Therapy

Over the years I've had back trouble that has bothered me to a lesser or greater degree. Don't ask -- Sven the younger broke his back as an idiot teenager - could have been worse I guess. If nothing else it makes me aware of what the weather is about to do, but it has caused me grief off and on ever since.

During one of the times when it was being more than a passing nuisance, I was willing to try anything, and a friend recommended a special lady and I gave her a call. So by accident I found a Reflexologist who was also a very talented Aromatherapist. It's not by any means an unusual combination, but to find a good one that will take you on cold is rare. Which is why for about ten years now I have been pampering myself, on an irregular basis.

Patricia -- she liked the full form of her name, but she won't read this anyway, so I'll call her Pat -- turned out to be a diminutive lady a couple of years younger than I was and a full foot shorter, at a little under five feet. Nevertheless, she had hands and arms that were stronger than anyone I've ever met. She wasn't a bully, but when we first met she made it quite plain that there would be no nonsense, either.

"Ok, deary I'll take you on. I'm sure I can do something to help. But let me say right from the start, this is straight! Forget anything you ever heard about sexy massages; you try anything and I'll break bits of you off and feed them to you!"

I had to laugh, even though I had absolutely no doubt in my mind that she meant it - totally. In any case, she was not a "sexy" type. Her outfit, when she was working, reminded me of the Communist Chinese uniform of the sixties and seventies: shapeless. Lord only knows what she was actually like underneath. In truth I didn't care; she was darn good at what she did, and we got on well.

One day I inadvertently paid her what she regarded as a very great compliment. As she finished, I was so completely relaxed I ended up in a deep sleep. I was her last patient of the day, so she let me sleep for about twenty minutes, then woke me with a very English cup of tea.

I was embarrassed, but she insisted my going to sleep was the ultimate compliment.

From then on, she always tried to book me into the last appointment, saying, "I'll see if you end up sleeping with me again."

It made us both laugh.

As time went by, our relationship became easier and cozier. We talked of our hopes and fears, our children -- anything and everything under the sun. We totally relaxed in each other's company. One day I told her that her husband must be the luckiest man in the country--he must keep her very busy; I certainly would have done. She would have been giving me a massage every night.

Pat became a little quieter at that.

"Sven..." she said, "He can't bear me touching him like that; in fact, we sleep in separate beds now." And then, in a rare moment of complete candour, she added, "That side of our marriage died a long time ago; he's more interested in going out with the lads and drinking these days."

Now Pat is no oil painting to be sure, but she still has her looks, and those hands are so talented. I told her so, and that her other half must be mad to ignore her that way. She just shook her head sadly, so I dropped the subject.

o-0-o

Some time earlier I was introduced to Shiatsu massage in the Far East. We had of course discussed it. When I told her that they always preferred their customers naked, she laughed. She told me she had one gentleman who, like me, had been coming to her for a long time. Instead of leaving his shorts on, he took them off I asked if she felt awkward or threatened by this. She laughed again.

"Good heavens, no! For a start, he's not in the slightest bit interested in women; also, when I'm working down at the hospital I see plenty of folks naked and they are usually more embarrassed about the whole thing than I am."

We moved onto another subject and it was forgotten -- until last night, that is.

When I arrived, I slipped my shoes and socks off as usual and got up on her padded table.

I had managed the day before to slip, fall and jar my tailbone and not only was it was uncomfortable, but it had woken up my old back injury. So I was rather more circumspect than normal. Pat noted this as we talked before she started the session. As was normal she started with my feet, found the problem, and then concentrated on it.

We chatted lightly but in a rather more desultory fashion than was typical. She seemed distracted. She finished with my feet and I got down and stripped to my shorts as I always did. Pat looked at me.

"I think I'll have you naked tonight, Sven. I want to work at the very base of your back, and they'll only get in the way."

I shrugged my shoulder and said okay.

This being the first time this had happened, and me not quite sure of things, I waited for her to either turn her back or produce a towel, or even go out of her treatment room. But she didn't. So, after a slight pause, I simply took my shorts off.

She didn't bat an eyelid, but patted the top of the table and said, "Face down for the moment," and that was that.

One of the nice things about Aromatherapy is that it's a fairly holistic treatment, so the massage is all over and extensive. This was no exception.

Then she started working on the base of my spine.

I started out by multiplying large numbers together in my head in an effort to distract me from what she was doing; in the end, I gave up and went with the flow. Her oiled fingers were working their way round my butt and down the crease towards my anus. She moved to the top of my legs and moved them apart to give herself more room. I gave up and just enjoyed the sensations; after all, she had told me that she had "seen it all before." If she hadn't, it was certainly all on view to her now.

When her fingers brushed my scrotum, my penis twitched and tried to grow bigger, which was physically impossible. It was already bigger than I felt it had been in recent times.

"Ok, Sven, over on your back so I can finish you off..."

Oh, God! The symbolism of those words was not lost on me.

I chuckled, half to myself and half out loud, and said, "Pat I'm sorry," as my hard, red, almost glowing erection came into view.

Pat said nothing -- didn't even look at my face. She just took a little extra oil on her fingers, reached out, and stroked my penis, almost absentmindedly.

Then, as if she had overcome her own thoughts or her difficulties, she grasped me firmly. A scant few strokes later, I was arching my back as her talented hands took me so far over the brink it hurt. I groaned as my fluids splashed her hands and my legs and stomach.

Still silent, she got some tissues and cleaned me off, and then she said, so quietly I almost didn't hear, "What a waste..."

Then, the episode finished, without further comment or embarrassement she moved to the front of my face, neck and shoulders and finished off her massage, except that, almost as an afterthought, she again massaged my penis and scrotum.

She half smiled as she looked at me and then said, "I had a little oil left; it'd be a pity to waste it."

Notwithstanding the intensity of my orgasm of a few minutes before, I came back to full hardness almost instantly. She gave my penis a last polish, then leaned forward and kissed the very tip. Then she he moved slowly down to stand with her back to me at the end of the massage table, seemingly lost in her thoughts.

I sat up and scooted down the table, so that my feet were off the edge, resting on the stool that she used when she worked on my feet. She looked at me in the mirror on the back of the door in front of us, sadness in her expression. Then she moved her head and neck a little, as if they were stiff, so I put my hands on her shoulders and used my thumbs gently on the tight muscles. She closed her eyes and leaned back against me so I could continue.

"Sven, don't stop..." she said quietly.

"Mix me a little oil?" I asked.

So she did, while I waited, sitting on the edge, and then she came back and stood again in front of me - her back to me. I put a small amount on my fingers and gently rubbed her neck at the back and sides. I moved my hands forward and down and undid her tunic as far as I could reach. Pat finished the job and shrugged it off her shoulders. She had no bra on and her beautifully formed small firm breasts stood proud, her nipples erect, their dark areolas reflected in the glass. I caressed them with my oil - lubricated hands and nibbled her ear at the same time. She shuddered at my touch and then, with a sigh of pleasure, shook rather more as she came from my touch.

"Oh, God! I've waited so long for that..."

She was half-sitting and half-slumped onto her little stool as I held her against my legs, my penis hot against ner neck. I moved her gently forward and she stood up so that I could get down past her. I stepped round and then moving down gently pulled her trouser bottoms and knickers off so she could step out of them. Then I helped her step up so that she was sitting on the end of her own massage couch. She leaned back on her hands as I sat on the stool between her legs. I kissed my way up her left leg to her wet slit.

She moaned and held the back of my head, pushing my face against her, soaking me in her juices as I ate her out, tasting her sweet nectar. She spread her legs wide so that she was opened up fully and I was able to push my tongue deep inside her. She tasted wonderful, and that sweet taste and smell, the most wonderful aphrodisiac in the world, made me harder than ever.

Pat started to shake then cried out again as she came quite violently a second time. Then she tried to push me away as it all became too much. I pulled her off the table onto me and, as she dropped into my lap, she slipped down on top of me in the same quick movement, her eyes now wide with a look of shock on her face as I penetrated her.

She put her arms around my neck and held me tight as we came to rest, her head now on its side on my shoulder. Her breathing came in short bursts as we sat there, my hardness embedded deep inside her. Then, with her feet just on the floor to either side, she moved up slightly on me and then dropped down again, gripping me with her pelvic muscles as she did so. The sensation was incredible as we picked up a rhythm, our bodies slapping together. She began to keen quietly as we rose to that final plateau and our orgasms broke over us. We were both quite overwhelmed and clung onto each other for support, her head resting on my shoulder. Slowly, oh so slowly, we came back, and it was then that I felt the tears on my shoulder.

"Sven... that's the first time I've ever cheated on the bastard, even though I know he has on me."

I said nothing as the quiet sobs abated. She raised her head off my shoulder and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Then she kissed me on the end of my nose and looked thoughtful.

"I think it's over a year, maybe nearly two years, since he and I made love..."

I brushed the hair back from her eyes. She moved back from me a little further and I slipped out of her, our combined juices puddling onto my thighs. She looked down and scooped up some and licked it off her finger. Then she scooped up some more and offered it to me; I licked it off as we giggled like teenagers. Then she got right off and went and got some tissues to clean herself off, before returning to me to do the same.

As I slowly got dressed, she went back to her desk, put on her glasses, and completed her record card for her session with me.

As I got out my wallet to pay her, she said quietly, "No... that was good therapy for us both."

Looking at her diary, she asked, "Same time next Thursday?"

She stood up to usher me out. I looked at her, stark naked, a minor trail of escaping juices still trickling down her thighs. I pointed her out to herself in the mirror and suggested that maybe I should let myself out. Still naked, Pat giggled and agreed.

©Sven the Elder October '98 and February '02