Michaelishious - Vol. 2019

Dec. 1st: The massage therapist

Author's note:

This collection of imagines contains swearing, sexual descriptions and triggering content. Please respect the 18+. 

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It was Christmas, and my friend Heather and I had decided to not buy each other presents this year. Instead we wanted to go to a spa together, and spoil ourselves rotten for an entire day. And that day was today.

"What are you having?" I asked, while studying the menu of what they had to offer.

"Hmm... I don't know."

Heather chewed on her lip. Then her finger darted to something on the list.

"Oh! Hydrating facial! Definitely. My face is like a desert. And I think I want a body wrap, too."

"And my body is stiff and sore from all the stress and carrying all those boxes and furniture. Who knew it was so much work to move?"

Heather cackled loudly.

"Pretty much everyone who has moved before?"

I nodded, realizing she was right.

"You'll have a full massage then. Let me see... This."

She tapped her finger a couple of times on the paper.

"Therapeutic deep tissue massage?" I coughed.

"Yeah? That will do you good."

I tried to loosen the tension in my shoulders by stretching them, to no avail.

"I guess you're right. But it better be a woman," I mumbled under my breath, as a smiling lady greeted us and took our orders. Then we were shown to our rooms, told to strip down and put on a fluffy bathrobe. And I didn't have to wait long until there was a knock on the door, and a white dressed therapist with curly, black hair pulled back into a ponytail, came in. But... It wasn't a woman. It was a man.

"Hello, my name is Michael Jackson and I'm gonna be your m..."

"I specifically asked for a woman," I abrupted him. Then I blushed when I realized how rude I sounded. And I blushed even more when I saw how good looking the man was. He was a little taller than me, slender, with broad shoulders and a pair of brown eyes that looked right into your soul. At least that's what it felt like. And right now I saw disappointment and a hint of sadness in them.

"I-I mean... Hi. I'm Gina. Gina Garrison. But my friends just call me Ginny."

I reached out my hand and greeted him, and saw him light up with a gorgeous million dollar smile, before he bit his lip.

"So, what do you want me to do?" I asked, still feeling really awkward about him being a male therapist. But they were professionals, and this place was one of the best ones in the city. I could trust him, right?

"You can remove your bathrobe and lay down on your stomach."

He held up a huge towel to block his sight, and in addition, turned his head away. I relaxed a bit. He was professional. Not a creep. And when I'd done what he said, he covered me with the same towel from neck down.