First Time

The sun crept into my room, casting a warm glow over the scattered remnants of yesterday. Sleep relinquished its hold on me, and as I stretched, my body unfurled like a cat, each muscle elongating with a satisfying ache. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee beckoned me from the kitchen. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, felt the cool floor beneath my feet, and shuffled to the coffee maker.

With each sip of the rich, dark liquid, my senses awakened. The taste was a comforting bitterness, a reminder that today was a new day, full of possibilities. I leaned against the counter, inhaling the steam, feeling it caress my face like a gentle morning mist.

After savoring the last drop, I decided that today I would finally indulge in something I had never tried before—a massage. I had heard whispers of a new parlor just a few blocks away, its reputation veiled in mystery and allure. I felt a curious thrill at the thought of experiencing it firsthand.

I dressed casually, the fabric of my clothes familiar against my skin but with a heightened awareness of the textures. Stepping outside, the city embraced me. The sun bathed the streets in golden light, and the air was imbued with the scent of blooming flowers and distant food stands. The sounds of the city were a symphony—a harmonious blend of honking cars, distant chatter, and the occasional bark of a dog.

The walk was invigorating. Each step brought me closer to an unknown adventure. The parlor came into view, its unassuming façade hiding the secrets within. I pushed open the door, and a bell chimed softly, announcing my arrival.

The interior was inviting, with walls adorned in soothing hues and soft, ambient music that seemed to whisper tranquility. The receptionist, a woman with kind eyes and a welcoming smile, greeted me. Her English was limited, but her demeanor conveyed warmth. She motioned for me to follow her down a dimly-lit corridor, the air growing warmer and more intimate.

She led me to a small, private room. The scent of essential oils—lavender, eucalyptus, and a hint of vanilla—permeated the air, wrapping around me like an invisible embrace. The room was simple but elegant, with a massage table draped in crisp white sheets and a few candles flickering in the corners.

She handed me a towel and gestured for me to undress. As I removed my clothes, my heart pounded with a mix of nervousness and excitement. I stood naked, feeling the cool air against my skin, every goosebump heightened by the anticipation of touch.

But I had a surprise. A long balloon, carefully wrapped in $60 bills, adorned my erection like a peculiar gift. It was my way of breaking the ice, a whimsical gesture meant to amuse. I attached a note to it, detailing my desires in simple, clear terms.

When she returned, her eyes widened in shock and surprise. Her gaze traveled from my face to the makeshift present adorning my penis, and she stifled a gasp. Her cheeks flushed a delicate pink. The corners of her mouth twitched as if resisting a smile, an unspoken acknowledgment of the absurdity and boldness of my gesture.

She approached me, her movements graceful and tentative. She took the note and read it, her brow furrowing as she deciphered my intentions. With a shy nod, she began. Her hands, soft and tentative at first, explored my body. The massage started with long, sweeping strokes that soothed my muscles and eased my tension.

Her lack of English created a barrier, but the language of touch transcended words. I guided her hands, gently placing them on my balls, showing her where I needed attention. Her fingers hesitated, then complied, kneading and caressing with increasing confidence.

The sensation was intoxicating, a blend of pleasure and relaxation that left me breathless. Her touch, though inexperienced, was filled with an earnest desire to please. I guided her further, showing her how to bring me to climax. She followed my lead, her movements becoming bolder and more assured.

The release came swiftly, a wave of intense pleasure that left me trembling. She looked at me with a mixture of pride and relief, her eyes reflecting a sense of accomplishment. I smiled at her, my gratitude evident in my expression.

Next time, I thought. Next time, I would ask for more. I wanted her to sit on my pelvis, to feel the weight and warmth of her body against mine, to delve deeper into the realm of physical connection and intimate touch.

I handed her more money, a tangible token of my appreciation. She accepted it with a nod, her eyes softening with a hint of admiration. She spoke in broken English, her words halting but sincere.

"You... very nice demeanor. Welcoming guy," she said, her voice gentle.

Her compliment warmed me, a soothing balm to my spirit. I dressed slowly, relishing the lingering sensations on my skin. As I left the parlor, the world outside seemed brighter, more vivid. The experience had left an indelible mark on me, a memory that would linger in the recesses of my mind, a tantalizing promise of more to come.