I’m not a fan of County General in the city. If I have medical issues I’d much prefer to go to St. Mary’s out near Golden Gate Park. County tends to have long lines as it’s the dumping ground of the uninsured and the poor. It’s hard to get a private room, even if you have money like I do. They also tend to give preferential treatment to certain kinds of cases. On the flip side, they see more gunshot wounds than the other hospitals in the city combined, so they’re good at treating them. Cops, former cops, and FBI Agents go to the front of the line, so today I didn’t mind.

Agent Borges was rushed into surgery and I was given an MRI just to confirm that I wasn’t concussed. That was ruled out and I was given some Vicodin for the pain that by this point I didn’t really need but took anyway, knowing that pain would eventually come in a different form. I was soon discharged and after checking on the status of Borges (still in surgery) I was given a police escort home.

I made it to the front of my building only 3 hours late for my 5pm appointment.

I was making arrangements in my head to see who I knew that would make a short-notice house call when I got into the elevator of my building. I had narrowed the list down to three by the time I was let out and was genuinely surprised to see a young woman sitting in front of my door. She had a large gym bag with her and was leaning against it looking positively bored. She noticed me after a moment and brightened considerably and collected herself, standing.

“Gary?” she said.

“Hello Carol,” I replied. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting.” Yes, I knew her. Yes, she worked at a certain place on Sansome Street. Yes, I requested her a lot.

God’s teeth I’ve become predictable.

I invited her into my home and found three furniture boxes inside. I have an arrangement with the concierge of the building I live in when large packages come in and I’m not home they can be delivered into my unit. The boxes were addressed to me and looked like they had been delivered by a furniture company.

“Yours?” I asked my guest.

“Yes,” she replied. “We figured you would need a massage table so here it is. It doesn’t take long to put together. Why don’t you grab a shower while I take care of this?”

I nodded. “Yeah, a good hot shower would be nice after the day I’ve had. You’re welcome to anything in the fridge while you’re waiting.”

She smiled – one of the reasons I requested her so often. “Thanks.”

The shower is a huge part of the ritual of going to a massage parlor. Face it, a not small chunk of the men who go to these places are the kinds of men who will never get laid without this sort of help and hygine is often an issue with these men. Sometimes I think a lot of these men would have better love lives if they noticed this. But more important than that is that you want to be clean for the person who will be placing her bare hands upon your bare body for the next little while. It shows that you care enough about the well-being of your masseuse/whatever you want to call her that you are presenting yourself as best you can. Hell, there are even places where they will wash you for you – just look for the ads for places that have table showers.

I can usually shower in just a few minutes but took much longer this time to give Carol the time to properly set up. When I did come back out mostly dry wearing just a towel around my torso not only was the table set up and looking well reinforced enough to handle 6 men my size, Carol was set up too. She had towels set to the side, lotions, a lit candle letting out the slightest hint of orange, a small pillow, and had changed into those tight sweatpants that look like jeans and a button-down shirt. She motioned me to the table.

I’m told that a fair number of men go to the table and lie face up. They want to get sexed up and they want it now. I’m not like that. To me that’s just rude. I lay face down on the table with my head positioned on the special head rest that lets my head stay level with my body and facing the floor, with a large hole cut into it so that I can see and breathe. All I see is the floor and the feet of my masseuse, but trust me, it helps with the whole massage process.

I’m also told that a lot of men who do this keep their hands and arms at their sides, ready to make a grab at the shapely body rubbing theirs. I’m not like that either. For me, this is a bit of a dance and in tonight’s case Carol would lead. I want a real massage and not just some foreplay. Carol took my towel and replaced it with one of her own covering me thoroughly, and began working on my back and drying me the rest of the way off.

“You’re tighter than usual,” she said. “Rough day?”

“You have no idea,” I replied. “You know the story about why you were sent here?”

“No.”

“I won’t bother you with it. Let’s just say that I nearly got killed today and somehow managed to escape without adding any more injuries to the ones I already have.”

“Rough day.”

“Mmm, yeah.” I then fell into silence as Carol made progress on my back.

Once I was thoroughly dry and the muscles worked on and the kinks erased somewhat the oil came out. Carol worked on my back first, first from my sides and then from over my head.

Sometimes the women who work on you brush up against you seductively, even the ones who aren’t going to have sex with you. They do it to get bigger tips and it probably works on most people. I have my own standards. With Carol, when she’s working from directly in front of my and I’m on my back I get a lot of waist contact to the top of my head. It can’t be helped. I’m tall and she’s not. With some men, they take advantage of this or misread this as a signal for more contact to be initiated on their part. I’m not one of those men. Again, I think it’s rude.

Unless she takes my hand and places it on her ass. That happens more often than you’d think.

The part of this I actually like is when she uses the heels of her hands (yeah, I know that sounds weird but you knew what I meant) to run down from my shoulders to the base of my back. She needs someplace to put her hands at the end of that run and hey, that’s where my ass us. Usually that’s the first contact of her hands on my bare behind. The towel tends to slip lower at this point.

The towel always comes off when she moves down to working on the legs. At this point the ass is just part of the process and it gets a good working over just as the legs do. When she’s working on your inner thighs it’s pretty natural to spread the legs a bit. That’s when the balls become accessible and are occasionally brushed up against. That’s pretty damned erotic – I often find myself having to shift position a bit to remain comfortable.

Sometimes they’re not just brushed against. Sometimes they’re handled with precision and care. Carol knows precision and care.

A good masseuse will get you rock hard and then ease up, giving you a moment to breathe. In Carol’s case the takes a towel and gets it wet, then puts it in the microwave for about 30 seconds. Instant hot towel rubdown, which helps get rid of the oils covering your back.

Then comes the flip. You turn over. I turned over. A pillow is placed under your head. Sometimes the towel comes back, sometimes not. Some women prefer to get the sex stuff out of the way right at this point, while some like to continue the massage. Either way is fine with me. Carol likes to keep the massage going, so she placed a towel over my nether regions and continued working on my legs.

Carol and I have an arrangement that we have worked out. Here is where it gets to be okay to touch, but only through clothes. She’ll let me touch her back under her shirt, but no further. If she’s willing to do more there will come a point where I will get one of two signals; her fingers tracing my nipples will mean her breasts are fair game, and unsnapped jeans will mean she can be touched anywhere. She doesn’t do that often and as she was wearing fake jeans with no snap I actually anticipated the former. Maybe a grab of her bare behind would be allowed, but that’s as far as it would go. One thing I can tell you, the anticipation of finding out which signal she will give is enough to make a man bust a load right there.

Carol doesn’t do full service. That’s fine by me. She’s my type and I’d screw her in a heartbeat (and hopefully over many many heartbeats) but the place she works at isn’t that kind of place.

So there I lay, towel barely covering anything at all, when she stood behind my head and began rubbing her hands down my chest the same way she did over my back. This of course places her chest right at my face. Even covered by her shirt and a sports bra, the effect was quite erotic. She took a step back and I could hear fabric shifting. Keeping her left hand on my chest, she traced her way down and walked to the right side of the table. She had taken the sweatpants off and was wearing bikini bottoms; the kind you could undo by pulling a string.

Without saying a word, she straddled me at about stomach level, reaching behind her to keep me hard. Okay, I can take a hint. I reached up and started unbuttoning her shirt. I was wrong about the sports bra and had her topless in a moment. As I placed my hands on her breasts she undid the tie strings of her bikini bottom, slipping it off.

Now naked, she slowly slid backwards and took me inside of her.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. What about a condom? All I can tell you is that I wasn’t thinking very clearly at that moment. Most men finding themselves in that position won’t.

Damn, but she felt good. I wasn’t going to last very long and didn’t plan to. She rocked on top of me taking me in and out again and again. I was actually starting to feel tired when I got a sudden second wind and thrust hard, holding her tight and coming deep inside of her.

It took a moment, but she spasmed. As I let out more, she spasmed again and threw her head back. Then she screamed.

I’m not talking a scream of pleasure. I’m talking a real scream. She spasmed again and started to shake – leaning forward and grabbing onto me tight. Then she let go and actually fell off of me and the table and to the floor, curling up in a ball.

She spasmed a few more times, then arched her back and screamed silently. She repeated this a few times. I got up from the table and wrapped a towel around me and tried to find out just what the hell was happening.

She curled up in a ball again and shook for a moment, while I held her tight. She breathed deeply but rapidly, and managed to say, “I’ll be all right. Give me a moment.” I gave her several.

She finally relaxed and stretched out naked and face up on my floor. She took my hand and placed it on her left breast. “That,” she finally said, “was AWESOME!” She grinned at me with a look nearly feral and most assuredly manic.

I’ll admit it, I hadn’t expected her to say that. I was expecting something more along the line of “help me find my epilepsy medication”. I’ll also admit that it was flattering as all hell, but that didn’t last long.

She sat up and started licking my fingers. Again, quite erotic.

“I don’t think I could do that more than once or twice a week,” she finally said. “I’ve heard about it but that was the first time I’ve actually experienced it. Wow. It all makes sense now.”

It didn’t to me and I told her so. She stopped licking and looked at me. “Wow. You don’t know,” she said.

“I don’t know what?” I asked.

“I wonder if anal would work better or if it would have the same effect? Maybe wait a day or two before trying to find out.”

“What are you talking about?”

She stood up and faced the table. For the first time, I noticed two tattoos on her back, all black, shaped like and placed where wings would be. I had never noticed them before.

“I owe you an apology,” she finally said. She reached for the bikini on the table and started to tie it back on. “I tried to kill you. In all fairness I was given permission but I’m absolutely sure that my boss knew I wouldn’t be able to and that it would backfire on me. I owe him payback for that.”

“Again, what the hell are you talking about?”

“I won’t try to kill you again. I can’t kill you, actually.”

I nearly screamed myself. “Will you please start making sense?”

She turned back to me and smiled. Without even the slightest bit of self-consciousness she reached into the bikini bottom and put a finger inside her. She pulled it out and licked. “Ooh,” she intoned with a shudder. “Like putting your tongue on a battery. Imagine feeling that inside of you.”

I just frowned at her. She sighed.

“You’re one of the protected ones.”