I
met Rick through an ad he placed in the "Personal Services"
section of the classifieds in the local alternative newspaper. His ad
was very brief and to the point: "Massage for men by Rick. Light
or deep touch," and gave his phone and license number. I called and
his voice was friendly, willing to explain that he did Swedish hot oil
massage for so much per hour. He told me that although he was already
licensed as a massage therapist, he was also studying to be certified
as a physical therapist at the local state university. He was doing massages
as a source of extra income to help put himself through high school.
If Rick seemed like a straightforward person, the directions to his place
(he worked out of his house) proved anything but. I got quite lost and
had to call him again from a gas station to orient myself. When I finally
got to his small rented house in the middle of town I was about half an
hour late. When he opened the door, I apologized. "It's okay, it's
a slow afternoon," he replied. "Come on in."
Rick was a tall and somewhat gangly man in his late twenties, I estimated,
with a long face, and dark hair that was beginning to thin out a bit.
Although not effusively friendly, he had a relaxed manner that put one
at ease and made him seem more attractive than perhaps he really was.
Of his physical condition, however, there was no doubt: in his white polo
shirt and khaki shorts he was trim and fit. He was not wearing shoes and
only white athletic socks were on his feet. The sight of his sinewy arms
and legs made me want to see more of his body ...
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