I was enjoying, if that's what one can call it, another ritualistic Saturday morning. My coffee cup was filled with Starbucks, a donut rested on a napkin on my kitchen table, Sportscenter played in the background and I was thumbing through the local alternative paper much too early for a late 20's, healthy and virile male that should have be sleeping soundly after another late night of fun rather than taking on the persona of a man more than twice his age.
My life at that time had become very boring. Too much focus on my career had left me in life limbo. I was too old to really enjoy the bar scene, and I wasn't making enough money nor did I have the aura around me to make it work at the nicer clubs and restaurants in the area. The few friends I had were beginning to settle down, so their weekends were committed either to kids or future wives. I hadn't had a serious relationship in years and my dating life was pretty much a constant stream of speed dates. As sad as it was, the weekends had become nothing more than time I had to kill before I could get back to the office and focus on building my career.
I flipped through the pages of the paper. The schedule of local concerts, check. Dan Savage's advice column, check. Naive letters to the editor, check. I read through all of those column inches to help me rationalize my true intentions; I had picked up that newspaper to read through those last couple pages that promised lots of adult fun. As of that time; however, I had yet to act upon any of that promise.
Don't get me wrong, I did not lack for an amazing sexual imagination. Even my weekdays were filled with multiple masturbation sessions prompted by rabid reading of various erotic literature sites. The internet was still new at that time, and I routinely started my day with a quick review of new postings on my favorite sites; Richard's Realm, Ann Douglas's homepage and Nifty Archive. For a boy that didn't start to masturbate until he was 21 and didn't lose his virginity for another two years, lots of masturbation had given me an advanced degree in understanding my body.
Oddly enough for that same 28 year old "boy," erotic literature turned me on much more than naked pictures. Even as a youth, Penthouse letters elicited a more acute erection than the pictures within the magazine. The advent of the internet allowed me to revel in my desire for erotic stimulation pretty much whenever and wherever I wanted. A picture or a porn dvd just couldn't match my imagination, and an explosion in masturbation soon followed.
Solo fun only can get one so far, though. It had been years since I'd been intimate with anyone, and I was craving touch. My right hand was a poor substitute for the soft skin of a woman's hands or lips. This was the day I decided to act upon my need.
One of the ads promised an erotic body rub. I liked the sounds of that. There were others that offered sex, but I wasn't quite ready to pull the escort trigger. That would have to wait. No, an erotic body rub was just what I needed. I collected my thoughts, took a deep breath, paced back-and-forth in my kitchen as I stared at the phone and finally worked up the courage to the call the number in the ad. It went straight to voice mail; damn! If the advertiser knew how nervous I was, if she knew how much courage it took me to make that call, she'd punish herself for putting me through such agony. I left a message and went back to my coffee and donut.
A few hours later, the phone rang.
"Is Justin there," a female voice said very matter-of-factly. Shit, I hope it wasn't a bill collector or telemarketer.
"This is."
"This is Sarah, you left a message for me a few hours ago." My mouth went dry. My stomach turned over. I actually felt like I was going to get sick. The moment of truth was upon me.
"Hello. Yes, I...I...I saw your ad in the paper. I'm sorry. I've never done this before."
"Would you like a body rub?"
"I would."
"How is your schedule this afternoon?" This was my first time, but it clearly wasn't for her.
