by D. L. Savage
“Hi,” I said, hearing the faint jangle of nerves in my voice as I spoke, hoping she didn’t pick up on it, “my name’s Peter Roberts, and I’m actually looking for work. I’ve got some massage experience, as you can see on my resume here ...”
I took the top sheet from the pile in my hands and placed it on the counter in front of her.
“So .... uh, yeah,” I added, unable to stop talking now, doing that thing where I just carried on chattering nervously, “I was just wondering if you had any vacancies, or maybe if you could keep my resume on file in case anything comes up, or ...”
I finally stopped speaking, my sentence trailing out, my heart thudding against my ribs and a prickle of sweat breaking out across my forehead as I watched the pretty girl pick up my resume and read it over, before turning her big brown eyes once more to me.
She smiled again, only this time it was more of an apologetic smile, and I prepared myself for the usual shtick: Sorry but there’s nothing going at the moment. Thanks anyway and good luck ...
But instead she said, “Hmm, I know that Adrina is looking for new staff members, but as far as I’m aware, she only hires women?”
There was a pause, as I felt my heart sink a little further, while another part of me wondered if that was even legal these days, what with equal opportunities and everything. I was about to thank her anyway and head on my way, when she said, “Wait here. I’ll go get her.”
With that she turned to leave, giving me a quick glimpse of her butt in the process, the white dress perfectly showing off her slim, perfectly proportioned body, the tight fabric clinging to her body, her buttocks jiggling as she walked.
As I waited for her to return with the person I guessed was the manager or owner, I found myself pondering on that name. Adrina. I’d never heard it before. It sounded kind of foreign, even a little mystical.
When the cute girl returned, this time with a beautiful older woman, I saw that the name suited her just perfectly. She looked like she could be the receptionist’s mother: with similarly long, straight, glossy hair and a similarly amazing body, also encased in a tight white dress. Only unlike the younger girl, who was cute and pretty in a girl-next-door kind of way, Adrina had a real vampish sexiness that seemed to exude from her in powerful waves.
Before she’d even spoken, I felt myself both captivated by her intense beauty – her large dark eyes and plump, sensual lips – and even a little scared of her, too.
“So, you are looking for work?” she said, in a cold tone, her voice tinged with some sort of European accent.
“Y-yes,” I stammered, sounding so nervous and pathetic in comparison, my face again flushing with heat. “I’m, uh, I’ve got some training in sports massage and physiotherapy,” I added, nodding to the resume which lay on the counter between us. “And I graduated with honors in Sports Science,” I added, my voice quavering, as Adrina’s cold dark eyes watched me impassively, never leaving mine for a second.
She didn’t even glance down at the resume, instead looking me slowly up and down then nodding to herself, like she was mulling over some kind of idea, before saying, “Follow me.”
The pretty girl at the counter shot me a hopeful smile, then lifted the divider and with that I stepped onto the other side, following Adrina through the doorway at the back of the reception desk, and into the cool air-conditioned darkness beyond ...
3
Adrina led me down a long corridor, with white numbered doors on either side, which I assumed were the massage rooms. At the very end of the corridor, she opened a plain grey door and gestured for me to go inside, into what turned out to be a smartly furnished office, with a leather couch, desk and two chairs either side of it.
“Please, take a seat,” she said in that mysterious accent, gesturing to the chair set out in front of the desk, while she took her place facing me, resting her perfectly manicured hands on the polished mahogany, then piercing me once again with those big dark eyes, rimmed in thick black eyeliner, making them look so huge it was crazy.
“As Clara has already told you,” she began, “I normally only hire girls. But there is something about you ...”
She paused, as if wanting to know my name.
“Peter?” I offered meekly, but she rolled her eyes, like it was a ridiculous name, then continued to speak.
“There is something about you that just might work for me, if ...”
Again she paused, and this time I knew not to interrupt her. But maddeningly, she didn’t finish her original sentence, instead saying, “Stand up, please,” in the same cold, impassive tone as before.
I felt myself doing as she asked, pushing myself nervously to my feet before her, while I secretly wondered what the hell this was all about.
“Turn around,” she said. “Slowly.”
My confusion increased, but again I found myself doing what she said, in part because she seemed so damn formidable, I didn’t dare argue with her. And by the time I’d done a complete three-sixty and come to face her again, I saw that she had a strange knowing smile on her face, like she alone was in on some kind of private joke.
“Yes, yes,” she said, more to herself than to me, “I think we can work with this.” Then the smiled dropped from her face again as she added sternly, “You can sit down again, Petra.”
Wait a moment … did she just call me Petra?
I wanted to correct her, but at the same time found myself wondering if perhaps that was how people from whatever-country-she-was-from said Peter, and I definitely didn’t want to come off as xenophobic or clueless, especially in an interview situation, so I just nodded and forced another polite smile onto my face as I sat down awkwardly in the chair again.
“We give on site training to all our new girls,” she continued, “and our clientele is very exclusive and particular about what they like. But I think you will appeal to a certain kind of gentlemen,” she added, that strange smile once more creeping across her lips.
I felt my stomach begin to churn, as red flags began to go off in my brain, every atom in my body telling me to get the hell out of there, now. But at the same time, I found myself rooted to the chair, unable to work out if perhaps I had the wrong end of the stick and maybe Adrina just had a weird way of saying things. And the sleek, professional environment, not to mention cute friendly Clara on reception seemed a million miles away from some skeezy, back street ‘massage’ parlor.
“I’d like to start you off on a trial basis,” she continued. “You’d be paid by the massage, and depending on the demands of the client, you’d earn anywhere between five hundred and a thousand dollars.”
I felt my stomach lurch. That was an insane amount of money and I wondered if there was some kind of mistake.
“Is that ... uh ... is that per month?” I queried.
“Per massage,” she shot back, like I’d asked the most stupid question in the world. “So, Petra? If you would like to work a trial shift, you could come back tomorrow, at ten o’ clock?”
And even though I knew deep down that something was off, I also knew that this was the only damn offer of work I’d had in months, and I’d be a fool to turn it down.
I could just do a trial shift, I told myself. What’s the worst that could happen? And if she wants me to do anything weird or fucked up, I can just say no and leave ...
“Uh great,” I spluttered, awkwardly holding out my hand for her to shake.
Of course she ignored my gesture, instead turning her attention to a drawer in her desk and bringing out two piles of paper, while I quickly folded my hands back in my lap.
She slid the first towards me, along with a pen, saying, “Please fill this out for my records ...”
So I began to fill out the form. At first it was just the usual stuff – name, date of birth, current address, social security number, etc. – and I made sure to write PETER in big block capitals. But along with that info, it also wanted my measurements: height, waist, shoe size ... There was even a space for cup size, w
hich of course I just put a quick dash through. I signed and dated it at the bottom, then slid it back to her.
She looked it over for a moment, nodding to herself, before putting it back in the drawer. Then she handed me another sheaf of paper. This one was bound tightly and seemed to be about ten pages or so long.
“This is your employee handbook,” she explained. “I would like you to read it thoroughly this evening.”
“Okay,” I replied, taking the booklet and clutching it tightly to my chest, still a little dazed that she’d actually offered me a position at all.
“That will be all, Petra,” she said. “You know the way out.”
“Thanks,” I replied, getting unsteadily to my feet. “And ... uh ... see you tomorrow.”
“Yes, see you tomorrow,” Adrina replied, another strange knowing grin curling at the edges of her plump glossy lips ...
4
“So, how’d it go today, man? Any leads?” Josh asked that same evening, as he came home from his physio job, dropping his bag on the floor by the door, then kicking off his sneakers, before stretching and sighing, the bright white polo shirt riding up high enough to show off his tanned, chiseled abs for a second, and I felt another stab of jealousy: it was almost as if he was doing it on purpose, to remind me all over again how skinny and puny I was in comparison.
“Yeah, maybe,” I said quietly, from my place on the couch.
I’d spent the rest of the afternoon reading over the employee handbook, and while most of it seemed pretty standard and legit – going over the types of massages they offered, and the professional behavior they expected from their staff – there were a few weird aspects, too.
Like the section on Hygiene and Appearance.
All staff members were expected to be thoroughly clean and shaved – everywhere. When I first read that part, I did a double take, wondering if I’d perhaps misread it. But nope, that what it said. The word ‘shaved’ was even underlined. Did that apply to me, too, I wondered, thinking it probably more just meant that the girls had to make sure their legs and underarms were smooth. But the more I read it back, the more I began to wonder if I’d have to actually go through with it too, giving myself a full body shave in the bathroom later that evening.
I know, I know. It was totally absurd. And how the hell would Adrina even know whether or not my body was shaved? But at the same time, I wondered if she thought it was just for hygienic reasons, like freshly shaven skin harbored less bacteria or something (even though in fact the opposite was true).
“Maybe?” Josh cut in just then, breaking me out of my thoughts. “What does maybe mean? You got an interview somewhere?”
“I’ve actually got a trial shift,” I replied, knowing it was better to talk it through with him than keep it all to myself. After all, he was still my best bud, despite our recent differences.
“Hey, that’s awesome, congrats” he said genuinely, coming over to join me on the couch, his white shorts showing off his big tanned legs with their fuzz of blonde hair – again reminding me how much bigger and more manly he was than me. “So what’s the problem?”
“It’s at this massage place on East Twenty Forth,” I said. Before quickly adding, “It seems pretty legit. Like, the massages it offers are all real massages – deep tissue, sports, that kind of stuff ...”
“But?” he persisted.
“I don’t know,” I sighed. “The owner seems weird. She’s kind of intense and I get this strange vibe off her.”
“Man, that’s all bosses,” Josh laughed, not picking up on what I was trying to say at all. “My manager is a total grade-A asshole.”
“I know, I know,” I sighed. “I should just take the trial shift, right?”
“Damn straight you should,” Josh replied.
I hesitated, wondering whether or not to tell him the other reasons I was a little creeped out: like the fact Adriana had called me Petra the whole time, and the thing about shaving in the employee handbook.
“So anyway, you coming out tonight?” Josh said, changing the subject. “I’ve asked a few of the guys at work, too. You’ll like them. They’re a pretty crazy bunch ...”
“Actually,” I said, making a show of being annoyed, but secretly thinking it was the only good thing about my trial shift, “I start tomorrow, at ten. So I’d better grab an early night. But have fun, man.”
“Thanks,” he said, pushing himself up off the couch. “Think I’m gonna hit the shower,” he added, pulling off his polo shirt as he strode confidently towards the bathroom, his tanned back rippling, moments before he closed the door behind him.
As the hiss of Josh’s shower drifted into the room, I found myself wondering all over again about shaving – whether I was really gonna shave myself everywhere, like the handbook had suggested ...
* * *
The next morning, at ten am on the dot, I found myself standing on the sidewalk, back outside the parlor. And after much deliberation I’d decided to go through with what the handbook had suggested: shaving my legs, underarms and, well, everywhere else too.
It felt so damn weird. I could actually feel my pants swishing against my smooth hairless legs in a way I’d never really felt before. It wasn’t bad exactly – in fact, there was something oddly pleasurable about the tingly sensation – but at the same time, I did feel kinda stupid.
But I just told myself that I’d done what I was told, that if it turned out I’d made a mistake and that rule was just for girls then hey, nobody would ever know anyway, and anyway, my legs were so skinny and slight, it wasn’t as if I ever really went around in shorts like Josh, or got lucky enough that somebody else would see my body before the hair grew back, so yeah. Better safe than sorry.
With a final deep breath, I pushed open the sleek glass door and stepped again into the cool interior of the lobby. And this time, it was Adriana herself who was standing behind the counter.
“Ah, Petra,” she said with a smile, again making me wonder if I should perhaps correct her about my name, or at least find out if that even was another pronunciation of it. “Good to see you. I hope you’re ready to get started?”
I nodded, smiling back at her. She seemed in a much lighter mood than yesterday, and I felt my reservations dissolving, just a little.
“Good, good,” she continued. “Why don’t you head into the back, to room three? I’ve laid out your uniform, so why don’t you go and change into it now? And let me know if you need a different size of anything ...”
“Great,” I murmured, watching as she held open the barrier once more and I walked through, her big dark eyes following me as I headed into the back corridor again, then towards room three.
I pushed the door open and stepped inside, and sure enough it was set out like a professional massage room – with a large bed in the center, a table for oils, a stack of towels, a few candles burning, and even a large modern art print hanging on one wall. In other words, exactly the sorts of things you’d find in any legit, professional practice.
Maybe this will be okay after all, I thought, as I turned to the pile of neatly folded white clothes on the table in front of me.
But as I began to unfold them, I felt my stomach lurch and my heart begin to pound …
5
“I think there’s been some sort of mistake,” I announced nervously, sticking my head back out into the reception, watching as Adria turned to face me, her striking features flickering with confusion.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “did I get the sizes mixed up?”
“No,” I croaked, my head swimming, my heart pounding, feeling like I was trapped in some kind of weird dream. “It’s just that they’re ... well ... women’s clothes.”
“Oh, Petra,” she smiled. “Perhaps there has been some sort of mixup!”
I felt myself relaxing for a half second, before she continued.
“Maybe I didn’t make it clear enough to you in your interview. Those are the clothes I expect you to wear if you are to work here.
As I said, you have a certain look that I think will appeal to a select group of our clients. So the choice is really quite simple. Put on the clothes, or your trial shift ends here.”
I stood rooted to the spot in pure shock, my heart pounding, the words caught in my throat.
I knew I should just leave. This was the perfect opportunity to cut my losses and get the hell out of this total madhouse. Yet something stopped me. Maybe it was money worries. Maybe it was the fact that I was still a little afraid of her. Maybe it was social awkwardness or total madness or a combination of all those things, but instead of telling Adrina to go to hell, I instead found myself quietly muttering, “Okay, I understand,” and then heading back to room number three again, closing the door behind me and staring once again at the pile of items on the bed.
There was a white dress – the exact same style as the one Clara had been wearing at reception yesterday – and there was a pair of matching flat white shoes. But it didn’t end there. Because there was a white bra too, and a pair of tiny white panties. There were even a set of silky white stockings.
I knew I’d look totally absurd, dressed up in these girly, feminine things, but what else could I do?
With shaky hands, I began to unbutton my pants, then push them down around my ankles, before kicking off my shoes, tugging off my socks, stepping out of my pants, then taking my shirt off too, leaving me in nothing but my black cotton boxer briefs.
I cast another glance at the panties – were those really necessary?
But I knew I had no choice, so with a sigh I pushed my boxers off too, leaving me totally naked. I gathered up my discarded clothes into a bundle then set them down on a nearby chair, before turning once more to the clothes laid out on the bed.
It was only as I picked the panties up to examine them more closely that I saw they were cut in a skimpy thong style, and again my brain began to spin, as I wondered what the hell I was doing here. This wasn’t even funny, like one of those crazy embarrassing episodes that you know will make a funny anecdote in years to come. This was just plain fucked up.
