by Liz Bradbury
I have to admit, I was a bit disappointed. I’d already begun to imagine the feeling of her skin, but I was undaunted.
“Fine, that’s up to you. I can still do a good job. What’s the other rule?”
“Um,” she hesitated, then said with a wry smile, “no... surprises.”
“And by way of clarification, you mean no passes?”
“Exactly.”
“Surprises would get in the way of the massage... and so will your sweater vest, it’s too thick. You’ll have to take that off... and your shoes. You can leave everything else on. Deal?” I could be businesslike too, even while negotiating with a beautiful woman how much clothing she would remove.
She nodded once in agreement.
I went back to the big room to arrange pillows on the platform in front of the fireplace. I put some large flat rectangular ones in a row, then covered them with the sheet. I opened the glass doors of the fireplace and laid a fire. The kindling was burning in no time. Living across the street from a millworks means that I’m set for life with firewood. Culling the dumpster now and then beats chopping logs in the forest anytime.
She came back into the room just as I was lowering the lights. The flames beginning to gather strength in the fireplace made the area inviting and warm. She’d taken off her wool vest. Her flannel shirt wasn’t thick fabric. I could see the contour of her breasts pressing against the material. They were a little larger and fuller than I’d imagined. She was also a bit thinner than I’d guessed.
She was slipping out of her shoes, which made her an inch shorter. That, I’d estimated correctly. She seemed a tad self-conscious. For the first time during the evening she was uncomfortable meeting my eyes. She looked instead at the pillows and the fireplace.
“This is for me?”
“Yes, lie down on your stomach.”
“Tell me what you’re going to do to me,” she said quietly as she eased herself a little stiffly onto the pillows.
My mind reeled for a minute. A bouquet of responses came to mine. Oh, yeah, I remembered, she’s talking about the massage.
“First I’m going to find out where it hurts.” I stroked firmly from her shoulders down to the small of her back, then explored with my fingers. There were several places that were particularly tight. “Then I’m just going to massage all this tension away. You’ll like it, it will make you feel better.”
I reached under her shoulder to lift it a little, but at the same time she moved to lift it for me. “Kathryn, don’t help me,” I whispered, “just lie there and relax. Let me move you, otherwise you’re working against me.”
“I’m not very good at giving up control.” She had that quiet growl back in her voice, like distant thunder underscoring her words.
“You’ve given up the control of your body to stress, that’s why your shoulders hurt. Concentrate on letting go.”
“That’s going to be hard,” she said wearily.
“We’ll work on it together.”
“Mm, OK.”
I worked on the knotted muscles of her shoulders until they began to loosen and ease. I asked, “Am I hurting you? Tell me if I do.”
“No, it feels wonderful,” she said in a far away voice. “Please... don’t stop.”
“I’ve just begun.” I’d realized with each stroke that besides her captivating face and bewitching voice she had a fantastic body. Firm and strong muscles, but soft and yielding curves. The last thing I wanted to do was stop touching her.
I moved to straddle her hips, repositioning myself above her, so I could concentrate long even strokes in the areas of her back where she needed it most. At one point she sighed spontaneously as though slipping into a warm bath. She seemed more supple now, more able to move freely. In fact, her movements had become catlike. An occasional long stretch, a graceful stirring of her head, the motion of her hand as she shifted it slightly, were all deliciously feline.
She’d been under so much stress, I knew rubbing her head would practically hypnotize her. I began by stroking lightly behind her ears. She was getting an erotic pleasure from it that was pretty satisfying to me too. I could see her smiling unconsciously. Her lips parted. She breathed deeply. I stroked the back of her neck gently, then ran my fingers slowly up through her hair, delicately massaging her head for a long time. She seemed to enjoy every minute of it. I did. She’d drifted off to another plane where there was only my touch and her response to it.
After a while she said lazily, “Please tell me that this is not the last time you’ll ever do this to me... It’s exquisite.”
“Any time you want,” I whispered in an undertone, then even more quietly, “but, no clothes next time.”
Later, with one of my fingers stroking behind her ear, and my other hand rubbing her shoulder, I asked, “Do you still have a headache?”
A few moments went by. She finally answered softly, “I don’t know.” By then I’d forgotten the question. I think she had too.
The soft flannel collar of her shirt covered the lower part of her neck, but I reached under the material to touch her skin directly. She shifted slightly, tilting her head, allowing me more access. I drew my fingers slowly along the edge of her collarbone in a careful gesture of exploration. I caressed the side of her throat lightly with my fingertips. Her lips parted again. Her lovely face was showing me just what she enjoyed.
I went back to rubbing her back with long luxurious strokes which made her sigh contentedly again. I traced the waistband of her jeans, acutely aware that her clothes were just plain in the way of the kind of more intimate massage I wanted to offer at that moment. I wondered if she was feeling the same way.
After a while I shifted off her and sat to her side. My hands glided down her hips and slipped to the backs of her thighs. I considered parting her legs and stroking their inner surfaces, but I decided it would be too forward. No surprises, I’d promised. So I just rubbed slowly down her legs to her calves. They were strong from all the walking she did.
I’d given her back more than an hour of sensuous attention, drawing from her a number of pleasure sighs and grateful comments. It was time for something else. “OK, I’m done with your back. Turn over. I’m going to stoke the fire so you won’t be cold. Don’t rush, take your time.”
She began to move leisurely as I poked up the fire and put more wood on the glowing embers.
“This is better than sex,” she said as an involuntary stretch rippled through her from head to toe.
“Nah, it’s just different.” The fire’s glow cast dancing shadows over her beautiful face and frame. The light from the flames in the hearth seemed to lick her breasts and thighs. I watched with envy.
The buzzer on the dryer went off, as unwanted as an alarm clock at 5:00 AM.
“Oh, I’ll get that,” said Kathryn straining to sit up.
“No, no, I’ll do it. Just lie on your back and relax.” I walked into the laundry room, took the dry clothes out of the machine, folded them quickly and put them in the basket. The rest were towels that were still damp. I set the dryer for forty minutes more.
When I came back into the big room, Kathryn was lying on her back in front of what was now a blazing fire. She’d raised her arm and had one hand covering her eyes. I sat back down beside her, close to her hip, feeling the warmth of the fire and the warmth of her body at the same time.
“Are you OK?” I asked her.
“I feel wonderful, but aren’t you getting tired of doing this?” she said taking her hand away from her eyes and turning her head slowly to look at me.
“I’m not tired... are you getting bored? I still have more to do, but would you rather I stop now?” I asked, willing that she’d let me continue. She didn’t disappoint.
She searched my eyes for a long moment. I wondered what she was looking for. Then she said slowly with the firelight in her eyes, “No, I’m not bored. I was hoping you’d say you still had more to do. This is really glorious. In fact, I can’t think of a time in my life
when someone made so much effort to... to make my body feel this good.”
“Really? Wait a minute, I thought you said you went to Smith. I bet you had women lining up for a chance to, make your body feel good.”
She snorted softly, “Well, it was kind of like a candy store, but college students don’t... well, most students always seem to be in a hurry.”
“Hmm, what a shame. You said in your life though...”
“It may have more to do with me than... it may have been I who was always in too much of a hurry. I haven’t given myself much time to, smell the roses.” She turned her head toward the fire and said, “I haven’t lain next to a wood fireplace since I was a kid. I grew up in Maine. We had a vacation cabin with only a fireplace for heat. We’d go there during the summer. Sometimes the nights were cold, so we’d lie by the fire all night. It was... comforting.”
I laid my hand on her stomach and began to rub slowly back and forth. It was an affectionate intimate gesture. Like petting a cat or maybe taming a panther?
She looked back up at me and said with that hint of panther growl, “Tell me what you’re going to do to me... now.”
Oh man, she’d said it again. There was nothing tame about Kathryn Anthony.
“I’m going to stretch you.”
I moved around to her head, then I lifted her arms, extending them toward me. I grasped each of her wrists and slowly leaned back, stretching the entire length of her body.
She groaned sensually as I did it. When I stopped she demanded in a low voice, “Do that again.”
I pulled a little harder this time using my own body weight to coax her to her fullest reach. She responded with a growling moan of pleasure. It’s hard to express what she looked like extended that way, on her back, moaning. But the sound made me tingle from head to toe.
I replaced her arms by her sides as she said with pleasant surprise, “Umm, that was satisfying,”
I moved to her side, touching her throat with just my fingertips then let them trail out to her shoulders. Placing my palms on each shoulder, I evenly pressed her back into the pillow, holding her there for several long moments.
She groaned again, but in a more sultry way this time. “This might be too good,” she said in a throaty voice.
I moved down to the end of the platform and massaged her calves for a few minutes. I pulled gently on her legs one at a time and then together.
“Feel a little taller?”
“Mmm, that all felt wonderful...”
“You should have someone do that to you every day,” I said massaging her left shoulder, then stroking down to her hand.
“Would you do it to me... every day?” she murmured.
“Shhh... be still.” I lifted her wrist, resting her forearm in my lap. I held her hand with both of mine and said seriously, “You know, the way your computer is set up you’re buying yourself a one way ticket down the carpal tunnel.”
“I know it’s all wrong, I’ve put in a request to the computer tech department to make my typing station ergonomic. They said they’d do it, but I have a feeling I’m on a two-year waiting list.”
I began on her hand. I was more than willing to give her a massage without any kind of return on my investment other than the discussion of the case, but she must have been aware that I was doing my best to put her in the mood for something more than muscle relaxing.
Massaging someone’s hands can be extremely intimate. Years ago, when I was in high school, I had a boyfriend who was a little older than I and who had a full-time job and a lot of disposable income. I was becoming aware of my true sexual orientation and not very interested in having sex with him, which was what he wanted to do all the time.
Instead we would go to the movies. Which was fine by me, I like movies. To keep him at bay, I’d hold his hand in my lap and trace pictures in his palm. It wasn’t very taxing on me, but frankly, that kind of stimulation can be a direct conduit to areas below the belt. Much later he got in touch with me to say he was still in love with me. Unfortunately for him I’d been a confirmed and committed and contented lesbian for years. I really think it was the hand massages that made him remember me more than all the girls he’d slept with.
I slowly rubbed Kathryn’s left palm with my thumbs. I stretched her fingers and rubbed her wrist. I ran my fingers lightly over the back of her hand and then I finished by tracing a figure in her palm. Her lifeline and heart line were very strong.
“You’re left-handed?” I asked.
“Uh huh, can you tell just by looking?”
“By looking and by feeling the muscles in your forearms.” I was musing on the extraordinary advantages of having a left-handed lesbian lover. Really... think about it.
“Professional sleuth,” she said, “although I think this should be your career.”
“Massage therapist? Nope, I’ll sleuth for almost anybody who can meet my price, but I’m very selective about whom I massage.”
“Any woman would pay you to do this to her.”
“I’m a better sleuth than I am a masseuse.”
“I can only testify to your skill at massage. You’ve proved it. How do you show people you’re good at being a detective?”
“Well...” I placed her left hand back down by her side and began on her right. I massaged her palm and each finger with firm caresses. “Well, Kathryn, one of the things that sleuths do is investigate... stalkers.”
She blinked up at me, a smile played at the corners of her mouth and danced in her eyes. “Oh?”
“Uh huh,” I continued to stroke her hand. She was feeling it throughout her body. I could tell. “You know, it’s important for a detective to be trained in observation. Do you know what I observed on Wednesday night?”
“Tell me,” she whispered.
“I observed three cars driving through the Mews while I was shoveling the snow. One was a Chrysler PT Cruiser, one was a Ford Focus... and one... was a blue and white BMW Mini Cooper, with a Maine license plate.” I ran my fingers lightly over her palm in slow sensuous circles.
“Really?” she breathed, closing her eyes, savoring my touch.
“Yes, and as a matter of fact, I’m sure the woman driving the car saw me quite well, because her headlights shined in my face. I couldn’t really see her, but she would certainly have known exactly whom she would meet, if she chose to go for a walk in the moonlight.”
She closed her hand on mine. It was just a light squeeze. “You win,” she laughed softly.
Not yet, I thought.
She seemed very relaxed. The windows to her soul were closed, but her lips were parted slightly. I came very close to kissing her right that second, but then she let go of my hand.
I took two cushions from the pile on the floor. I put one under her knees and one under her feet.
“What’s this for?” she asked raising her head to look.
“I’m going to massage your feet now. Maybe do some reflexology.”
“How did you learn how to do all this? Do you have formal training? You must.”
“Some training, some experience, an artist’s knowledge of anatomy, and a lot of empathy. I know what it’s like to have body pain. I know where it comes from, and I know a few tricks to make it go away.”
“Have you been hurt in the line of duty?” she asked raising her head again.
“Once or twice, but so have you, and this is about you, not me. Put your head down and relax or you’ll mess up all the work I’ve already done,” I said with mock severity.
“OK... no wait.”
I stopped arranging the pillows and glanced up.
“Um, one thing... I’m very ticklish.” It was a simple statement, but her voice was suggestive, causing me to look carefully at her face to gauge her expression. But her eyes were closed again.
I said deliberately, “I haven’t noticed that so far.”
“It’s not a general sensitivity, it’s... my feet. When my brothers wanted to force me to tell secrets, they would tortur
e me by holding me down and using a feather on the soles of my feet.” She still had her eyes closed as she told me this. I was glad she couldn’t see my cheeks flush.
“Was that a turn-on for them?” I asked, as I lifted her legs and placed another pillow under her ankles.
She paused to think and then said, “Probably,” with a little laugh.
“And... was it for you?” I asked slowly in a low voice.
She paused to consider even longer... she made a throat clearing noise, “Probably,” she admitted softly.
“Hmm,” I wasn’t sure if she was cautioning me or trying to encourage something. “If you feel that I’m tickling you, tell me and I’ll stop.” I said as I put my hand on her right instep. I looked down. “Wow, these are some socks, are they cashmere?” They were black knit and incredibly soft.
“Yes, aren’t they great? A student gave them to me as a present. I really love them.”
“And they say there are no perks to teaching,” I said. “Did this student know that she or he...?”
“She.”
“Did she know that she was giving you a sensuous gift or was she just pawning off a dull holiday present from Aunt Gladys?” I was working gently on the soles of her feet now, stroking and kneading. It was having an effect on her. I could see a slight, almost imperceptible movement in her hips. Hey, I’m a detective. I notice these things. Especially at moments like this.
“...Um... I think the former. I think she knew... she... knew just what she was doing,” Kathryn answered, having trouble concentrating on what she was saying. Her face was flushed.
“And did you get anything... else... from her?” It was my turn to be suggestive. I caressed the cashmere more slowly watching her reactions carefully.
“She... she... was one of my research assistants... and... um... ah... she did a lot of research... more than what the average student would do.”
Kathryn lifted her head, opened her eyes and looked at me. I stopped for a moment and looked back. She went on, “I stay away from romantic involvement with students. Besides the impropriety, I’m not interested in women that young.”
