Chapter 50
Maybe it was because they were married and they wanted a little excitement in their lives. Or maybe it was because they knew or sensed he was gay, and therefore “safe.” Whatever the reason, Daryl’s female clientele almost always stripped down buck-ass naked when he asked them to disrobe until they were comfortable. They were supposed to lie down face up on the massage table beneath the heated sheet, and he would knock gently to see if they were ready for him to enter.
Many times he’d be told to come in only to find the client had only draped the sheet over her lower half. Large, bare breasts lolled invitingly, dark nipples pinched and tweaked erect. A faint smile would be on the woman’s face, her eyes shut, as if she knew how uncomfortable her nakedness was to Daryl and it pleased her. What did they think, that he’d throw away everything he had and everything he was for an hour’s romp with someone he didn’t know? Did they want him to say something, gasp or act surprised? Or lunge onto their breasts with hands and mouth, suckling and kneading until they were both satiated?
He often wondered what one of these clients would say if he actually didfondle her breasts. He was pretty sure part of the thrill was knowing he wouldn’t do anything at all, not only because it was ethically wrong to abuse his position like that and could get him fired, but also because he simply wasn’t interested.
And he wasn’t, so he didn’t take any chances. If he entered the room and found exposed boobs staring up at him, he discretely raised the sheet to cover them. Without saying a word, he’d then lower the lights and turn on the CD of ocean waves and lute music which he liked to work to, and set about massaging the client’s shoulders. He was careful to keep his hands far away from breasts or anything else that might get him into trouble.
Of course, he laughed about clients’ brazen exhibitions with the other masseuses, who dealt with similar issues. A pretty young massage therapist named Erin had particular trouble with male clients who would rub their hips against the table when they were on their stomachs, using the weight of their bodies to stimulate their cocks. When they turned onto their backs, Erin sometimes found it hard not to snicker at the tell-tale bulge beneath the sheet.
Hard dicks Daryl could ignore; he had the one he wanted at home, and nothing anyone else might pull out to show him would tempt him away from Mitch. But the boobs always seemed to throw him off-guard. These were women his mother’s age who were flashing him! Many were mothers themselves!
Sometimes he wanted to share the experiences with Mitch. But he knew Mitch already viewed massage parlors as a step up from brothels and bath houses, and he didn’t want to say or do anything to make his lover doubt him. Yeah, Daryl could laugh about it later, but he didn’t think Mitch would find the situations quite as humorous.
If only he’d schedule a real massage with a professional masseuse, he’d see what Daryl did on the clock was so far removed from what it was they did together in the bedroom that he wouldn’t worry about Daryl straying from him. Couldn’t Mitch see he was the catch of a lifetime? Daryl wasn’t going to let anything come between them, ever.
* * * *
Mitch finally got tired of Daryl’s pestering and scheduled a massage. He called from his office and booked an appointment, but not with his lover. No, he wanted to give Daryl a taste of what hefelt, and chose Erin instead. Daryl claimed he felt nothing for the women he massaged; Mitch would reverse that and see if it were true. If he came away unaroused after an hour-long session of intense, hands-on ministrations from a woman, then he would concede that maybe massages weren’t as sexual as he suspected. But if he got horny at the hands of a woman, he’d know he was right, and maybe then he could convince Daryl to return to physical therapy instead. Maybe he wouldn’t earn as much without his tips, but at least Mitch’s mind would be at ease.
Thing was, Mitch didn’t want Daryl to know he’d scheduled a massage. He thought about calling a different spa, but he didn’t know anyone who worked at any others, and the last thing he wanted was to come across as a pervert when booking his appointment. “Um, yes, I’d like to see your prettiest, bustiest blond masseuse. She has to be a real knock-out. No, no, don’t call the police. It’s okay—I’m a cop.”
Somehow, he didn’t think that would go over well.