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The massage is the message
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
THE MASSAGE IS THE MESSAGE
My boyfriend and I enjoy sex, but lately we had been to busy that we hadn't
made love in three weeks. I don't mind being his best friend, but I want him
to see me as a seductive woman as well.
I wanted to do something to open his eyes, but I didn't have any fresh
ideas, so I went to the liquor store and picked up a copy of Forum. The arti-
cle entitled "The Orgasmic Massage" was just the thing I was looking for. He
was due home any moment, so I quickly changed into some panties and a tank top.
Joel came in just in time as I finished changing.
"Hi," he greeted me, looking mildly surprised at my outfit. I usually kept
my clothes on until we went to bed at night. He followed me to the kitchen and
sat sown at the counter.
"I've been reading Forum," I informed him. "I was hoping for a man's opin-
ion."
"Really?"
"Yes." I tried to be serious; Joel is quiet the refined type and so am I,
usually. He wasn't used to my reading anything racier than Newsweek. Again he
glanced at my outfit, with my nipples showing plainly through the thin cotton.
"I read an interesting article about a massage for men and I want to know
if it is something you would like."
"Okay." He couldn't hide his stunned look. I didn't elaborate, but kept
him hanging until after dinner. I handed him the magazine opened to the arti-
cle on massage.
As he read silently, I loosened his clothing and slipped his pants down to
his ankles. He started to finger himself, but I insisted on taking over. I
touched him just the way the article suggested, first one hand running from the
tip to the root, then from the root to the tip, 10 times each and alternating
hands with every stroke.
"Just a minute," I said, and ran to the kitchen for some oil. He stayed
put on the couch. Olive oil was handiest. I hoped the odor wouldn't turn him
off.
"Here," I said on returning, and poured the oil over the tip of his penis.
I stroked the lubricant into his skin, over and over again, switching hands
with every single stroke, from tip to base, rhythmically. Evidently my motions
suited him. He lay back on the sofa, with his arms above his head, leaving him-
self totally vulnerable to my touch.
His eyes were rolling back and he was oblivious to the open curtains in the
living room. His absorption aroused me too.
When his excitement mounted almost to pain, he reached out for me.
"Sit on me," he commanded with heavy breath.
"Not yet, Joel."
"Please, I can't bear anymore, really. I need you. I need you now."
He pulled me forward gently, but firmly. He raised my hips into the air
and lowered me onto his stiff rod. I was too excited to breathe at first, but
I soon got into the rhythm that I had begun for him. He thrust upward within
me, again and again, looking at me with a half smile as his penis seemed to en-
large within me. I felt his pleasure and my own. He wanted all of me as I de-
sired him. We were a perfect fit, in body and spirit. We melted, the stiff-
ened as the moisture seemed to flow from one to the other.
"Do you like me just as a woman?" I asked.
"Indeed I do."
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