Love at The Body Shoppe

"Not too fast," I requested gently, "I don't want to come too fast."

"I don't want you to, either. I just didn't know – I'm not..."

"Not what?"

"I'm – not very experienced at this," she explained.

I gulped inwardly. As I thought about it, however, I was not at all surprised.

"That's okay," I said, "just go with the flow. I'll let you know if there's a problem."

"Deal," she said.

"And I'll just go with the flow, and you let me know if there's a problem – okay?"

She hesitated momentarily. "Deal," she affirmed.

I smiled, and she beamed back at me. I continued to massage her breasts, then leaned toward them. I got my face right in front of her left tit, removed my right hand and placed it behind her back for support, blew slowly and gently on her nipple, and – stopped.

I looked up into her eyes, giving her every opportunity to stop me. Instead, she nodded her approval.

My lips descended on her perfectly formed nipple and began to suckle. My tongue then swirled around the tip as I felt it stiffen. I moved lazily back and forth from one breast to the other. With nearly half her tit enveloped in my mouth, I felt her left hand pull the back of my neck toward her midriff. She was getting off on me sucking her tits, and wanted me closer to her!

I felt like I was in an erotic dream. She was matching me move for move. Getting a little more daring, I moved my hand to one of her beautiful ass cheeks. I began massaging it while I continued to suckle each tit.

As she continued to stroke my cock, I slowly rubbed my way around from her ass to her hip, then to her leg and finally to her inner thigh. I didn't want to let her tit out of my mouth, so I just looked up from her chest to see her facial expression as my hand crept stealthily toward its goal.

Seeing nothing but bliss, I decided to take the chance of incurring her wrath. My hand crawled up her inner thigh, my knuckles stroked her auburn thatch, and then with outstretched fingers, I took one feathery stroke across her feminine slit.

"Jackpot!" I thought as I felt her moisture lubricate my fingers. She was wet for me! She wanted me! Hallelujah!

I guided her with me toward the chair. I lifted her in the air and trailed kisses from her breast up toward her neck. As I sat down in the chair, her knees caught on the arms of the chair. She was straddling the chair – and my lap – tantalizingly close, but, as the saying goes, no cigar.

I desperately wanted to ask her to sit on my pole, and I was convinced that she would, but then it hit me. "Shit!" I thought, "I threw the condoms in the garbage outside the other shop1"

Here I was, about to get lucky, just as I had hoped – and with a girl beyond my wildest dreams – but I had fucked up the plan.

She sensed my consternation. "Are you okay?" she asked.

"Absolutely," I replied, "just trying not to let things get out of control."

"No worries," she said, "I'll let you know if I get uncomfortable. You're keeping up your end of the deal. I'll keep up mine."

Wow again! What a girl! This was too good to be true – but it WAS true!

"Let's just take it one step at a time and see what happens," I said.

"Deal," she replied.

I lowered my head and began to once again suckle her breasts, as my fingers worked their way inside her molten vagina. Her pussy was just like her personality – warm, slick, and inviting.

I found her clit and began to massage it between my thumb and forefinger. Her body pressed toward me as I continued to finger fuck her. She continued to hand pump my cock, and we found a mutual rhythm.

I stole glances at her face several times over the next few minutes. At first, her eyes were closed and her features displayed an aura of bliss. As I alternated frigging her clit and pumping three fingers back and forth inside her love tunnel, her eyes fluttered open and she caught my momentary look. She smiled as our eyes locked.

"You're a very sensitive man," she said. "You obviously know what a girl likes."

Her words, her look, her whole being were screaming at me to claim her as my own. Shit! Why did I toss the condoms? Why the fuck did I ever leave her in the first place?

For me, however, it was no longer just about myself – it was about her. She was turning me on at more than just a physical level. It suddenly became important for me to please her. I desperately wanted to give her an orgasm. We'd have to see what form that would take, and where we would go from there.

"So I'm not making you uncomfortable?" I responded to her.

"Quite the opposite," she quipped.

I'm not much of a believer in finger fucking to orgasm – I prefer it as foreplay – but I could see how flushed she was, how labored her breathing had become, and I decided to turn up the heat. Her pussy had become so sloppy and so loose that I was able to easily work a fourth finger inside. That gave me easier access to strum her clit with my thumb as I increased the pace of my fingers pounding in and out of her love tunnel.

As my pace increased, so did hers. Her dainty fingers were not only pounding my prick back and forth, but she was gently squeezing and releasing it at the same time. It was a sensation that I'd never experienced from a hand job, but reminded me of the feeling of a tight pussy clenching around my cock as I pounded it. I'm sure she didn't know the uniqueness of what she was doing – she just did what came naturally. She was such a sexual creature!

I began to feel a tightening of her pussy around my flailing fingers. I began to strum and stroke her for all I was worth.

As I did so, she did the same to me. Before I knew it, I was at the point of no return. I began to feel the beginning of the explosion from the depth of my balls, the massive buildup of semen, the pulsating of my member, the brief lingering on the precipice of orgasm – and finally, the volcanic, mind-blowing spewing and spurting of my load of cum as her hand continued to milk me.

As I reached my climax, I looked up to see her momentary pleased grin, and then her look of lost control as her eyes closed and she began to spin toward her own climax. My fingers had been working at a frantic pace, and now had the pleasure of feeling the fruit of their labor. The tell-tale clenching of her pussy around my fingers left no doubt as to her release. Her feminine moans were harmony to her pussy's melody.

Oh, the shattering convulsions and yet tender bliss of this shared moment! Two strangers just half an hour ago, and yet two soul mates at this moment! As her beautiful eyes opened once again, a green glow betrayed her sexual and emotional satisfaction.

As our respective genitalia began to cease their pulsing, she reached her arms around me, and I followed suit with her. We swayed slowly together, off beat from the dance music that continued to play in the background. We cuddled for several minutes as we both came down from our highs.

Finally, the question that had been lingering in my mind popped unexpectedly out of my mouth. "Do you treat all your customers this way?" I asked.

She hesitated, and looked a bit embarrassed that I had asked. "It's my first day on the job. You're my first client," she said. Somehow, I wasn't at all surprised.

I needed to know more. "What led you to take a job like this?" I inquired.

"I need to save some money this summer. I'm going to Baylor in the fall, and then on to med school later."

Wow a third time! A girl smart enough to become a doctor working in a joint like this. And a girl supporting a conservative Baptist education with a job like this. The irony was not lost on me.

"I'll tell you what," she said, "let me go get you something better than those nasty Kleenex to clean you up, and I'll be back in a jiffy. Then we can decide where we go from here."

The glint in her eyes displayed an air of mischief. Despite that, her words seemed wholesome and clean, even full of inspiration and hope.

She quickly put her swimsuit back on, wrapped the robe around her shoulders and midriff, then departed out the side door from where she'd entered.

Melissa returned to the room a few minutes later with a warm, wet cloth and a bright, dazzling smile. Still dressed in her model swimwear but dropping the robe, she moved over to me and began to gently rub the semen from my cock with the warm washcloth. This simple act had a caring, sensuous feel to it.

Then, without a sound, she put her other arm around my back and held me close. Her body began to sway in time to the music track that was still playing on the boom box. In a somewhat surprising move, she lay her head on my shoulder.

I felt nothing but tenderness toward her. She had lowered her defenses and had become completely vulnerable with me. But then I spoke the most inane words I could have uttered, and they shattered the moment. "My wife would like you," I said, "I'll bring her with me next time."

I immediately wished I could take it back. The thought was at best wishful thinking on my part, perhaps spurred on by a wave of subconscious guilt at the intimacy being expressed by – and reciprocated toward – this beautiful, precious stranger. I had panicked, and now there was no way back.

As I realized the gravity of the moment, I tried to laugh it off. I shrugged my shoulders and rolled my eyes in a feeble attempt at humor. "It could happen," I said in jest.

"Yeah, right," she smiled. Then she paused and looked searchingly into my eyes. "You should go home to her," she said.

Her words lingered in the air. I couldn't tell whether they were a command or a subtle question. I've rolled it over in my mind hundreds – maybe thousands – of times in the seventeen years since, and I firmly believe she was testing me. I now know what my ideal response would have been.

I should have spoken these five words: "But you need me more."

Then I should have locked lips with her, gently probing her tongue with mine, our eyes searching each other's to the depths of our souls. Then I should have gently removed her wispy, satiny scraps of swimsuit, baring her naked body to mine once again. Then I should have lifted her gently and placed her in the comfy chair, knees and feet splayed apart, and pulled the recliner back to a horizontal position. Then I should have placed my hands on her breasts, massaging them while dipping my face to the juncture of her thighs, and lavished eager licks on her labia and clit. After a leisurely round of muff diving, I should have told her that I loved her – being careful not to lie – and that I wanted to slide my raging hard-on into her beautiful, auburn-thatched cunt. She would have said "Yes!" and guided my cock into her eagerly awaiting slit. We would have moved in primal unison, our thrusts matching each other's passion, until we spiraled out of control, reaching another mutual climax, but this time my jism would be deposited in her womb instead of on her leg. We would have kissed and cuddled, until she tilted my chin up with her rogue finger so she could look me in the eye and tell me, "I love you, too."

But that's the way it would have been in my fantasy world. Instead of saying and doing what I should have, I hesitated.

I thought about the discarded packet of condoms. It would be just my luck to bring home an STD on my first instance of infidelity. In retrospect, I honestly couldn't imagine such an innocent having a venereal disease to pass along to me.

I thought about the impending move to Arkansas. And I thought about my wife, and what she'd think of Melissa's musky scent on my fingers if I didn't wash them well before I got home.

The moment of truth was there, and somehow I couldn't reach out to Melissa.

"Don't I need to pay you?" I asked lamely.

"It doesn't matter," Melissa replied. Her downcast face betrayed her disappointment at my mention of money at a time like this.

"Surely you'll at least have to pass on something from me to your employer, won't you?"

"Sure," she said quietly.

I took a small wad of twenties from my wallet and dropped it on the small table next to the body lotion. I knew she didn't want to count it.

I took her hand and held it in mine. "See you next time," I said as I looked directly into her beautiful green eyes.

She nodded, but no words came from her mouth. I embraced her, and she tentatively returned the gesture.

I didn't mean it to be a lie. I had every intention of sorting through the encounter in my mind and coming back later in the week.

But there hasn't been a next time, and I haven't seen Melissa since. I got busy the next few days preparing for the move, thinking of Melissa as I packed, trying to figure out what to say to my wife. On Thursday, unable to hold back any longer, I called The Body Shoppe before the movers were to come to our apartment on Friday.

"May I speak with Melissa?" I asked hopefully.

"Who's calling?" the female voice at the other end of the line inquired.

"A friend," I said, "a friend who cares."

"I'm sorry, sir," she replied, "but she doesn't work here any more. She quit Monday evening. It was her first and last day. She only had one client and decided she couldn't handle it."

I hung up the phone, filled with a sense of utter loss. The moving van would come the next day, that chapter of my life was over, and I would never see Melissa again. I had no way to find her – I didn't even know her last name.

I was cured of my tanning salon addiction that day. I haven't been to one in the 17 years since. My wife and I have had a pretty good life together throughout that time. Our kids are now grown and off at school. We've both worked harder on our marriage, but it's built more on friendship than on passion.

I haven't been able to talk to my wife about what happened between Melissa and me on that fateful day. Frankly, I don't know what to tell her, or what good it would do. The sexual nature of my encounter with Melissa would be painful enough for my wife; the personal intimacy of it would probably crush her.

I'm still haunted by thoughts of what I didn't say and do with Melissa. If I hadn't thrown away the packet of condoms at the second salon, I know I would have stayed with Melissa and made love to her in physical, penis-in-vagina union that day. If I hadn't turned tail and ran from The Body Shoppe the first time I spoke with Melissa, I would have had the condoms with me, and nothing would have stopped us.

But, as a friend of mine is fond of saying, "If 'ifs and buts' were candy and nuts, what a merry little Christmas it would be." Perhaps just writing about it after all these years will prove to be therapeutic for me.

Quite honestly, though, I truly wish I'd told her how she'd gotten to me. I wish that we'd fucked like rabbits, condom or no condom (probably even better without) and seen where the passion led. I may be delusional to feel this way, but I think there was something more – both passion AND friendship – that could have been built into sharing more than just a once in a lifetime orgasm.

Melissa still has a grip on me – not just on my cock, as on that fateful day, but on my heart. So much for breaking the addiction. And so much for keeping things uncomplicated...