Maggie was 33 and hated her job. One day she saw an advert in the local paper for a training course in therapeutic massage. She signed up for it, gave up her job, and set up as a self-employed therapist. That was five years ago. Now Maggie's business was well established. Her husband Mike was a little dubious at first about his wife throwing over her career to rub her hands over naked bodies in their utility room; but Maggie had built up a loyal regular client base, and her adverts in the local press and on various websites attracted a steady stream of new people. She was making a decent living to supplement Mike's income as an airline pilot.
Maggie loved her new life, getting to know people, and helping them to relieve their aches and tensions. Some of them even seemed to us her as a kind of counsellor, telling her things about their lives that they would never dream of telling anyone else -- especially, often, their husbands or wives. Of course, she got the occasional caller trying it on, asking whether she 'provided extras', did her massage nude, and so on, but she gave them short shrift. Her adverts clearly stated that she provided genuine therapeutic, non-sensual massage, and most people who contacted her understood that and fully accepted it.
The first week or two after the Christmas holiday period was always slow for business, and on this particular day Maggie had only one booking. She was actually quite pleased, because Mike was asleep in bed upstairs. He'd been working a heavy schedule recently, and had returned early in the morning from a transatlantic flight from Seattle. He was dog tired, and Maggie hated the thought of him being disturbed. The client was a first timer called Mehmet. He'd had a local accent on the phone, but Maggie guessed from the name that he probably had a Turkish background. As the front doorbell trilled she quickly checked her appearance in the full-length wall mirror. Short blonde hair; healthy complexion, thanks to sensible use of her home tanning bed; slim figure, except for her 40D boobs; white coat, doctor-style, beneath which she wore only white bra and panties -- massage was hot, vigorous work -- and bare feet, her red painted toenails contrasting pleasantly with her lightly tanned skin. The effect she went for was professional without being severe; she felt she succeeded admirably.
When she opened the front door, her client towered over her. He was probably a foot taller than Maggie, putting him around six-five, with wide, powerful shoulders. He was maybe 21 or 22 years old -- not that much older than Maggie's son. Most of her clients were around her own age or older, not that it mattered. Mehmet's handshake was warm and firm, his big mitt engulfing Maggie's hand. She showed him into her therapy studio, as she liked to think of it, and over glasses of fruit juice they sat on the couch while Maggie asked about his medical history, and what he wanted from the massage. Mehmet explained that he suffered a lot of stress at work, he did a lot of driving which left him stiff and aching, and he got the occasional muscular injury from playing soccer. His usual therapist was pregnant, and had recommended Maggie to him. Maggie knew the woman only slightly, and made a mental note to thank her for the referral.
As they chatted Maggie couldn't help being struck by the beauty of Mehmet's face. It wasn't effeminate -- in fact it was quite manly -- but nevertheless, lovely. He had a swarthy complexion, surprisingly delicate eyebrows, huge twinkling dark eyes with long lashes, and a ready smile on full, sensual lips above a firm chin. With that, his big muscular body and his deep, rumbling voice, Maggie could imagine Mehmet had no trouble attracting female company. She chuckled inwardly, thinking, "Stop it girl, you're old enough to be his mother." After completing her checks, she stood and said, "Okay Mehmet, if you'll strip down to your underpants and lie on the table, I'll give you a minute or so."
Mehmet grinned shyly. "Oh, sorry, I never wear underpants." Maggie offered him a towel to drape over his midriff, but he added, "I normally have massage uncovered, if that's okay with you. Julia, my usual therapist, is happy with it." Maggie said it was fine. It wasn't that unusual -- a few of her regulars, male and female, were the same, feeling less constricted and more relaxed with nothing touching their skin except Maggie's hands and forearms. Whatever worked for the client was good for her.
She left the room for a couple of minutes. When she returned Mehmet was laying face down on the massage table, his hairy body displaying an all-over tan. Maggie thought again what an impressive physique he had, and complimented him on it. Without raising his head he replied, "Thanks, I like to work out." Switching on her favourite tape, featuring the sounds of wind, water and birdsong, Maggie poured warm lavender-scented oil onto her hands and started at the client's feet, gently kneading his soles, and each of his toes. As she worked her way up to his ankles, and his powerful calves, Maggie could feel Mehmet relaxing, and hear his breathing deepening and becoming more regular. Her hands moved slowly, rhythmically, with a combination of firm and softer strokes. She worked her thumbs into the big muscles at the back of his legs, then applied more even pressure with her forearms. She allowed herself a small smile when she heard Mehmet sigh contentedly.
As she moved onto his huge thighs, Mehmet shifted his legs slightly wider apart. When she reached his upper thighs, the outsides of Maggie's fingers occasionally brushed fleetingly against Mehmet's scrotum. It was unintentional, of course, and it was bound to happen a little in the course of a massage. Maggie couldn't help noticing that Mehmet seemed to have unusually big balls; well, she thought, he's a big bloke. As she began to knead his taut, muscular buttocks, Mehmet murmured, "Mmm, that's wonderful." At one point, as Maggie's hands worked their way across his butt towards his arse crack, he raised his bum slightly, as if to make himself more comfortable -- and her oily fingers slipped a few inches into the crack itself. It was a complete accident -- on her part at least -- and she apologised. Mehmet muttered, "That's fine, it's really nice."
