Massage

"Okay, I think I know where it is. So Friday at 6 PM?" I wrote down the address on the side of some old bodybuilding magazine. It was almost ancient, like ten or even more years old, because it was left on a shelf in my old room in the family house.

Old. That would be a key word for me for several upcoming months. Old house. Old habits. Well known, old poverty.

"Yes, I'll be waiting, Aiden. Thank you for agreeing for the home visit during such crazy times." Said a quite pleasant female voice on my phone. Surprisingly, Christine didn't sound that old, even though she referred to herself as an old lady a few times, during our conversations.

"No problem, it would be a nice change to visit someone in the times of these damned lockdowns." This joke was so dry that it could inflame itself. But it was enough to make an old lady chuckle. That was my level, apparently. My sense of humor has drastically downgraded itself recently.

"Yes, indeed. So until Friday. Goodbye!" Christine answered and hung out.

I sat down on my old couch, fighting with the urge to slap my forehead. So this is it. I'm gonna visit some granny in her house and massage her back. That's the task worthy of a few years of studying physiotherapy and taking courses to finally be able to claim myself as a personal trainer. This sounded so proudly just a few months ago, before the fucking pandemic came out.

Prior to lockdowns I was working as a physiotherapist and massage specialist in a quite prestigious rehabilitation center in Salt Lake City, but the biggest problem lied in the past tense. Since all the restrictions and bans were introduced, my poor experience and lack of professional seniority made me redundant from the start. My employers 'temporarily' suspended my contract, but of course, made a solemn promise that as soon as this madness will be over, they renew it with a full set of beneficial conditions. Uhm, sure, I'm still waiting for them to call. Looking at my phone all day long!

The same case with giving personal training sessions -- numerous gym owners simply closed their businesses, in fear of getting fined. They're also still waiting for the better times to come.

Alas, I couldn't wait forever. Losing both ways to earn money, immediately forced me to make some immediate changes. At first, I had to leave my rented small flat and move back to my father's. Yep. Twenty seven years of age and going back to my parents house. What a shame.

Secondly -- my pathetic savings allowed me to barely vegetate for two months. After that I decided to seek new employment. Many jobs to be precise. Whatever allowed me to earn... anything. Damn, I even helped Jeff Bezos fund another of his fucking rockets, spaceships or whatever he tries to achieve in his supervillain's plan, by sorting packages in one of the Amazon's warehouses. But even though all these jobs let me barely live, afford basic needs and not drain my dad's frugal veteran's pension, I felt forced by the situation to do more. I didn't want to work like this. Not after spending years on studying and preparing to work as a physiotherapist.

I hit the rock bottom... I know, I know, other people suffered worse, this and that, but this was my rock bottom, okay? And seemingly staying at that bottom wasn't enough for me, as I started to drill in it by charging some poor grandma hundred dollars more than I would have done it before the pandemic. Two hundred and fifty bucks for one visit. It made me feel like a scam artist, for about thirty seconds or so, as Christine didn't contest that stake at all. Perhaps her retirement wasn't so low. Or more likely this was a shit money for her, even though for me it was something extra than only financial injection. A glint of hope for tomorrow. Yeah, that didn't sound pompous at all.

Anyway, Christine explained to me briefly that she has problems with cramps and she recently recovered from the injury. She hurt herself during a workout in the gym. I could easily imagine some unqualified moron trainer pushing a fragile granny into exercises she should have never tried, then charging her for some absurd money. And now, another moron, this time at least a competent one, will attempt to repair the old lady. That's me, a hero without a cape.

Damn, I became bitter as fuck. Saltier than the entire Great Salt Lake. I always have been rather a cynic, but since the whole coronabullshit striked, my sarcasm reached new levels of toxicity. I could feel it seething inside me. Yet still it was probably my sole protection barrier against the pandemic blues. At least I perceived it as such. There was a great possibility that I was already ears-deep sunken into real depression.

Fuck it! I threw my phone on the bed and stood up. It was Wednesday's afternoon when Christine called me and since the employment agency had not assigned me to work in the warehouse, I had a free evening. One of the many during the last months.

I did a light workout, using my old equipment, which reminded me of my college years, and after that I turned to other activities from my youth -- online games and porn. I mentioned old habits, right?

Thanks to the Universe, at least free to play MMO games and pornsites weren't banned during lockdowns. I sucked in them (in games of course) just like I sucked in the rest of my life recently, but at least I could fume over some random people on the net. There is nothing more cleansing for the human soul than raging over anonymous strangers in the chats of online games. After all, they were all noobs. Or, alternatively, cheaters, if they happened to get better than me in game. Simple rules.

Thursday went just as uneventful as Wednesday, the only thing I did during the entire day was a dinner for me and my father. Then we spent a quality father-son time: meaning we watched a baseball game on TV in almost complete silence, interrupted only by some awkward onomatopoeias. My old man was a peculiar person, always very introverted, and he became even more antisocial since my mom passed away due to cancer, almost six years ago. Despite me visiting him pretty rare and even rarer my sister, who lived on the east coast, he seemed to manage just fine. But I felt that could be the facade, a pretense of good mood. Maybe my financial catastrophe could bring something positive for our relationship after all? Who knows. If you believe in self-help coaching crap like 'everything happens for a reason!' then possibly you can see a chance for that. I was nearly sure that it would remain as it always had been. Full of awkward silence and mutual misunderstanding.

Although, what was certain for me, even though we were far from real closeness between father and son, he cared for me. Even if he had never really expressed that. I knew that he was somehow emotionally crippled. And so was I. Thanks to him. Ah, it feels so good when we can blame others for our own flaws, doesn't it?

Friday probably would have passed as productively as previous days, but I had a few tricks to avoid the long hour anticipation. First, I've slept till noon. Secondly, I've spent the next two hours in bed on my phone, watching Youtube and TikTok. Time managing skills -- spot on!

But when I finally got up, I felt a weird nervousness intermixed with even weirder excitement. It was quite unusual, but I liked that feeling. Almost as if I was about to go on the date.

Haha! As a teen I've always fantasized about meeting a milf -- older than me, more experienced, but of course sizzling hot. Right now I was being granted with such an opportunity, but in a twisted way. A secret, forbidden rendezvous with... "gilf".

Well, maybe Christine will turn out to be really, really experienced in that kind of stuff? Like forty, forty-five years of experience? Or perhaps blowjob made by granny will be better? You know, less risk of getting scratched by teeth, if she took out her dentures.

You're such a pathetic moron -- I mirthlessly winced at my reflection in the mirror, as I was dressing up. I chose the plain blue t-shirt and loose gray sweatpants, as I preferred to have comfortable clothes while massaging my clients.

Despite the stupid thoughts, I've still planned to approach this visit in a professional manner and for the umpteenth time I checked my bag containing all of my physiotherapist equipment. I had a few kinds of oils, both heating and cooling, different types of rolls and wedges, tapes, bands, hard and soft balls and even a full pro electronic massager. This device was more expensive than my kidney. Maybe I should sell it? The device, not the kidney. At least not yet.

I packed everything and exchanged farewell murmurs with my dad on my way out. It was late October, so the weather was kind of unpredictable. I was glad that I took my jacket with me because the wind was pretty chilly.

From what I checked on Google Maps, Christine lived in the nice suburban area along the Legacy Parkway. Obviously, I channeled my inner creep and stalked the entire neighborhood through Street View, to know exactly how to get to her home.

It seemed that I had to take a bus first and then have a pleasant, long walk. Of course, I could easily take a cab, it only meant that I would not eat dinner the next day. Not a big deal, huh?

After a boring ride spent staring through the window, I arrived in Christine's area and checked on the map if I was still on the right track. The route to her house was pretty simple, so for the rare moment I allowed my neglected, lazy modern mind to rely on its own fucked up memory and sense of direction than on the debilitating technology.

I was walking, peeping at people's houses and yards, pretentiously chewing gum. Couldn't look less as a stereotypical douchebag. But during the last months my personality was slowly, but inevitably drifting toward such a mindset. Not that it was better previously. I was just gradually getting worse.

Nevertheless, when I recognized that I was getting close to my granny's date house, I spat out the gum and tried to kick it as far as I could. It flew for at least several yards. Maybe I should try my chances in the MLS? Stupidly, but it made me smile. It's important to have fun with small things in life, right? Right.

I was still grinning kind of dumbly when I approached Christine's house. It looked really nice, pristine, mowed lawn, an alley to the porch, a few ornamental bushes, which probably bloomed beautifully during summer or whatever. Couldn't care less. But I could easily imagine that this ersatz of a garden was the entire world for an old lady and she loved to take care of it. Such a touching view.

All right, Aiden, let's get it done smoothly. Get in, massage granny's back, listen to dry jokes, add couple of your own, collect the fucking money, get out and voilà. You'll be a rich man for a day or so. -- I was grumbling in my thoughts and pressed the doorbell.

After thirty seconds or so I heard the quite energetic footsteps, not some slow and cautious shuffling of worn-off carpet slippers, which I would expect in the first place.

The door abruptly opened and...

...I was a bit surprised, not gonna lie. In front of me a woman was standing, quite tall -- she was approximately three inches shorter than me, so I would assume that she was about five foot eight. She had curly, auburn hair and elegant, thin-framed glasses. Her face looked slim, but her body was kind of bulky, although the thigh-long, fluffy violet pullover she was wearing was distorting her figure in a way. But the most important fact was that she was quite young. Well, maybe not fresh-out-of-college young or not even in her late twenties, but she most certainly wasn't wrinkled and sagged. I assumed her age was between thirty five and thirty eight, something like this. And my inner milf detector started beeping like crazy. The auburn head woman was quite pretty!

Maybe she is Christine's daughter? Or some carer? Neighbor? Where the fuck is the granny?

I must have looked like a complete moron, a refreshing change from looking like a complete douchebag, but she sent me the warmest smile and said:

"Hi! Aiden, right? Please, come in." She moved aside to let me step inside. I managed to blurt out 'hi' and walked in. Her voice sounded familiar. Is she...? No....She cannot be... "I'm Christine, nice to meet you." She said with a smile and lent me a hand.

"Oh, you're Christine?" I exclaimed like a fucking troglodyte and her smile become more confused. But I grabbed her palm delicately, only to notice that she had quite a firm grip.

"Uhm... Yes? You've expected somebody... different?"

"Eeer... no. I mean, in fact, yes! You've mentioned some older lady, so I'm a bit confused, I have to admit." Well, I'm not so much for the subtlety. I have rather a biting tongue. Very often what's in my mind goes straight to my gob, without any filter. I do not recommend behaving like that. But Christine didn't seem to be flustered by me catching her with her own previous words.

"Well, I meant me. I'm forty seven, so it's closer to being old, isn't it?"

"No way!" I almost yelled and shook my head. "Are you sure about that? Didn't you mean thirty seven?" It might sound like the cheapest, most slimy flattery one can say to a woman, but my reaction was a thousand percent legit. I may be a dickhead, but at least an honest one. No filter, remember? There was no way in the world that I would give her forty seven years. Fortunately, Christine must have believed in the sincerity of my reaction because she laughed and took it as a good fortune.

"Haha! Thanks, but yes, I'm sure about it. I'm old, but not that old to forget my own birth date." She grinned widely and added. "Gosh, so rude of me to keep you in the hall. Please, you can hang your jacket here. Would you like to have coffee? Or tea? It's a windy day!"

"Thanks, tea will be fine." I answered, still a bit derailed by the info about her age. Damn, if only every middle-aged woman could look so good like her.

I peeked around briefly and put my bag on the floor. Immediately all my creep instincts began to run a diagnosis of the surroundings and to my surprise, I didn't spot any male shoes in the hall. Nor male coats or jackets. She lives alone? Hm.

I followed her through the corridor, trying not to pry too much. Her house was just the same as her front yard -- classy and well cared-for. But to be honest, I was more interested in Christine. She didn't look 47, she didn't move like someone her age either. Just when we were entering the kitchen, I noticed that her calves, visible under leggings, were nicely defined and shapeful. They looked as if she was riding the bike often.

"Please, sit." She waved her hand, pointing at the table and approached the countertop and cabinets. "What tea would you like? I have Earl Grey, raspberry, cranberry..."

"Earl Grey will be perfect, thanks."

"Are you sweetening?"

Only up to women I'd like to fuck.

"No thanks, trying to live life sugar-free." I laughed softly and she nodded. I observed her for a moment, as she was moving around the kitchen. And yeah, even her energy and overall vibe didn't feel typical for someone forty seven years old. After a while she turned to me and carried two cups. She sat down on the opposite side of the table.

I thanked for the tea and blew a few times at the hot, steaming liquid, while looking at her pretty face. Her features were sculpted with grace and nobleness, if one could describe them like that. A nice oval face, high cheekbones, a bit snub nose, but in a cute way. Long, bright eyelashes, without a trail of mascara. She had freckles, which indicated that her auburn hair was natural. And most alluring feature were her lips, carved with perfect balance of sultriness. They were glistening, because of some lip gloss, which was perhaps the only sign of make up.

She has some mimic lines visible around her eyes, but I could name at least twenty girls, my peers from the high school, who now looked like chubby fifty years old aunties, despite being about only twenty-seven. Every time I bumped at one of my old class friends, I always had a moment of confusion, titled "who the fuck is that?", as they looked more like someone from my parents' generation.

Christine must have felt that I was checking her up, and she looked in my eyes. Then I noticed another unique feature - she had heterochromia! It was hard to spot at first, because one of her eyes was hazel mixed with a green and the second was gray. But not some boring, 'meh' gray, it was something combining graphite, anthracite and silver. It looked really captivating, almost hypnotizing. I made a mental note to mention anything about her eyes later. Now I sported my most charming slash mysterious smile ever and said.

"So what's your secret, Christine? Vegan diet? Baths in goat milk?" Or in virgins' blood? I bit my tongue and kept the last thought for myself, although I found it quite funny. Add the self-proclaimed dickhead sense of humor to the list. But apparently Christine liked the milder part of my joke, as she laughed and tilted her head with a simper.

"No goat's milk baths unfortunately, but I think it's due to a quite healthy diet and routine, you know. And probably good genes." She winked and then added. "But, as one of my colleagues once told me, this appearance is my last 'throws' and it will soon be over."

"Damn, she couldn't expose her insecurity and jealousy more." I shook my head and took a sip of tea. Nice warmth spread inside my chest.

"It was a guy, hah!" Christine snorted, correcting me.

"I see. So, what I said still applies to him, but he also deserved to be slapped. What a moron." I joked to her and Christine laughed cheerfully. Funnily enough, but even though I considered my sense of humor to be more on the cocky or even blatant side, with tendencies to dropping bombs and crossing the line, girls seemed to like it. A as it turned out to be, mature ladies like Christine also. Was the bad boy attitude really so magnetic? Or is it just me being so fucking awesome? Probably the latter.

Christine sipped her tea too and I decided to bring this conversation to the right track, and finally speak about the massage and physiotherapy stuff. There would be more time to act charming, now I should probably show her that I can be the pro too.

"Okay, so with what would we be working today, Christine? You've mentioned on the phone about cramps and some injury in the gym. What exactly was it?"

"Oh, luckily it wasn't something severe, but it forced me to stop working out for almost two weeks. I was doing the bench press..."

"Bench press, huh?" I interjected between her words and glanced at her with bigger interest. She didn't appear to be a lady interested in typical gym workout, more like a yoga or aerobic enjoyer.

"Yup, bench press." She chuckled softly with some kind of shy amusement. Adorably. "Probably I may have overplayed my hand a little with the weight or it just wasn't my day, but I felt pain in my chest area."

"Where exactly?" I interrupted her again, but this time in a pure professional manner. I can be less of a dickhead, if I want it. But I rarely want to.

"On the level of the sternum, but the pain seemed not to be located there. Anyway, afterwards I still have been feeling it during normal activities, like sitting in front of my computer or just simply standing, walking and so on." She explained.

"Uhm... I think it could have been straining the breast vertebrae area. If pain was radiating to your chest, did you feel that during breathing also? Did it feel as if it was affecting the lower part of your esophagus?"

"Yes! It was weird, a bit similar to having a terrible heartburn, but not exactly." Christine's eyes shot wide open, as if she got excited, realizing that my diagnosis was on the right track. Ha! Scoring points already!