Shift In The Right Direction Ch. 02

On Sundays, Charlotte usually met up with friends for brunch to spend a lazy couple of hours over a nice long gossip, Eggs Benedict and an extra spicy Bloody Mary. But that morning, she was feeling a little listless and not up for human company - at least not that kind of human company.

She sat at the table with an enormous cup of freshly brewed coffee, pen in hand, the Times crossword puzzle spread out before her - which was usually one of her favorite mental exercises. No matter how she tried, however, she couldn't manage to focus. Her mind kept wandering back to her luxurious dream the night before. Charlotte sat back in her dining chair, sighing wistfully, cradling the porcelain mug in her hands. It was as if she could still feel her dream lover's hands, smell his skin, and feel the pressure of his lips. Her body ached in tender places. Charlotte's eyes wandered over to Lucas, her new feline roommate. He was sitting on the dining chair to her right, regarding her quite seriously.

His large gray eyes met her gaze, and he stepped deftly up onto the table right over the paper. He was purring softly as he moved close to Charlotte's face, gently touching her nose with his.

"Hi baby. Just you and me today. Is that okay with you?"

Lucas rubbed his head against her jaw line and let out a soft mew. Charlotte assumed that meant he was. He walked a half circle counter clockwise, and then unceremoniously dropped to his side on the newspaper. He looked languidly up at Charlotte and rolled halfway onto his back, displaying his lean tummy at her in anticipation of a belly rub. She moved her cup to just one hand and reached down to scratch his soft underside. He stretched to his full length and the purring grew louder. He continued to look into her eyes as he meowed with satisfaction deep in the back of his throat.

"I tell you what... I wish someone would do that for me once in a while, you know?"

Just then, a delicious thought struck. A massage! That is what she really needed.

"Ooh - thanks for the good idea, handsome." She rose and went into the bedroom to browse her PC for a nearby spa that might be able to take her on short notice.

Lucas leapt off the table and followed her to the desk. Charlotte found a listing not far from her building, and clicking on their services menu, seeing that they offered aromatherapy massage - one of her favorite treatments. Picking the phone up from the cradle, she dialed their number. She asked the receptionist if there were any available massage appointments - and was delighted to hear that they had one at 3PM.

She booked a 90-minute aromatherapy massage, and was about to hang up when she heard the woman ask one more question.

"I'm sorry - what did you ask?... A preference regarding a masseur or a masseuse? Uhm... not really - it's cool either way.... Really? He's the only one free? I'm sure it will be fine - thanks, I'll see you then. Bye."

At this point, Lucas jumped up onto the surface of the desk - lithely avoiding hitting the keyboard, Charlotte noticed gratefully. He looked straight at the screen, seemingly with concentration. She smiled at this as she absently stroked his head, allowing her hand to trail softly down his back and run along his tail.

"Three o'clock!" She said to Lucas. "I'd better get dressed and go get a mani/pedi, since I have the time. Nothing worse that having a stranger touch your feet when your toes have chipped polish."

Lucas's tail whipped side to side as he regarded her silently.

She jumped up from her desk and went into the bathroom, turning on the shower as she stripped out of her nightie. Realizing that she'd forgotten to grab a fresh towel, she walked back into the narrow hall between the bathroom and bedroom and opened the linen closet, pulling out a fluffy white towel. As she did, an embroidered hand towel that had been tucked between the bath sheets fell to the floor. She reached down to get it - and realized it had fallen behind a box on the floor. She frowned for a moment as she pulled the box out of the closet and into the hallway. Charlotte couldn't remember what was in this carton - and muttered to herself "what the heck is this?"

As she pulled the lid off and saw the top layer of contents, she immediately remembered what that box was, laughing at her own faulty memory. There in front of her was a collection of clothing that her ex-boyfriend had forgotten to take when he hastily moved out in the spring. On top was a pair of very beat-up, faded jeans - they had been her favorite of his pants. They were torn and threadbare in a number of places. She had long been a sucker for the look of old blue jeans on a guy with a nice butt. Charlotte always wanted to jump his bones when he wore those jeans. Under the pants was a vintage tee shirt she'd given him that had the Fender guitar logo on the front. It had once been black, but now was so worn and softened that it was more of a soft gray.

Lucas walked up to the box as Charlotte surveyed its contents. She pulled a pair of very scuffed old motorcycle boots from the bottom, sighing with a wry grin.

"The jackass left behind the only things that made him look super hot." She said humorously to the curious cat. "Oh well, to hell with it." She threw the stuff back in the box haphazardly, and jammed the lid back on top - kicking it back into the bottom of the closet and closing the door with a decisive click.

Charlotte jumped in the running shower, completely forgetting that she never did retrieve the fallen hand towel. The water was tepid, just as she wanted on a warm day like this. She enjoyed the freshening feeling of the semi cool water on her skin. As she lavished body wash across her wet flesh, she found herself thinking about that incredibly vivid sex dream she'd had the night before. So intent was she on remembering the details of her encounter with her mystery lover, she didn't notice the tiny red hickey on her right breast, just below the areola.

Charlotte's soapy hands began to explore her lower body - eventually giving up all pretense of washing and surrendering to the budding pleasure she was bringing to herself as she slipped her fingers inside her warm and strangely over-sensitive pussy. For a moment, she laughed at the idea that having sex in a dream could cause her to feel sore the next day - but then quickly dismissed the thought as a growing wave of pleasure began to build. Reaching for the hand held shower head, Charlotte adjusted the spray to the most intense setting. Leaning back against the cool tiles, she aimed the jet directly at her clitoris. This was one of her favorite means of masturbation - and this day, as always - it brought her very quickly to a cascading climax that left her thighs shaking and made her slightly dizzy. As she cried out during her orgasm, she saw Dream Lucas's strong, handsome face just as she had the night before.

Breathless, but delightedly laughing at the lovely fluttering sensations now ebbing through her body, Charlotte returned the hand held unit to its usual setting and replaced it in the holder so she could finish her shower properly.

Some time later, as she quickly diffused her curly hair with a blow dryer, Charlotte found herself thinking of her Dream Lucas once again. Her ability to recall his features and the timbre of his voice was remarkable, she thought. With most of her dreams, the feelings might be intense, but the details were far less precise. And usually the images would shift and change dramatically until they were just a composite of several people to whom she ascribed an identity. But Dream Lucas was a sharply defined, lucid memory.

"Face it, honey: You're just horny." She said to the mirror. The bathroom door creaked slightly just then, and feline Lucas pushed his way through the widening opening, leaping lightly up on top of the vanity.

"Aren't you afraid of this?" Charlotte asked - pointing the blow dryer in the cat's direction. He just partially closed his eyes and tilted his head toward the rush of hot air - his soft fur rippling back. She turned off the device and scratched his gray and white head before wrapping the cord around the blow dryer's handle and tucking it inside the cabinet.

"I'm outta here for a few hours, babydoll." She said to her new roommate. "See you later, hopefully with a whole new attitude." She dropped a light kiss on the top of the cat's head as she walked out.

The spa occupied a brownstone on West 18th between Fifth Avenue and Sixth. It was the kind of sleek, dim, hushed space that immediately made one feel pampered and relaxed. Charlotte had spent the last two hours at a nail salon getting a manicure and pedicure, so already felt smartly groomed and prepared for more hedonistic pleasure.

She followed a graceful young woman dressed in a spa uniform suggestive of O.R. scrubs -- if Armani designed O.R. scrubs, that is. They walked along the narrow corridor lit by flickering tea lights until they reached a treatment room at the very back of the first floor. The room was painted a neutral shade of taupe, with walls clad in elegant drapes. It conveyed warmth and taste. New age music was playing softly from a hidden speaker overhead. A padded massage table covered in blankets and billowy sheets stood in the center of the room. A few pillar candles in glass hurricanes provided the room's only illumination. The attendant pointed Charlotte to a place where she could leave her clothing - instructing her to remove everything and slip under the blanket and top sheet, lying face down to start. She assured Charlotte that Jeffrey, her masseur, would be along in a few moments.

Before she left the room, she offered Charlotte an eye mask that had been soaking in a cucumber and ice water bath. She said that it would restore tired eyes during the massage and enhance the experience. Wheeling a tiny table next to the massage bed, she left it within easy reach, suggesting that Charlotte place the mask over her eyes after settling on the massage table.

After the attendant left, Charlotte gratefully slipped off her sandals, dress and underwear, hanging her clothes on the hook on the inside of the door, while tucking her shoes and handbag under a chair in the corner. Using a hair band, she pulled her thick mane of curly red hair off of her face and neck into a simple bun, and then slipped between the soft cool sheets. She made herself comfortable on the massage table - lifting and repositioning her breasts slightly. Finally, she reached toward the tiny table and slipped the cucumber and lavender-scented mask over her head, placing the moist cool fabric over her eyes. She had just rested her head when she heard a light tap on the door.

"Hi, you can come in." She said. Even in her own ears, her voice sounded deep and drowsy.

She heard the door open and close with a tiny click, and she heard a deep baritone voice say hello.

"Hi Jeffrey" she said - blindly reaching out her right hand to offer it to him. "I'm Charlotte." She said sweetly.

"Actually, Jeffrey had a conflict at the last minute, so I'm replacing him. I hope you don't mind. I promise you, I've been doing this even longer than him - a lot longer, actually." There was humor in his voice, but there was something else - a sense of deja vu...

She felt the pressure of his strong hand on the middle of her back through the blanket and sheet. It was very reassuring - and Charlotte felt herself melt under it.

"Now..." he began. "Let's start with identifying the aromatherapy that you need. First, tell me what you would like to get from this massage."

Charlotte suppressed the desire to blurt out "a massive orgasm" to this man she couldn't even see. The thought came unbidden, however, and she had to stifle a giggle that surfaced as she imagined saying it to a stranger in such an intimate setting.

"Uh... I'm not exactly sure..." she trailed off uncertainly.

He tried to help with some likely suggestions:

"So, are you very stressed? Or do you have some particular aches and pains?"

"I'm... restless." She finally said - feeling rather silly. "I mean, I am feeling out of balance, I guess."

"I understand." There was warmth to his deep voice that seemed to penetrate her very bones. She found herself relaxing under the firm pressure of his strong hand, still softly pressing into her back. When he lifted his hand to walk over to the cabinets, she felt momentarily bereft. The spot on her back that he'd been touching now felt cold and vulnerable. She willed herself to remain patient.

She heard the very faint tinkling sound of glass bottles, and then a most heavenly scent wafted up to her from some place below the headrest. It was a combination of grapefruit, bergamot oil and a subtle hint of cedar wood. Charlotte inhaled deeply and felt the tension in her shoulders begin to loosen. And she sensed rather than felt that he was leaning very close to her.

When he spoke, she felt an electric thrill go through her. He could not be more than an inch or two from her ear. His voice was almost a whisper, and she felt the trace of his warm breath on her cheek.

"How is this making you feel?"

She inhaled once more in order to compose herself, before answering.

"It is... wonderful..." she said. It was her intention to elaborate, but the power of speech failed her as he slipped his hand over the back of her neck as he responded:

"Good. This will make you feel much better. Take another deep breath in through your nose, hold it for a few moments, then let it out softly through your mouth."

Charlotte complied, holding her breath for about four beats before allowing it to slowly escape her lips. She could hear him at the counter, and from the very muted sounds of bottles being shaken; she thought he must have been mixing the oils together for her massage. Her anticipation began to build as she lay there, essentially blindfolded, nude except for the sheet and blanket covering her.

"Okay." He began, again with his mouth very near her ear. "I'm going to begin with your back and shoulders." As he said these words, the sheet and blanket were being gently folded back and downward, until he'd exposed all of her back down to the place where her spine met the topmost crease of her ass. She knew he must be able to see the dimples at the top of her butt, and the birthmark that looked like a tiny butterfly in the small of her back. His strong hands pressed her into the cushions of the massage table as he moved her slightly, and quite effortlessly, into a better position. He slipped his hands down the backs of her arms, grasping her wrists and pulling them a few inches away from her torso to rest at her sides, palms up, tilted toward her body. The way he took command of her body was very stimulating, and she found her skin tingling with goose bumps.

"Are you cold, Charlotte? Would you like me to make it warmer in here?" He didn't miss a trick. When she heard him use her name, she felt a fluttering in her abdomen. There was an intimacy to it that she did not expect.

She was lost in thought over how this was making her feel, so forgot for a moment to answer his question. Suddenly she realized that he had paused, hands on her arms, awaiting her response.

"N-no, I'm okay - it will be fine. Thanks." She stammered.

"Okay, let me know how you find the pressure - if it's too deep or too soft."

"Mmmm-hmmm." Was the only response she could muster, because at this point he was working the aromatic oils into her skin with his strong, large hands and she began to melt. It was if the very bones in her body had turned to rubber. Charlotte felt as if she'd lost all sense of feeling except for the places he happened to be touching her. It felt perfect - the massage was deep enough to make her taut muscles submit - but not so intense that it was bruising.

He started at her upper back and shoulders - working both shoulder blades and her shoulder girdle. His hands moved up to her neck, and he turned her head gently with both hands so he could work the tender bits of tension behind her ears. As he leaned over her from the right side of the table, she felt the fingers of her right hand brush up against his pants. For a several minutes, she simply allowed her hand to stay limp and let her knuckles passively brush against the front of his trousers as he moved. Charlotte felt a rush of moisture between her legs when she thought about the situation. Here she was, naked and blindfolded, lying on a cushioned bed while a man with a great voice, who smelled wonderful, prodded her body and rubbed scented oil into her skin. They were close enough to be lovers - it was very intimate. The thin veneer of professionalism had not been broken, but to Charlotte it was as fragile as spun sugar.

"Hey, try to relax." He said suddenly, very close to her ear.

She let out a nervous laugh and expelled her breath - only then realizing that she been holding it.

"Sorry - it's a bad habit." She consciously tried to put thoughts of sex out of her mind and began to unclench her shoulders, neck and back. As he felt her body begin to relent - he murmured appreciatively.

"That's better - doesn't that feel better to you, too?" He asked.

When Charlotte said yes, it was little more than a contented sigh. But he was so close to her he understood perfectly.

As he moved further down her back, he added more of the aromatherapy oil to his hands. She noticed that it felt warm as he slipped his now very slick hands down the sides of her lower spine - deeply putting a Shiatsu like pressure on the lumbar region. It meant that her pelvis was being pushed into the massage bed by his actions, and she felt another rush of wetness. His hands were essentially at the very top of her buttocks. She began to fantasize wildly about him losing control and grasping her firm ass with his oily hands, and working his long fingers into her. Obviously, such behavior didn't happen in legitimate spas such as this one. The staff would soon be fired. She never wanted anyone to violate protocol so much in her life.

"What is a habit?" He asked, pulling her out of yet another sexual fog.

"I'm sorry?" She was confused for a moment, and didn't know what his question meant. Then quickly she realized that he was referring to what she'd said a few moments before, when he had to tell her to relax.

"Oh - right - I meant that I tend to stay on guard most of the time, I guess. It's not that often that I'm not in control of the situation..." She trailed off, hating how trite that must sound.

He was quiet for many moments, and she had the absurd idea that he might be turned off by this alpha female comment. This made her feel edgy and strangely depressed. Unable to help it - she continued on:

"It's not that I'm a control freak - I'm not - I am just not used to - uh..."

She couldn't find the right way to finish that sentence without sounding pathetic. She was about to say "I am just not used to being touched..." but the idea of confessing her loneliness to this man was unthinkable, particularly since, though she'd never laid eyes on him, he was becoming more sexy by the minute.

"You're not used to having anyone do something for you, right?" He said it softly and without any touch of irony. He continued:

"Let me guess: you are the type who always takes care of others - but it gets very one-sided after a while, doesn't it?"

Charlotte couldn't answer, and felt a lump forming in her throat. She tried to mentally shrug it off - what is wrong with me? She thought impatiently. Was she really so lonely that the first man who touches her, who makes feel like a woman, makes her burst into tears?

"It makes me unhappy to think of you being taken advantage of. Everyone needs to be taken care of sometimes, and I bet that you deserve it." He was now moving his hands up her back, pressing her spine into alignment with his forearms. She felt that his upper body was merely inches from her own.