On My Table

I press my thumbs hard into Andy's trapeziuses and he groans, working out the knots in his legs. Andy is beautiful, a principal dancer for the ballet. He is tall for a dancer, broad-shouldered, and the very image of a manly man. He is strong because dancers are strong and totally fit. An unfit person cannot hold extreme body positions or make the incredible leaps required in modern dance. I love working on his body. He is fit and beautiful, and hopelessly gay. ?Clint has been driving me nuts lately,? Andy says between my efforts to stretch out his muscles. ?I swear, Maria, I'm going to leave him one of these days. ?I say nothing. I have two jobs, one to work the kinks and stress out of the dancers' hard-used bodies. The other is to listen. Many come to me because I'm good at both. I am a massotherapist, one of the few whose studio is near the ballet. They're doing Rodeo, and Andy dances the role of the Champion Roper, the male lead, the man all the girls compete for. It is a demanding dance, made even more demanding by the traditional western garb which was designed for utility and never for dancing. Andy needs to vent right now more than to dance. "I swear, I come home and he wants me to make dinner. As if I didn't have enough to do already. He's a much better cook than I am. Why can't he cook???I can't answer that,? I say, trying to stay out of the fray. Andy alternates between complaining about Clint to being terrified that Clint will leave him. I've never seen Clint myself, but then I'm pretty sure he's quite a handsome, well-endowed lad. Andy was never shy about sharing. Sometimes he makes me blush. But not today. He's feeling bitchy. The big knot in his back might be part of the reason why. I identify it, then grind my elbow down on it to break it up. He groans, it hurts but then the spasms come, and finally, his body begins to relax. ?Roll over,? I tell him, holding up the small blankets I use to cover people when I work on them. He rolls, too then I cover him noting the distinct bulge in his groin.?Why do I do that,? he says. ?I haven't got a straight bone in my body but I get hard all the time when you work on me.?I chuckle and repeat what I tell everyone. ?Massage feels good. It's normal to have erotic feelings during a massage. Ignore it, I do.? "Is my cock that insignificant? Should be offended that you ignore it!? Andy feigns outrage but he is smiling. He is confident in his body, another thing about almanbahis most dancers. I push up his legs thumbs working on the arch of his foot. Andy is beautiful, but his feet are ugly. All those jumps and landings take a toll. A dancer's feet are full of callous, stubbed toes, small injuries, and scars. They leap so high in the air and land so hard, then go on to do it again and again. How could they not hurt? Their feet need attention, and I dare not baby them, even when it hurts a bit. Andy groans as I work his feet. But he doesn't stop me. He trusts me. He knows I'm almost done. Soon I leave the long caresses on his skin that mark the 'cooling down' period of a massage. As I finish with Andy, my mind shifts to Tara.Tara is my next client, the company's prima ballerina. And perhaps my favorite. Without looking I know what she is doing. She is in the next room icing her feet. Tara is as beautiful as Andy is handsome, but if anything her feet look worse than Andy's. I hear her moving in the next room, softly letting out the sighs of pain as the ice helps calm he feet and reduce the swelling. She has an ankle sprain but dances through it. For the show must go on and for Rodeo she is our Cowgirl, the female center of the ballet. I ignore Andy's continued swings between love and disgust with his partner. My fingertips trace out circles on his belly, bringing on more spasms. And then I am done, covering him and stepping out. He thanks me, and I thank him for choosing my services. And I leave him to rest for a bit and dress before he leaves. Time to make my way to Tara. I find her already nude, except for one of the bathrobes I keep for customers. Tara loves her massages, but she doesn't like to take time undressing. And if Andy is beautiful, Tara is every bit his equal. Like me, she's thirty-three but that's where the resemblance ends. She is, like all ballerinas, very slim. I am tall and broad-built, not overweight but my hips and bust are substantial, and I don't go anywhere without a heavy bra. Tara is graceful and feminine, her bottom small, her body all lean muscle, and her breasts small and set far apart. While my skin is olive and my hair dark brown and curly, Tara is a natural redhead, with soft, fair skin and an array of freckles. Were she not in the ballet she would be in the line at Riverdance, a natural Celt with auburn hair, fair beauty, and long legs. And unlike Andy, Tara is a woman of few words. almanbahis yeni giriş She prefers to let her dancing talk for her. Often she is silent during our sessions. At first, I thought it was something I had done, but now I suspect she lacks confidence. I don't get why, she has a fine mind and sweet voice, but people do not always see themselves clearly.?Are you ready?? I ask. It's not wise to hurry clients, particularly those who work as hard as Andy or Tara. She gives me a shy smile and nods, as I lead her into my second working room. It's all laid out, everything cleaned and ready, the towels nearby and ready. ?I'll leave you a moment of privacy to cover yourself,? I say. ?No need,? she says head down a bit, as she peels off the bathrobe.Nude, Tara is a vision of femininity. Constant training and diet have kept her body ripe and firm as a young girl's. She's waxed or shaved her mound. A sudden, unexpected change. I wonder if she has a new lover, that's the usual reason for a girl to start shaving her pussy. I hope so, though it's none of my business. Tara doesn't talk about her love life, and I don't ask. She's wrapped tight, all tense and mound as she lays on her belly, resting her head upon the small pillow provided for her. I cover her, trying not to look too much. I sleep with both genders, and her fresh bare pussy is delectable. But I tell myself to be professional and remember this is my job, not just my pleasure. I uncover her right leg and covered my hands in warm oil, scented with just a touch of musk. Starting at her bottom, I slowly slide my fingers down her thigh, down her calves, down to those poor abused feet of hers, oiling her skin and getting her ready for my touch. This touch is to accustom her to being touched. Tara coos contentedly as my fingers glide over her so smooth skin. ?Do you remember my first time on your table?? she asks. ?I do,? I say. ?You were so shy.? An eyebrow raised. Tara isn't usually a talker. But maybe she has something on her mind. Maybe it's time I got to perform the other part of my job. ?I was foolish,? she said as I press the heel of my hand into her thigh, working it against the other hand, stretching and parting the muscle ?I'm . . well . . I'm not good on trust.?Perhaps this is a breakthrough. ?Well, I'm thankful you have chosen to put a little trust in me.? My fingers work lower and lower and she moans softly fingertips joining in to work almanbahis giriş her tired muscles. ?Me too,? she says, and I think I see her smile for just a moment. That too is a breakthrough. Tara is very serious, too focussed on her singular desire to become the best ballerina she can possibly be. She's always talking lessons, always working on self-improvement, and she coos again as I begin to work on her calf.I wonder again why she has trouble with trust. A broken heart? A sexual assault? Abuse? It's not uncommon, even among talented dancers. Sometimes it comes from another dancer or director. Sometimes a parent. Or even a so-called friend. I hear some of that too. The stories haunt me and have sent me to the library to help me understand what my clients are going through. But I could be overthinking this. Tara could simply bet naturally shy. She could be one of those people who are only comfortable expressing themselves through her art? She's generally cheerful, so that's more likely. but I want to know. I like her-- maybe too much! I gently touch the arches of her feet. Tara is tender there and this time her moan is not from pleasure, but I must do what I do, and my clients understand this. Slowly I slide my fingers so gently down her leg again letting her leg relax, let it come back to calm before I recover her limb and move to her left leg. ?Do you like Rodeo,? she asks. ?I've never seen it,? I said. "But I used to date a violist and she used to play the music for me. I found it beautiful and dramatic. My favorite part is the Saturday Night Waltz.?Tara seemed to perk up when I mentioned my former girlfriend. Maybe she's gay. Gay people are not uncommon in the arts. Sometimes I think we are drawn to art as a way to express our inner selves. ?That's sort of my high moment,? she said. ?I'm dancing the Cowgirl, the tomboy who is boy crazy. She thinks being like a boy will bring her closer to the boys she craves, particularly the Champion Roper. And of course, it fails because in that world boys want girls. But for that waltz, I'm showing them all how feminine I truly am.?There is nothing boyish about you, I think but concentrate on her trapeziums. Her muscles are taut and must be coaxed through pressure and repetition into relaxing. Tara's body is always tense, sometimes just the muscles. Sometimes all of her, and suddenly sense her body tighten, and I wonder what I've done wrong. So slowly keep working, fingers and thumb stretching out her calves, then a slow glide of my oiled fingers down her limb, letting her relax. And I do it just one more time, in part for her, but in part, because I love the way her body feels beneath my fingers.