This is a true story – or at least parts of it. I'll let you decide which parts.
*****
My gift card still had some money left over. It's a clever ploy to hook you in and get you to pay what the card won't cover. In this case, I didn't give a damn. My half marathon was coming up and I had felt so incredible after my first appointment with Ella, that I knew she could take care of me before the big event.
As eager as I was to explore this new and unique relationship, it was two weeks before I could find just the right time (and the money) for another massage. In the meantime, I looked Ella up on Facebook. I had already sent her a text message telling her how grateful I was for the special attention and to let her know when I was going to be there again. She said she already knew – she had been looking for my name.
Her Facebook page surprised me. Rather than the typical personal page, it was set up as a fan page. That seemed odd until I realized that she was actually a semi-successful actress. She had already been in some local films and was aspiring for more.
Maybe it explained the bubbly and optimistic personality. It certainly explained the pictures. There she was. My beautiful Ella in lingerie or almost nothing at all – body parts strategically hidden to skirt the censors. Now my dick and my mind had been blown. Not only had she accepted me as a friend, but I realized that I had just been serviced by a beautiful actress. What guy hasn't had that sort of fantasy? Especially a middle-aged creeper like me.
It was our second session. I had to wonder if the blow job was some sort of fluke. I had texted her a couple of times – mostly to convince myself that she was real. She was fond of returning heart and kisses emojis.
As always, I never went into a session with any expectation other than friendship. I would have been perfectly fine with an arrangement much like my former therapist. After all, as much as I was an addict, I really just wanted the emotional support. This session, I deliberately went out of my way to ask questions about her. I knew I had spent far too much time talking about myself in our first visit.
She was wearing a long dress; very fancy. It was totally inappropriate for a massage, but she looked stunning in it – like a movie star. "You look really nice", I stammered. Her dark eyes drew me in.
I learned more about her. She had four or five jobs. I had done that once upon a time. But I was too tired to keep that pace anymore. Maybe she just wanted money. That would be typical for a prostitute or stripper. My rational brain was actually a little worried. This had been my fantasy; a no-strings-attached affair with almost no chance of being caught – or arrested.
