chest and shoulders get massaged by those small yet powerful hands. I can see her now that I'm facing upward. I can see the concentration on her face as she plows into the muscle tissue. Her chest is small but I really want to see it.

“Topless? Like usual?” I ask.

She checks the lock on the door, then removes her top and bra.

“Always for you. You my favorite,” she says in broken English.

She stands over my head and pushes her hands down across my chest, over my belly and under the towel, touching me. Her tiny crab-apple sized tits rub over my face. I lick one as it passes by. She smiles and repeats the move.

“You okay?” she asks.

“Yes, Meixiu,” I say. She likes it when I call her by her Chinese name.

“I work on your legs now, okay?”

“Please.”

She begins the same massage routine as when I was laying on my stomach. She rubs the muscles first starting with the calf, then works her way up until she is moving around my thighs. She uncovers me me and begins to play with my balls, working her hand up and down my shaft. She spills some more body oil over me and continues to play. I really want her to remove her pants and squat over my face while she finishes the massage, but she won't go that far. I know, I asked before.

She sits on her knees between my legs. My legs stretch across the table. Her right hand moves up and down my erection in a complete stroke. All at once I feel it and I watch as it shoots up in the air and lands across my hip, not once but three times. I watch her grin as she slows her hand down but keeps it on me. Meixiu then hits that pressure point somewhere on my scrotum with her left hand and a new burst of jism and wave of pleasure pass over me. I see her look at her hand, it's dripping with my viscous secretion. She smiles at me as she lifts her hand to her nose and inhales the scent. A drip of me falls from her hand, then lands on the tip of one crab-apple size tit.

“You smell good. You need see me more. You have much stress,” Michelle says to me. “Your girlfriend not treat you right. That why I here.”

She cleans us both up with hot towels. She dresses and leaves the room. I'm alone and content, really content. I think about what I just did and about Sandy while I put on my clothes. I should feel guilty, and I do, but only slightly. I like Sandy, but lately, I haven't felt like making love to her. I still feel the need, but for some reason, at times, Sandy just doesn't turn me on like when we were new lovers.

That's my problem, always has been. I get comfortable with one person then I feel trapped. I don't want the pressure of a relationship, too many expectations. Expectations that I know I can't always fill, so failure is just around the corner. I don't want to fail.

I leave the room and on the way out, Michelle greets me with a glass of cold water.

“This is for you. Drink,” she tells me.

I drink the water and pitch the cup. My neck is feeling better and I'm relaxed. I give Michelle a forty dollar tip. She smiles at me. I don't feel trapped at all.

 

 

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