“Where would you like me to set up?”
I led him to the second bedroom, the room that had once been Jeremy’s office. A room in which he claimed to be writing screenplays -- though in seven years I never read a completed script and the plots he told me about changed often. Looking back, I guess it wasn’t surprising he never finished anything. Now the room was practically empty, with nothing in it but a broken dining chair and a few boxes containing the fixtures that would be installed in the kitchen as soon as there was plumbing. And drywall.
Eddie began to set up. I stood uncomfortably in the doorway. “Have you been doing this long?” I asked.
“A couple of years,” he said, as he slipped the blue vinyl-covered table out of the carrying case. Anticipating my next question, he added, “It’s fun. I meet interesting people.” He punctuated that with a smile that said I was one of the interesting people.
“I guess it’s a great way to put yourself through college. What are you studying?”
He looked at me shyly. “I hope this doesn’t ruin things, but I am not in college. I just say that. It gets attention.”
I shrugged. It didn’t matter. Not really. But I did feel silly for believing something posted on massageformen.com. I knew enough about the Internet to have known better. From the carrying case, Eddie took out an MP3 player with travel speakers. He set them up and started some soothing, new-agey music.
“Do you like candles?” he asked. I shrugged. They seemed a little romantic for the situation. As though he’d just read my mind, he said, “They’re peaceful.” After shutting the blinds, he pulled out a couple votives and lit them.
“Would you like a soda or a beer?” I asked.
“Water?”
As I went out to the refrigerator to get a glass of filtered water, I wondered if he was going to ask me for the money up front. And if he did, should I tip? Or keep the tip until afterward? I didn’t want to tip him if it didn’t turn out to be very good. But I also didn’t want to seem rude. Crap, I should have asked Peter these things. He’d know. Would it be weird to call him now? Yes, I decided, it would be.
When I got back to Jeremy’s office, he was finished setting up. The room was dim, candles flickering, music a melodic imitation of the ocean. The table was covered with a thin, cream-colored flannel sheet. Eddie smiled and said, “Can I use your restroom...”
“It’s down the hall.”
“Great. Why don’t you take off your clothes and climb onto the table. Face down.” He smiled again and left the room.
I slipped off my shorts and my T-shirt. After folding them, I set them on the broken dining room chair. Taking off my fancy underwear, I had to laugh at myself. I’d chosen them so carefully, and Eddie wasn’t even in the room to watch me take them off. I placed them on top of my other clothes and climbed onto the table.
Lying face down, I put my head into the donut-shaped headrest Eddie had attached to one end, and waited. I could feel my heart beating a little too fast. I was conscious of the air on my naked skin. An article I’d read on the Internet about something called skin hunger popped into my head. It’s surprising the things that jump out at you when you end a relationship. It seemed ridiculous, that your skin could be hungry for touch, but the article made a convincing case. And lying on that table, I could believe it. My skin seemed acutely aware I was about to be touched.
I heard Eddie come back into the room; the brush of his footsteps on the carpet, the door clicking shut, the muted sound of his clothes dropping to the floor. He placed a hand on my back and kept it there as he walked around to the opposite side of the table. I heard the pop of a container being opened, followed by a wet, rubbing sound. Then both his hands were on me. My body seemed to sigh as he pressed his warm, slippery hands into my back. He ran them up over my shoulder blades to my neck. He used a lot of pressure, and it seemed as though my ribs might crack. I let out an involuntary groan.
“Am I too rough?”
“No,” I lied.
He worked on my back. I relaxed as he dug into my muscles. Pulling my legs apart, he hooked my feet on the edge of the table. With my legs spread like that, opened up, my heart skipped. What would he do next? I wondered.
Abruptly, he switched tactics. Beginning at my ankles, he gently ran his fingers up my legs, across my buttocks and up my spine. I shivered involuntarily, but wanted him to do it again. Noticing my shiver, he chuckled softly. He began working my left calf. Digging his fingers in deep until my tendons began to twitch. Then he worked on my thigh. Hand over hand, kneading the muscles just below my buttocks. After a pause, he moved around the table and repeated the process on my right leg.
When he finished my legs, he climbed up onto the table with me. He put his full weight into massaging my back. He leaned forward, pushing his hands up my body next to my spine. I could feel his cock as it dragged up my leg. Dangling over my ass, the tip touching one cheek, then the other. I forgot to relax. I couldn’t focus on anything but his dick as it grazed my thigh, a buttock, the crack of my ass.
Without warning, he laid down on me. Simply lay on me. His body was incredibly warm. He wasn’t heavy, and the pressure was pleasant, but still it was strangely intimate, not that being naked with someone in Jeremy’s office wasn’t intimate,
