Jordan Knight Snapshots (Mature)

The Masseuse

       

"But it's our anniversary. I thought you said we were going to spend it together. We didn't spend it together last year- "

"Patrice don't you know I know that? How can I forget that when you keep reminding me about it every free chance you get?"

Patrice flinched at the condescending tone of her husband's voice. "I just wanted this year to be special," she sadly said as she chewed on a broken nail. "I wanted it to be different. I don't like how tense things have gotten between us lately."

"And you think I do?" His tone was softer but still unsympathetic. "Look babe, it is what it is. I have to work; they're not going to let me change my schedule. I told you I'd try to do something with you tomorrow."

"Try?"

"Well yeah but I may get called in again. I don't know why you're complaining anyway. This job keeps you in nice clothes, it got you that big fancy house you wanted and that car you love driving, so- "

"I'd trade it all if it meant I could have a year of alone time with my husband Donnie. That's all I want. I don't need all that. All I want is you."

"Ah geez." He heavily sighed into the phone and cursed under his breath. "Look, I gotta go. They're calling me to go back to the floor. I love you."

"Yeah. Whatever."

He hung up before she could say anything else. Tears stung her eyes as she chucked her phone back in her purse. She hastily wiped at them and looked around in embarrassment, hoping no one had seen her. She need not have worried. She was the last customer in the establishment. Donnie had vainly thought treating her to an evening massage after a long day at work would suffice for spending yet another anniversary alone. She was so tired of this shit. Sick and tired of it. She was this close to walking away and getting a divorce. But it was hard to say fuck it after ten years of marriage.

"Ms. Valentine. We're ready for you."

Glancing up at the pretty, petite receptionist at the front desk, Patrice wiped her eyes again and grabbed her purse, standing up. She walked over to the counter and pasted a fake friendly smile on her face. The receptionist returned her smile and stood to her feet, walking towards a tan colored door in the back of the room.

She turned to Patrice and brightly smiled, pointing towards it with her thumb. "He's waiting for you right in this room." She leaned closer to her and whispered conspiratorially. "You're so lucky you were able to get this appointment. Twenty-five other women called asking for his last appointment of the day, but your husband beat them all to it. Jordan's in high demand. He's the best masseuse in the house so I'm sure you'll enjoy your evening very much."

Winking wisely at her, the receptionist turned and breezily walked back to her desk to answer the ringing telephone. She glanced over at Patrice and deviously smiled at her again before turning her back to speak into the receiver.

Patrice blankly looked at her; then turned towards the door, cautiously opening it. Her eyes opened wide at the vision of earthbound perfection standing in the back of the room, wiping his hands on a towel.

"Come in," he easily greeted her.

Patrice rapidly blinked and weakly walked inside the dimly lit medium-sized room. She closed the door and heavily leaned against it, staring at the man-God with the smile that had probably broken a thousand hearts. To say he was gorgeous was an understatement. That was like putting him down. There wasn't a word in the dictionary to describe how beautiful and breathtaking the man was.

She tried not to cry out loud with delight as he slowly approached her, his eyes dark and full of mischievous promise, his frame tall and solid; his body as flawless as something constructed by Michelangelo. He was dressed in a simple form-fitting white tee and fitted white pants that hugged his ass perfectly. Patrice felt her body immediately heating up in response and prayed she wouldn't have an involuntary orgasm.