The Girl Who Likes to Get Physical

The room was in the basement corner of the house, and the exterior walls were full height windows; this provided a full view of the backyard and pool, which were immaculately maintained. From what I could see, it looked like the Donahues spent a lot on a gardener and pool cleaner; I briefly wondered if they were the same person. The two non-glass walls of this room weren't lined with movie posters, but with mirrors. For some reason, I had assumed there would be workout posters or inspirational phrases; I was glad to see Dana wasn't entirely a walking cliché.

I walked over to a small end table at the inside corner of the room and set my bag down on top of it. Above the table was another camera, oscillating from one corner window bay to the other, and back again, catching the entire room in its path. I'm no expert, but it did not look cheap.

I was still inspecting the camera when Dana walked into the room and saw what I was looking at. "Sorry about the surveillance getup. Richard works for Northrup Grumman up in Redondo Beach, they handle a lot of military security issues, so the brass all have massive security systems for their houses. I don't know if it is mandated for their homes for some sort of corporate espionage thing, or if Orwellian levels of home security is considered a job perk, but either way, we didn't have to pay a dime."

"Huh. Seems a little much. Inside the home? In every room? Does it ever creep you out?"

"It did at first. But a couple of weeks after they went in, I kind of forgot about them. Richard doesn't ever bother with them; I don't think he's changed the security tape in years; it's probably recorded over itself about a thousand times by now. I suppose they're only going to be any use in case of a burglary. And rest assured there's none in the bathrooms -- I put my foot down on that. No way was that happening."

"I guess. Still seems a little much." I returned my attention to the massage table, patting it lightly. "Am I right in thinking that this thing is heated?"

"It is! Are you a masseuse as well?"

"No such luck, just a trainer. I've given plenty of rub downs after workouts, but I'm not trained or certified."

"Well, a massage is one of my favorite things after a rough workout. Irene was very good at them; I might try to talk you into one of them, certification or not."

"Irene was an LMT, though. I'm don't know that anything I could do could compare."

"I'm sure you'd do fine," Dana said, and then gestured towards the equipment. "So...where do we start?"

"Stretching."

"Oh, of course."

We talked as we went through a bunch of warm up exercises. At one point, I noticed the two of us in the mirror and nearly laughed out loud at the contrast in our outfits. I was wearing a red sports bra that was tight but not too tight, and bicycle shorts that hugged my hips very tightly; standard workout attire. My shoulder-length light brown hair was tied back in my usual ponytail; her blonde hair was pulled tight in a bun, and her outfit was almost a caricature of 1980s MTV culture. Which, considering its origin as a costume party outfit, I suppose it was.

I sat down on the mat with her legs spread out wide, and Dana did the same, facing me. Dana's much longer legs stretched past mine, with my feet pushed up against her ankles. We held each other's hands and while one of us leaned back, the other leaned forward.

"So, you said your kids are all out of the house?" I asked.

"Yes. Emma and Tyson -- the twins -- are in their junior year of college at Berkeley and UC Davis, respectively. Paul just finished his freshman year up at USC, and stayed up there to take summer classes."

My phone chirped from across the room.

"Do you need to get that?" Dana asked.

"No, sorry, should have turned that off. I'll go do that now." I started to get up, but she pulled me back down.

"No big deal, just get it later. No reason to interrupt the rhythm."

"OK. You have kids that are old enough to drink? I really wouldn't have guessed that. You must be older than you look."

"Thanks!" Dana beamed. "I'll be forty-eight in January. Had the twins at twenty-six."

"Had no idea, you're in great shape."

"All thanks to Irene, and now you. I've really managed to make some progress in the last couple of years. Initially, I just did it to keep the weight off, but I like how the workouts keep me feeling young, even if they don't actually make me younger."

"As soon as I figure out how to actually make someone younger, I'll be able to retire. Until that time, we just try to slow time down." I smiled. "Here -- let's stretch up against the wall."

We leaned against the wall, facing it, stretching our legs out behind us, alternating the forward foot between stances.

"Speaking of Irene," Dana spoke. "How well did you guys know each other?"

"Not very well. We only worked together a month or two before she moved on."

"You said you had similar styles. I assumed you knew each other pretty well."

"That's just the impression I got from the other clients that I inherited from her when she moved."

"Oh, that makes sense."

"She seemed nice enough, but I really didn't get to know her all that well."

We switched again to another position - a standing quad pull; we each placed a hand on the other's shoulder for balance.

"Did you guys have a routine you followed when you worked out here?" I asked. "Seems like most of the exercises we focused on at the gym are available here, but not all of them."

"Not really. She rotated us through a variety of exercises, but I just pretty much did whatever she said. While we always started with stretching, and ended with a massage, the middle portion of the workout varied from session to session."

"All right. We focused on arms and shoulders on Monday at the gym, so we'll move over to legs, butt and core today."

My phone chirped again; both of us ignored it this time.

Another position, this time the leg-over. "Your kids are all at college, is your husband home today, or are you manning the fort solo?"

"Richard's up in the LA area during the week, for the most part. He has a condo up there he stays at. It's a two- or three-hour drive home this time of day, so he usually only does it once a week, unless there's something specific going on. I spend most of my time here solo, cleaning, reorganizing, gardening, etc. Exercise isn't just good for me; it also gives me something to do."

"Cleaning? With the size of the house, I assumed you had a live-in maid or something."

"Well, no. We used to have a live-in nanny-slash-maid at one point, but as the kids got older, we just didn't need her as much. She also wanted to get married and have kids, so we agreed to all move on. That was right before the economy took a dump, so we decided to go without, since Paul had just a year or two of high school left. We still have someone deep clean the house every month and the pool cleaner comes every couple of weeks, but that's it; I do everything else."

"Even the gardening? That looks professional."

"Yes, that's all me. I've always done that myself. It's the one thing I do well."

"That doesn't seem fair - it's hardly the only thing. You raised three kids that are all in big-name colleges, I'd say you did pretty well in other areas, too."

Dana blushed demurely. "Thanks."

We worked our way through a handful of stretches, eventually ending up moving to the Body-Solid machine. I noticed that Dana expressed a definite preference for exercises that resulted in physical contact between us, much more so than when we were at the gym. I thought it was a coincidence at first, but after I unexpectedly put my hand on her lower back to aid in a stretch, I noticed Dana give a slight twitch, and then she leaned back into my hand.

'Could this be something else entirely?' I thought. 'That doesn't make any sense. The woman is happily married, amazing kids. Says great things about her husband, is there more to it than this? Nah, I'm just imagining it.'

But once I noticed it, I couldn't help but see more instances of the older woman instigating physical contact. It wasn't blatant, but a touch here and a touch there. I decided to test the theory, and on one exercise where I was talking about firming up the glutes, I cupped Dana's left cheek and lifted it, mimicking a firmer butt.

Dana jumped a bit. "Oh!"

I misread her reaction, and took a step back. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't...it was a reflex. I hope I didn't offend..."

"No, no problem at all. I just wasn't expecting it, that's all." Dana paused. "I mean, you're the trainer, you're supposed to tell me what parts of me you need to touch."

"If I wasn't your trainer, I would quote you out of context."

"I'd be disappointed if you didn't."

We laughed together. As we did so, my eye was caught by something in the corner of the room. It wasn't movement -- quite the opposite, as it was lack of movement. The camera had stopped oscillating and was focused directly on us. I looked at it confused, and after a couple of seconds, it started moving again. 'That's odd,' I thought.

Dana got up from the bench she had been lying face down on. "Any more exercises?"

"Got a couple more we could do if you wanted, but I think we're probably OK, if you're in a hurry."

"No hurry, I was just hoping to get to the rubdown. I've had a knot in my lower back for a couple of days, hoping you can work it out."

"Well, I can try, but again, I'm not a masseuse and I'm really hoping you aren't expecting anything amazing. If you'd mentioned that before you made the appointment, I would have referred you to someone else."

"No, no, no, I want you. I'm comfortable with you, remember? I'd rather have a non-expert rubbing me down, who I know, than an experienced stranger. Please?"

I shrugged. "OK. You're paying for an hour; we still have twenty minutes left."

"Great!" Dana got up. "Let me go get changed and grab some oils." She walked over to the heated massage table, turned a knob on it to start warming it up, and walked out of the room.

I was still trying to piece things together when I decided to try a little experiment. I sat down on the bench, facing away from the camera, and pulled up my sports bra, exposing my chest, and used the bra to wipe sweat off my face. I was able to look through my fingers and, by using the mirror, keep an eye on the camera without being obvious about it. The second my top came up, the camera stopped. It wasn't until I put my hands (and my top) back down that the camera resumed moving. 'Ah-ha,' I thought. Someone was watching.

At that second, my phone chirped a third time. I got up and retrieved it with the intention of just turning it off, but saw a Facebook notification that Irene had finally responded to my message last night.

"Oh crap, I didn't get your message until just now. Uh, so maybe I should have told you this before, but I wasn't just Dana's trainer when I went to her house. Well, I was her trainer, at least at first. After the workouts, there would be a massage, and it started out normal, but after 3-4 sessions, it turned into me diddling her, then eventually, we...just started having sex on a regular basis. We still did the personal training session, we just normally finished with something more. My guess is she's probably hoping to get the same deal going with you, because you're fucking hot. Probably best to decline her offer to do it at her house. Sorry, should have told you before, didn't know she had a pattern going. LOL"

A second message followed. "Please don't tell anyone else at the gym. I need that job reference, and that might screw it up."

Finally, the third message, which had just arrived. "And on the off chance you're into girls, she's actually a really good lay. LOL"

I stared at the messages for a few seconds before powering off the phone and placing it back into my bag. Although I had suspected something based on Dana's behavior, getting confirmation of my suspicions caused my mind to race with the news.

Dana came back into the room, wearing a pink towel, and carrying two clear bottles of what was presumably massage oil. "Ready?"

"Uh, yeah, sure."

Dana placed the bottles next to the padded headrest, and lay on the table face down. She unclasped the towel and exposed her back. She was wearing black bikini underwear, but nothing else; her medium sized breasts were hidden between her body and the towel-covered table.

I was torn and partially frozen. Part of me was worried about my job and wanted to run out of the house, but another, larger part of me was very interested in finding out whether Irene was right about her intentions Dana was almost twice my age, but undeniably sexy for her forty-seven years, and the thought of getting intimate with her was not unappealing. It was just not something I had previously considered an option.

"You coming?" Dana asked, shaking me out of my thoughts.

"Yup! Yeah, of course." I picked up one of the bottles, poured a reasonable amount of oil onto my hands, and rubbed them together. "Again, feel free to give me any advice or let me know what you need on this, as I don't do this a lot."

"No problem. I'm not shy about letting you know what I want."

I nodded. "Guess not."

I started rubbing her shoulders, and she responded with what felt like an exaggerated sigh of relief. "Thanks a ton! It's been a long time since Irene left, and I haven't had a massage since then."

"Really? Why didn't you just get another masseuse? I passed, like, three massage parlors on the way here."

"I need to be comfortable with someone. And I just don't really, truly relax anywhere except home."

"What about your husband? Can't he give you a good rubdown every once in a while?"

"We've been married far too long for anything like that. The sex is actually still pretty good, but there's not a lot of mood setting or foreplay. He's very results oriented, and massage does not fall into that category."

I moved my hands down to her middle back, and continued the massage. "Plus," Dana continued, "he's usually only at home one or two nights a week. And one of those nights is usually taken up with some work or charity thing, or the kids have some athletic event we need to go to." She paused. "Not so much that last one now that they're out of the house, but the principle's the same. We probably have sex an average of every two weeks or so."

"Oof. That doesn't sound like enough, at least not to me."

"Me either." A pause. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-five."

"Well, desires do change somewhat as you get older. Sex is no longer the first thing on my mind like it was at your age.... but you're absolutely right. Getting laid every two weeks still isn't enough. It's no coincidence that we own stock in both Duracell and Eveready."

I laughed at that. My hands had descended from her lower back to the swell of her ass, just lightly brushing the top of her panties.

"What about you?" Dana asked me. "You have a significant other? Someone who massages you and is more attentive than every two weeks?"

"I don't have one guy, no. A couple of prospects, maybe, but I don't think there's anything serious."

"So nothing serious." I could almost hear the wheels turning in her head. "But you have a couple of prospects. And two weeks is a long time for you to go without sex." She turned her head to look at me as I moved my hands down to her upper thighs. "I do believe you're playing the field, young lady."

I paused, taken aback, and fought hard not to blush. I was a little surprised that her tone wasn't judgmental, but more of a playful teasing between friends. "Yeah, I guess that's the case. I don't want to be tied down right now, but I still want to have a good time."

Dana smiled. "Good for you to not be embarrassed! It's way too easy for women to get shamed into not enjoying sex."

"I've got to be honest; I wasn't expecting you to have that opinion."

"Why? Because I'm almost fifty?"

"Well, yeah. And your house and yard and workout room are all very upper class. I don't typically associate that with that kind of view on sex. I expected more Republican tendencies with a side of family values, I guess."

"So that surprises you?"

"Maybe a little, but you know, it's the 2010's. I guess I should be more open-minded myself."

"My stance doesn't bother you, does it?"

"Oh no, not at all. I agree with it completely; everyone should be able to live their own lives and not be harassed for who they are. A good friend of mine -- Patrice, formerly Patrick -- transitioned a few years ago, and she had to move out of New Orleans because the abuse was just too much to bear."

"That's terrible. I may be old, and my husband may vote Republican, but my views towards sex are very open. Traditional, open, gay, straight, transgender, whatever, they're all fine with me. What they do with their lives is none of my business."

I slipped a couple of fingers underneath the hem of her panties, and noticed she didn't flinch in the least. "Silk?" I asked.

"Yup. Nothing like smooth panties to make everything down there feel...smoother, I guess. And sexy, even when nobody knows or is around. Nothing scandalous like what I wore in college, but pretty good for a middle-aged mother of three."

"So, you sowed some wild oats in your younger years, then, I take it?"

"Not nearly as much as I would have liked. Richard and I got married at twenty-four, fresh out of college, and I started popping out kids within a couple of years, because that was what one was supposed to do after college. There are lots of things on the sexual bucket list that I didn't get to check off."

I moved my hands from her lower back to her left calf, and started massaging it. "Are you still working on that list, or have you come to terms with leaving certain boxes unchecked?"

"A little bit of both. There are certain things I've realized I'm just never going to get to do. That three-way with Rob Lowe and Mark Harmon, for instance? Never going to happen. But some other items aren't off the table."

I moved my hand up her left leg. She spread her thighs a little bit to let me get full access to the enter circumference of her thigh. I noticed a drop of moisture on the crotch of her panties. "Well, you can't leave it hanging there. Spill!"

"Well, OK, where to start?" Dana paused thoughtfully. "Richard has taken me to a few gentleman's clubs in recent years. I never understood the appeal of them when I was younger, but more recently, I've discovered there's something a little more to it. There's a connection between a good dancer and a patron that's almost primal. He wants her, she pretends like she wants him in order for him to give her money. But it doesn't matter if he makes a million dollars a year or ten dollars an hour; either way, he is hers to do with as she will. I find that kind of role reversal in power a little bit intoxicating."

I moved to her right calf and continued my work. Dana continued with her story.

"We went to a club in Vegas -- the Spearmint Rhino - where I watched an amazing black woman completely enrapture a group of four impeccably dressed Asian businessmen in identical suits. All four of them were taking turns taking her into a VIP room for a private dance at $50 a song. She was so skilled at being a flirtatious tease, perfectly balancing that line between her suitors knowing it is purely a financial relationship, and convincing them that maybe they had a chance to actually score when they actually had no chance at all. But every move, every articulation, seemed calculated and designed to hold their attention. Too much push for money, and it would shatter the fantasy. Not enough, and she'd risk maximizing her gain.

"It was an amazing dance, this game of fake seduction. Periodically, another girl would come up and talk to the rest of the guys while she had one of them in the back, but they would turn her down, waiting for their turn at their favorite again. I went into this club with Richard and a couple of his colleagues and their wives expecting to be annoyed, bored, and frustrated with the sexism of it all, but found myself enthralled by the interaction between this woman and her harem, if you will."