Just for fun, I thought I’d give you all a look inside the open-for-business doors of Big Boy Massage, in Chapter Two of SoulShares Number Six (working title: Flight of Fantasy)!
August 14, 2013
Perry tried to relax back into the plastic chair. It wasn’t really made for relaxing in, though; the only way to sit in it was to slouch, in a posture that showed off a hell of a lot of leg and pretty much screamed fuck me.
A low chuckle came from across the tiny waiting area. A man who looked like Idris Elba’s younger brother was draped across an identical chair, right under the plasma screen that cycled through the price list for all the forms of massage theoretically offered at Big Boy Massage. Perry knew he could handle the shiatsu and could fake Thai, but in the unlikely event a client wanted anything else on the menu, he was screwed.
Which was, of course, the idea.
“You must be the new guy.” Idris Junior’s voice was even sexier than his smile. “Don’t worry, we don’t stay in the chairs long once things get busy.”
Perry nodded. “Boss explained the system to me yesterday when he hired me.” And what a job interview that had been, with Perry still kitted out as Falcon and carrying his stiletto heels because he hadn’t wanted to run up the stairs from Purgatory in them. “Three boys working at once, max, with the fourth out here to keep an eye on the screen.” Big Boy Massage had four small massage rooms opening off the waiting area, one for the boss’ exclusive use when he was around and three for business, two of which were presently occupied. And each of the massage tables had a kick switch built into one leg that would light up a telltale on the plasma screen if the masseur was in trouble with a client. Classiest place he’d worked in years. Lochlann Doran wanted his boys to have each other’s backs.
Long-Dark-and-Chiseled nodded, then treated Perry to the sight of a luxurious stretch, all the way from fingers interlaced overhead to bare toes pointed and curled hard, the mesh muscle shirt and leather shorts in between doing little to deter speculation about what lay beneath. And leaving Perry feeling decidedly underdeveloped by comparison. Though he doubted his companion could rock a mermaid hemline the way he himself could. “Relax while you can, baby, pace yourself. Something tells me it’s gonna be a long night–”
The street door opened, closed.
Sweet six-pound-nine-ounce baby Jesus.
Perry sat straight up in the loathesome plastic chair, ignoring the way his ass complained, and stared. The newly-arrived client had to be at least six-five. The first things he noticed were eyes that reminded him of pictures he’d seen of glacier ice, an uncanny shade of blue. Looking into those eyes felt like grabbing on to a bare electrical wire, and when the guy shifted his gaze to Idris the Younger, Perry wanted nothing more than to grab the wire again.
But at least now he could look at the rest of the guy without anyone noticing him going slack-jawed and stupid. The client–my client, please God, I promise to be good for as long as I can stand it, just let him pick me–had hair so blond it was almost white, just long enough to show a little wave, and wore a denim jacket over a plain faded blue t-shirt and cutoff shorts.
Now the Adonis in denim was studying the menu. Perry caught himself holding his breath.
“Do you do shiatsu?”
He’s looking at me.
The blond’s smile, and his trace of an Irish accent, combined to make Perry’s shorts feel tight. “Anything else?”
“We can talk about that once we get started.” The standard answer. Letting the johns comparison shop in the lobby used up valuable time. Besides, Perry wanted to whisper the specials into this guy’s ear.
“Sounds good to me.”
Perry unfolded himself from the torture chair, and grinned as his co-worker gave him a surreptitious thumbs-up. Don’t wait up, he wanted to say.
He turned to oh my GOD he’s tall. His own five-eight was just right for Falcon’s five-inch stilettos, but looking up at six-five without them was going to give him a pain in the neck.
Good thing he wouldn’t be looking up much longer. Unless it was while he was lying on his back. That he could handle.
“Which room?” The blond’s hand closed gently around Perry’s upper arm.
Not protocol. But Perry was doing a whole lot of not caring about protocol, as a shiver ran the whole length of his body, driven by a shot of energy from that touch. It paid very special attention to his heart, which was suddenly hammering double-time. And his groin, which was also pounding, but in a very different way. What the hell?
“This way.” He was surprised he could speak. He concentrated on leading the blond to the empty massage room without tripping over his own feet, and on closing the door without sagging against it and trying to get his breath back.
I think I’m losing my mind. First night on the job, and I’m hyperventilating over Prince Charming.
By the time he trusted himself to look up again, the blond was sitting on the massage table, his sneakered feet just an inch or so from the floor. “Is this where I get naked?” His voice was surprisingly soft for a man his height, and there was an intimate quality to the softness that made Perry feel like he was being touched.
Which wasn’t the way it was supposed to work in a place like this. He touched the johns. They only touched him when he let them. That was why he preferred working in the massage parlors to freelancing.
“Not if all you want is shiatsu.” The blond god was sitting on the padded teak table with his knees apart , and Perry edged between them. Too close. But he wanted to be close. On his own terms. “So maybe it’s time we talked about that.”
Just the hint of a smile touched perfect lips; this close, Perry could see stubble. It would be soft, he knew. This guy was a natural blond, nothing out of a bottle. He could think of a lot of places he wanted whisker burn.
“You’re not a cop, right?”
Listening to the blond laugh was like knocking back really good sake. All you felt at first was the warm glow that spread out from your core, all the way to your fingertips. But you just knew that any second, your legs were going to give out on you.
“Do I look like a cop?” The blond glanced down. Perry did likewise, and was treated to the outline of an insistent erection straining against denim. “More to the point, does that look like a cop?”
“Well, now that you mention it, I wouldn’t mind a cavity search.” Perry hated the glibness of the words, given that he knew how sincere he was. Some clients, he’d shout hallelujah, come on, get happy if all they wanted was a quick hand-job. This one…
This one he wanted to walk out of Big Boy Massage with and stroll hand in hand back to the apartment he was going to be able to pay the rent on this month thanks to Lochlann, order a pizza, and see how much of the Kama Sutra the two of them could get through by sunrise. Which was insane.