Chapter 19: Snow Elves Get Down
When we got to the party later that week, the guys at the door took our invitations, but they didn’t even ask us for cameras, probably because it was clear to any onlooker that Kaitlyn and I weren’t carrying anything other than our gag gifts, which the men took and set on a side table.
This scene reminded me of the new program I have been developing for the TSA. It will allow advance boarding without submitting to a background investigation, microwave radiation, or a body cavity check. It will save the government billions of dollars, and it will be great for our civil liberties besides.
Ready? Okay, it works like this: Anyone choosing to participate simply strips naked at the ticket counter, packs the clothes they were wearing into one of their checked bags, hands their ticket to the counter clerk, and walks on the plane, the TSA inspection happening as the nude participant strolls past all of those waiting in line to be microwaved. At the destination, the participants pick up their luggage, dress, and leave the airport. All very civilized. It’s where the trends are going, isn’t it? It’ll probably reduce the amount of lost luggage besides through fear over the greater consequences of losing the luggage of a program participant. What’s not to like?
Anyway, where was I? Oh, right, Kaitlyn and I were standing there in the Alexanders’ foyer wearing the snow elf costumes we’d made from brick red and holly green fabric in alternating colors from top to bottom. Unlike our daily working wear, we’d tailored these body-paint tight.
Kaitlyn’s outfit started with a green Santa hat trimmed with some cream-colored faux fur we found at a fabric store. Below that she had on a brick red cropped cami, small enough to almost qualify as a bikini top, barely able to conceal a necklace along with her breasts. Her bottoms tonight used the exercise shorts pattern we’d come up with in holly green, tailored so tight that the pale hemp rope we used as a drawstring was a mere accent for practical purposes: they’d stay up even if we removed the rope entirely. Finally, we’d made her a set of brick red elf slippers, with pointed toes curled upwards.
My outfit was much the same except that my color scheme started with brick red at the top and alternated downward in the same way as Kaitlyn’s. I was going shirtless tonight, so to keep the alternating color theme going, we’d gone shopping for winter knit scarves and found one that matched our holly green fabric well enough.
Just before we’d left for the party, I’d stripped in Jess’ back yard, grown out my elf ears, and then commanded all of my body hair from the next down to detach. Kaitlyn then tastefully orchestrated the selective re-growth of that hair, giving me a precisely manscaped look, adjusted to her liking. After I’d done much the same for Kaitlyn, we snuck back into the house and lubed ourselves up like fitness magazine models.
That was the sum total of our outfits. We’d even done without coats, not wanting to ruin the first impression with an overcoat flash. Snow elves don’t wear coats! Not even at night in the middle of a northern Utah winter with a freezing wind rolling down from the Wasatch Mountains across the exurbs.
The doorman was rather more thorough with Jess & Vin, bundled up as they were. Who knew what all they could be carrying under there? They’d left all of their personal electronics in the car, knowing they’d be facing this sort of inspection, and neither willing to leave their preciousssesss in the impromptu coat check room off the foyer. (Gollum!)
Consequently, Kaitlyn and I were able to spend a little extra time chatting with Norman and Molly Alexander, who were at the archway between the high-ceilinged travertine-tiled foyer and the large room where the main part of the party would be held.
“Kaitlyn! Devindra!” greeted Molly. “We’ve got the tables all set up in the same two rooms as last time, but you’ve got time to enjoy the party first. The first drawing will be in, um,” she looked at her watch, “about half an hour.”
“Great, thanks for seeing to that!” Kaitlyn said gratefully. “I know I signed up for dragging that table around with me a lot when I got into this massage deal, but I’m happy to leave mine behind whenever possible!”
Molly acknowledged her thanks with a small bow, then took a half step back and looked us up and down, finally nodding in satisfaction. “I just love your costumes!”
“We’re snow elves,” I supplied with a smile, not knowing what else to say.
“Naughty snow elves!” my wife clarified.
Molly giggled, “Oooh, the ones Santa keeps hidden away to help him unwind in the cold months after Christmas, no doubt!”
“Our costumes are based on the uniforms we designed for use in our therapy practice,” Kaitlyn put in. “We’ve actually got several designs in varying styles, but these are the ones we hope to use most often, clients-willing.”
“Oooh, so daring!” Molly cooed.
“It’ll save us an outfit change per client, since we’ll be able to get through most massages without getting any on the cloth,” I pointed out.
“Most sensible,” boomed Norman, “and sexy to boot! That’s good business sense there, lad!”
The goons let Jess and Vin pass, so they sidled up into our group, and the Alexanders graciously turned their attention to them for a time.
Molly was about to turn back to us and usher us into the party when her gaze locked on Kaitlyn; she broke into a sudden squee, “Pointy ears! Oooh, you two have gone all out, haven’t you?”
Kaitlyn smiled back at her in appreciation, saying, “We try.” Then she darted her eyes around the foyer to check for eavesdroppers and leaned in close to Molly, asking, “Hey, um, are we on for a repeat of the Halloween party’s finale this time?”
“Oh, I certainly hope so!” gushed Molly.
“You two are miracle workers,” confided Norman. “We definitely want a repeat performance!”
Kaitlyn and I wandered through the party, standing out amongst the nattily clad guests yet fitting in even so. A lot of those here knew us from the last time, so they knew why we were dressed this way, and the rest just thought we were part of the entertainment, which was true enough.
We were out in the main room when the first massage prize drawing was held, so we each went to meet the winners and took them back to the rooms we’d used before.
Instead of low spooky candlelight and cobwebs, my massage room tonight was done up like the inside of a cartoon igloo, dominated by a translucent white room-spanning dome, back-painted with faux ice block crevices, and backlit by white LEDs to give a cool diffuse light to the overall scene. Suddenly the scene inverted for me, and I realized that I’d be working inside a photographer’s softbox tonight!
Around the edge at waist height they’d placed a series of small brass lanterns with orange LED lighting inside, color-balancing the temperature somewhat, making it feel warmer than it would have with the cool blue light alone.
I next realized that the room was in fact warm, heated for the comfort of nude occupants. Clearly the Alexanders had learned a few lessons from the last party!
I’d drawn a chubby woman in her 30s wearing an ironic ugly sweater depicting a stereotypical snowman except that the carrot had been relocated to his crotch. Judging by this display of ribald humor, I decided there was a good chance she’d choose to take the massage naked, but I gave her my standard spiel regardless. “Congratulations, madam, you’re welcome to undress to your level of comfort behind that screen over there. There’s a towel hanging over the screen for you to use.” I then decided to use the extended patter Kaitlyn and I planned to use in our professional practice after we got our licenses, adding, “You may ask me to change my outfit for your comfort as well. There’s a full-length set of scrubs over there for me if this,” I waved at my snow elf outfit, “offends.”
“And if I want you to wear less?” she enquired.
“In a professional engagement, I’d have to decline, but tonight I’m here doing this for fun and practice, so I left the stuffy rules out in the car. I will be guided by your wishes,” I said in my best professional voice.
“What do you mean, ‘practice’?”
“My wife and I are up here in the area going to massage therapy school. We won’t be stepping into any of the more adventurous forms of massage, just entry level basic stuff, well within our capabilities as students of the art.”
“Your wife…is she the cute elf?”
I grinned and said, “Oh, yes, she’s very cute, and I’m lucky to have her. She’s in the next room right now. You must have seen her escort the first winner away.”
“Yeah, I did.” Then she got an uncomfortable look on her face and said, “You said you’d dress to conform to my wishes, but I didn’t know you were married…”
Intuiting the reason for her unease, I said, “If you’re deciding whether to ask me to take this skimpy elf costume off, I will be happy to do that if that’s what you would like. I’m a bit of a part-time nudist, in fact, as is my wife,” I informed her.
She wrestled with the dilemma for a bit, then demanded, “All right, off with ’em, elf!” as she began to strip right in the middle of the room beside the massage table.
I smiled and accommodated my client’s wishes, finishing well before she did as I was wearing quite a bit less than she was: just two elf slippers, the tight-fitted shorts, my scarf, and a Santa hat. I turned to help her undress. I unclasped her brassiere for her, knelt to remove her shoes and stockings, then put everything neatly on a credenza as she lay face down on the massage table.
She’d gotten naked so quickly that I wondered if she’d heard stories from the prior party.
I found a special oil heating on the side table, infusing the room with a light peppermint scent. I tried it on my skin and it produced a cool tingly feeling. I was pretty sure our clients were going to love this stuff.
“Oooh, that feels amazing!” cooed my first client as I began to spread a generous amount over her well-padded torso, then began to massage it into her back, shoulders, flanks, arms, buttocks, and the backs of her legs. As I made each pass over it with my hands, it drew a fresh breeze across the cooling mint oil, creating a delicious frisson in my client, though not a shiver, the room being warm enough that clothing was unnecessary.
I flipped my client over, got her well lubed and was beginning the standard rub-down when she told me, “I was at the last party, you know,” with a shy smile on her face. “Halloween,” she clarified. I just nodded at her and continued the massage, gratified that she’d confirmed my earlier guess. “That woman in the solarium… I could never do that, but could you…please?”
“I did tell you I left the stuffy professional rules out in the cold, didn’t I?” I said in my best servant’s voice.
“Oh, I hope so,” she replied, spreading her legs and lifting her knees.
It was then that I realized I might have a problem. What would this minty stuff feel like up her hoo-hah?
I looked around and saw a second bowl of oil warming on the side table, bent down to sniff it, and was relieved to find that it was regular mineral oil. I wiped my forefinger off on a towel, then doused that finger in the plain oil hoping to at least dilute the peppermint oil. I returned to my client and began rubbing her vaginal vestibule, ready to back off and douse the area in regular oil if she complained of any kind of burning sensation. I didn’t know how strongly they’d mixed the peppermint oil with the regular sort.
“Ooooh, that tingles! It’s so nice!” she cooed.
“Would you like to try an experiment?” I asked.
“Well, this stuff is dilute, mostly regular oil, not the minty stuff I used on the rest of your body. I’ve never tried the other stuff…up there, but maybe you’d like to try the full-strength version? Just in a little patch at first?”
“I’m game,” she said with a smile, so I rubbed my finger around on her belly, eliciting a giggle, then slid it slowly an inch into her passage and she nearly orgasmed on it right there. “Oh my g-g-goooooddddd!” she exclaimed. “Gimme more!”
I went back to the peppermint oil bowl and dipped a finger in the stuff, wiped it off a bit on the bowl edge, then returned and slowly slipped my digit inside her. “Oh, that’s frickin’ awesome! Finger me, you naughty elf! Finger me!”
And so I did.
“Ghhhahh! Ayayyahhhh! Ohwowowowowow! Geeeyahhh!!! Arrrrrrrrrrrgggggggyeeeah!” she yelled, her vaginal muscles clamping rhythmically on my tingling finger.
I slid my finger out and resumed rubbing the minty oil into her skin as she cooled down.
“Oh, my lovely elf… What do I call you, anyway? We’ve shared so much, it feels wrong not to use your name,” she giggled.
“Davie,” I supplied.
“Davie, I believe I owe you something. At least accept a tip,” and she kissed my glans hanging flaccidly before her. Then she looked consternated. “You aren’t hard! Surely you found that at least somewhat arousing? You’re here with a woman, so I know you’re not gay… You don’t find me ugly, do you?” She looked really hurt at the last, probably from a lifetime of being disrespected for her weight.
“I’m quite straight, and I have thoroughly enjoyed massaging you, but what I do here tonight is for your enjoyment, not mine.”
This was a small white lie. Closer to the truth is that I only felt my efforts a success if my clients got more enjoyment out of it than I did, but I won’t claim to be an ascetic, gleaning no joy out of it myself. I finished it with the straight truth, “I’m consciously keeping myself under control as a result.”
“What if part of my enjoyment is for you to enjoy yourself, too?” she cooed, stroking lightly at my length.
That created a dilemma. I wasn’t being paid, so this wouldn’t be prostitution, but I was married, and I had no compelling reason to bed this woman as I’d done with Mary. I’d surely increase her joy if I did, but what would it do to Kaitlyn?
I finally spoke, “How about I split the difference and tongue you to another orgasm?”
“You’d enjoy that?” she asked doubtfully.
“I most assuredly would.”
“Then you have your marching orders, elf!” she said in a mock stern manner.
I pulled her to the foot of the massage table, easily done with the sheet trapped between her oil-sticky back and the slick vinyl padding of the table, hooked her legs over my shoulders, and began to lick carefully around her upper thighs, over her mons pubis, down past her labia majora, circling the target with my teasing tongue. As I zeroed in, my tongue began to tingle.
The oil, I realized!
As I was wrapping up my tease, I heard a characteristically rhythmic series of thumps begin from the room next door. This gave me pause, but I decided we’d sort it out later.
I assume my client heard this as well, but I pushed it out of her consideration by tickling gently over her little button for the first time, causing a sharp inward breath, held in as I went a-roaming from there through her vaginal vestibule, between her inner and outer labia, and then back up across her button, increasing my tempo as her exhalations became increasingly explosive and her moans increased in volume.
I continued tonguing my client, now rubbing her g-spot with two fingertips while I tongue-tickled her clit, rapidly shooting her off into a thunderous orgasm.
“Eeeeeyyyeeeeeaaaaiiiiigggh!” she squealed as the spasms shook her core and tightened her quads.
She shook and squirmed so hard that if I hadn’t had control over her legs, still hooked over my shoulders, my left arm wrapped around one thigh, she might’ve fallen off the table!
After her breathing calmed and I’d helped her sit, she said, “Oh, my goodness, Davie! That was amazing. I’m an experienced woman, but you set a new record for me there!”
It was at this point that I thanked Gaia once again for making me a nature mage. I took a quick magical inventory of my mouth and throat and was relieved not to find any little infectious beasties. Whew!
The round little woman went on blithely, “I must see you again sometime!” Then she realized what she’d implied, “I mean professionally! I mean I’d love to be with… Oh! I think I’ll just shut up now.” She had her hand over her eyes, mien downward by the end.
I sat down on the table beside her, separated by half a foot or so, and said in my best guru’s soothing voice, “Relax, all is well. When my wife and I get our licenses, we will be opening a practice in Moab. If you are ever in the area, come by; we would love to see you again. Under that professional banner, we will not be able to go as far as we did tonight, but I think we can still make you feel amazing.” Then I rubbed her back with a smooth therapeutic stroke, knowing just how to do it from my training, knowing also that it would comfort her, ease her tension.
She looked up at me, then rolled up onto one hip and stretched to kiss me on my cheek. “You’re so sweet, Davie. I don’t know if I’ll ever get down there… I’m a city girl, but you tempt me, you do.” Then she hopped down off the table, and I began helping her back into her clothes.
She waited for me to dress myself, whether out of kindness or because she wanted to see a reverse strip tease before she left, I do not know, but she left without another word.
I gave the woman enough time to get away, sensing she wanted some space. In the time I spent waiting, I realized that the thumping had stopped. It hadn’t gone on very long. That made me worry. Had something happened to Kaitlyn‽
I darted for the door, opened it, and saw my wife exiting her room at the same time. Calming myself, not wanting her to know I’d just panicked, I said as smoothly as I could manage, “Are you going to have a story to tell me tonight?”
“Yes. Are you?” she challenged.
“In fact, yes I am. It’ll keep?” I asked.
“Yes. All is well, my love.”
I didn’t see her client leave. Apparently he’d left ahead of Kaitlyn, as mine had done with me.
“Hi, my name’s Kaitlyn,” I told my first client of the night, gesturing him inside the room. They’d done it up like an igloo straight out of a Disney movie. How cuuute!
I latched the door closed and continued, “You may undress to your level of comfort. There’s a dressing screen and towel there in the corner for your use. You may also ask me to dress to your level of comfort in turn.”
The Latin Adonis I’d drawn looked my scantily-clad body up and down hungrily, then said, “Joo will dress any way I like?”
“Well, any way I can with what I have here, yes. I’ve got some full-coverage scrubs in that bag over there,” I said, pointing, “or I could take something off if you think I’m overdressed for the occasion.”
As I studied the man, watching him internally debate the options I’d given him, doubtless weighing them against perhaps 30 years of acculturation, I saw that he was now quite hard.
“Off with it. All of it,” he said quietly yet firmly.
He didn’t take a move to retreat behind the screen, so I just began removing my snow elf outfit, drawing it out into a brief show, swaying and rolling my shoulders and hips. I only had five pieces of clothing on, and then only if I counted the slippers separately, but I drew the show out to about a minute rather than the five seconds it’d have taken me if I’d been in a hurry.
“You’re looking tenser, not more comfortable,” I teased. “Maybe you should strip off as well. That might help,” I invited coyly. “Here, let me help you.”
He hadn’t made a move yet, so I slowly walked up to him, then began unbuttoning his red silk dress shirt, which he wore with the top button undone, no tie. When it was fully undone, I ran my hand up his front, saying softly, “There now, aren’t you feeling more relaxed?”
He stayed silent, so I slipped his shirt off wordlessly, then knelt before him and unhooked his belt buckle and unclasped his black dress slacks, then looked up into his eyes, checking for an objection before continuing to the zipper, sliding it down, brushing along his stiff length inside the pants, drawing a low throaty, “Mmmmm,” from him.
Still he said nothing, so I slipped his pants down, cupped my hands around the heel of one shoe, and he took the hint, stepping out of it and the pant leg on that side. We did the other side, leaving my Adonis in a pair of red silk boxers and thin red dress socks.
“Did you want to stop here?” I asked solicitously up at my client from my knees. He just shook his head ‘no,’ so I slipped the boxers down, releasing his stiff cock with a spring, and he stepped out of them, his stylin’ red dress socks now the only things he had on. I folded his clothing up neatly, placing most of it on a side table, hanging his shirt on a coat rack in the corner behind the dressing screen.
Deciding that I liked my Latin Adonis in only his socks, I bade him, “Please lay face down on the table,” and he did so, never breaking his gaze at me, even putting his head up on his hands to look sideways at me from the table.
“It looks like we have two kinds of oil tonight, the peppermint you can smell in the air and the sort we normally use.”
“No mint,” he said, his accent making it sound like “meent.”
As I proceeded to massage him with the unscented mineral oil, his head moved to track me, but his hands stayed on the table beside his body. I could feel the tension leaking out from it except in one place: I could see the bulging base of his erection behind his balls.
Several times I closed his eyes in delight, but they shortly re-opened to resume tracking my movements around the table. This was starting to tip over from flattering to annoying, so I decided to move to the one place he couldn’t look: I climbed up onto the table, lubed up my pelvic area, and then began sliding up and down on his back, my hands moving in time along his shoulders and upper arms. His very nice shoulders and upper arms. And oooh how my lower lips tingled as I stroked them along his lower back, his buns, his clenching buns!
‘Stop it, Kate-girl, you’re a married woman!’ I scolded myself, then climbed back down.
“Please turn over,” I said to my client, managing to keep my voice steady.
His cock remained as stiff as before, and I knew I wasn’t helping, assuming he was even trying to make it go down.
I resumed the massage, his smile broader now.
“Excuse me, this oil is a bit uneven,” I said, not knowing exactly why, but I began running my hands up and down my body to his increasing delight, adding oil to my belly, chest, and thighs. “That’s better,” I said.
“¡Que bonita!” he breathed, his first words to me tonight since asking me to undress in front of him.
I just resumed work on his front, occasionally seeing his hands tremble, clearly wanting to touch me, but held in self-restraint.
As our session came toward a close, I asked him quietly, still astride his body, “Is there any other part of your body that needs special attention?”
His eyes slid off my face, staring up at the faux igloo dome, his face creased with internal debate.
After waiting a few seconds for an answer, I began sliding back and forth across his chest, snapping his eyes back down to my body. Then I slid further down and across his cock, my pussy lips frotting its underside.
“Ngggghhh!” he groaned through this latest pass.
“Is this the problem part? Oh, I am such a naughty elf, I didn’t massage this yet, did I‽ I’d better get it done before Santa finds out and punishes me!”
Then I slipped back and forth across it a few more times and asked, “Maybe you’d prefer a more complete massage instead? An all-around massage?”
He nodded vigorously. “Please. Oh, díos, please!”
I nodded back and slipped him inside me, just the tip, looking for an objection and finding only desire, so I slipped it the rest of the way in.
“¡Oh, sí, mi bonita, sí!” he exhaled, so I began bouncing slowly on his cock, massaging it all up and down its length as my hands slipped up and down his rippled chest and belly. Shortly, I lost myself and began moving completely to my own internal needs, bouncing faster and faster, losing all sense of anything but the pulsing radiation from my core to my extremities.
He tried to stay quiet, so that the bouncing of the table legs on the hardwood under the room’s carpet was the loudest sound until he let out a groan, thrusting his pelvis up off the table, lifting me up almost off my knees with it, “¡Aaaaiii díos!” he grunted. I felt his warm wetness pulsing inside me, and I just accepted it.
As rationality began to creep back into my brain, I resumed the massage of his chest, belly, and upper thighs, still mounted on his softening pole, my eyes closed. Perhaps he saw it as postcoital bliss, but I was now concentrating. I was close enough to ovulation to be concerned with getting pregnant by this stranger, so I studied my body from the inside, found the egg that was poised to drop next, and zapped it. Problem solved. I dearly love being a nature mage!
I was smiling when my eyes came open, and I saw a question on my client’s face.
“Did joo come?” he asked me quietly.
I shook my head gently. “No, but this session is about you and your needs. So, what else have we missed tonight?”
He didn’t say anything, so I slid backwards and let his limp cock slide out, clamping my muscles onto his load to avoid making a mess for my hosts to clean up.
That gave me an idea. “Oh, we’ve got a bit of a mess here, I see,” looking at his semen-soaked snake. I looked into his eyes, then slid off the table and leaned forward across its length and licked his penis clean, closing his eyes in delight again. “All better now,” I said as I stood straight once again.
I left him lying there, bare but for his socks, taking the opportunity to discretely wipe myself off with the tissues I found in a box on a side table.
“Will that be all, then?” I asked soothingly.
“¡Oh sí, eso es más que suficiente!” he breathed abstractedly, then mastered his lassitude, getting up and walking quietly behind the dressing curtain. My how his buns flexed! So yummy!
As he quietly re-dressed behind the screen, I did so myself, then began working the oil into my skin while waiting for him to reemerge.
“That was wonderful, mi bonita!” he said from behind the curtain, emerging shortly afterward. “You have a Latina look, but the orange hair…?”
I explained, “My dad’s Mexican, and my mom’s Irish.”
“Oh, such a lovely combinación!” he murmured, hands on my shoulders, studying the blend closely.
“My husband certainly thinks so,” I said with a small smirk. His hands immediately tensed on my shoulders, so I took pity on him. “Relax. I chose this, and I will deal with any consequences. That’s a command from your masseuse, all right? Relax! There’s no point in you going off all tense after a massage, now is there?”
“No, I suppose there is not,” he agreed wryly in an accent I’d decided to peg as Venezuelan.
I pulled his head down and kissed him on the cheek. “Buenas noches, señor. Enjoy the party!” Then I slipped gracefully around to his side, placed my hand on his back, and guided him to the door.
He took the hint and left me to clean the room up for the next client.
‘Kaitlyn, what are we going to tell Davie?’ I asked myself. No answer came ready to mind. It’d just seemed like the right thing at the time. I hoped he’d see it that way, too.
We found Vin and Jess out in the party, dancing like fools, so Kaitlyn dragged me onto the dance floor and we proceeded to make even bigger fools of ourselves. We didn’t have ready access to the power of Gaia on this lacquered and processed parquet floor, but I was able to trickle enough into my limbs from my reserves to keep from being too fumble-footed.
When we’d had enough, we took a quick walk outside, wordlessly agreeing to recharge. We kicked our pointed and curled-toe slippers off onto the patio and walked through the snow-covered grass to the amusement of a few smokers creating stinky orange glow-bugs in the dark there with us. There was enough light spilling through the house’s rear windows to light our nearly-nude bodies up, and some of them must have noticed we were barefoot as well, but no one actually said anything. There were some pretty wide grins from them as we walked back inside, fully recharged.
“I love you, Davie,” she said to me as we crossed the threshold.
“I know, my love. You are my treasure,” I returned, pulling her into an embrace. I kissed her soundly under the mistletoe hung there, and she returned it.
We wiped our cold feet on the rug inside the door, then got back into our thin slippers just in time to catch the second massage prize drawing.
I drew an uptight-looking businesswoman this time. Classic C-suite material: slender, wearing a power suit that probably cost more than my full suspension mountain bike, a severely serious look on her face, ready to prove she’s twice the man you are no matter how little arm hair she has, and fully prepared to send you flying across the room with a Krav Maga throw without straining her pencil skirt’s stitching if you refuse to believe her when she tells you this, straight-faced. I’d have to approach this one carefully.
“Madam, this way, please?” I bade her, full courtesy on display.
I gave her the standard spiel about the dressing screen and towel, but she just looked at me like I was impugning her dignity to suggest that she might be shy or modest, then began undressing in the middle of the room like my first client had.
I did not offer to dress or undress to her level of comfort. I decided she’d tell me what my level of comfort was, and I’d like it.
Consequently, I was ready to take her jacket when she removed it, to hang it on the coat rack the Alexanders had thoughtfully provided, but she gave me a stare as icy as the house’s gutters and then set it on a side table. Taking the hint, I turned and began to get prepared.
When I heard her climb onto the table, I turned in place and said, “We have two oils tonight, the minty one you can smell and the regular mineral oil. My prior client greatly enjoyed the minty oil.”
“Yes, I know Cynthia,” the woman sighed dismissively. I hadn’t known the little round woman’s name. The severe woman continued, “She would like something fru-fru like that. Give me the straight stuff.”
I have my moments of submissiveness, but I have my limits. There’s only so much of that I can put up with before my male dominance reasserts itself. If I don’t keep an eye on it, it can do so rather strongly, so I decided I needed to take a slice of control, to meet this woman strength for strength. I decided I had to curl her toes with this massage without doing anything overtly sexual.
I therefore decided to cheat.
I slipped off my elf shoes, not because it would help me to contact Gaia here inside the house, but as a constant reminder of the current situation. I slipped into a trance and began to lube the woman’s bared backside up, scalp-line to soles, exploring her inner body magically, watching it react to my strokes, becoming one with her reactions, her breathing, her long muscle contractions, her subvocalizations. She gave me nothing overt, but I learned plenty from her on that initial pass, and I capitalized on it through the first half of the massage. I fairly had her purring by the end.
Then I asked her to flip over, and we repeated the procedure.
I treated her front professionally, staying away from her groin entirely and avoided her breasts until she gave verbal assent, then stayed away from the nipples until she barked, “Nipples, too,” in a tone that suggested she’d caught me malingering, and she was having none of it.
About halfway through her front, while working on her shins, she actually gave me a groan of pleasure. My mage senses told me they were sore before I touched them, probably from wearing high heels for 10–12 hours a day like a ninny, so I quickly worked my way down to her feet and gave them extra attention until I felt her finally relax.
If she could have flowed out over the edges of the table into a puddle on the floor, she would have by the end of that massage.
When I said time was up, she sat up, swung her legs over the edge of the table, and stood as smooth and stiff as C–3PO, and I knew it wasn’t because I’d failed to loosen her up with my work. She held herself with the same imperious air she’d had when we’d met at the prize drawing stage despite her nudity and addressed me thus: “Molly tells me you will be practicing in Moab beginning this spring. We will be having a company retreat there in May. You will be ready for us.”
Then she quickly and silently dressed, setting a business card on the side table as she went out the door without another word.
Holy shitballs, Batman.
I emerged from the room some time later. I was not hiding like a scared rabbit. Not! Not, I tell you!
Shut up, you.
Anyway, when I emerged, I listened briefly at Kaitlyn’s door and heard movement inside, so I went down the hallway towards the party far enough for discretion yet not so far as to be out of sight and waited for her to emerge. She did shortly, and I hugged her tightly when she got out. “I was almost eaten.”
“Sounds kinky,” she joked.
“Tell that to the guy stirring the stewpot,” I returned in a low serious voice, then escorted her back out to the dance floor, asking, “How about yours?”
“Oh, it was a lovely session, a happy tale, but it can wait for tonight,” she replied, and I gave her a squeeze.
I was being pursued down the hallway. Thump, pat-pat. Thump, pat-pat. Thump, pat-pat!
No, it wasn’t some horrid demon beast, it was a man in an orthopedic boot, my second client for the night, hobbling after me as best he could. I’d gotten ahead of him not only to show him to the room but also wanting to have the door wide open for him by the time he got there.
He smiled at me gratefully as he passed with a Thump, pat-pat! He sat with a groan onto the massage table, rotated himself flat atop it, then closed his eyes. “It was my wife that put my name into the drawing. I wouldn’t inflict myself on you in this condition, I assure you.”
I shook my head in negation, then realizing his eyes were still closed, I said aloud, “The way I see it, you’re in special need of a massage. Just you relax and I’ll see to you, all right? What happened, anyway?”
“Skiing,” he groaned, eyes still shut.
“Ah,” I said, not wishing to press him any further.
I closed the door quietly, then began stripping him as efficiently as I could manage, he lifting with a grunt occasionally to help me get a piece off. Once I’d gotten him down to his boxers and the fiberglass cast, I asked, “May I take these off, too?” waving at his undershorts.
“That’ll be pretty difficult; trust me on this,” he said morosely.
“It’ll help me work,” I pointed out.
“Well, all right, then,” he acceded, then lifted himself into a low one-legged pelvic tilt pose with his good leg.
I quickly slipped his boxers down, then asked, “Would you like a towel?” as he lowered his butt to the table again.
He just shut his eyes and sighed, so I said, “I think I’d best begin. Just you relax, all right?”
I think he’d have been content to just lay there and recover, maybe even sleep. I thought briefly, then decided I needed to get naked. If anyone needed magical healing, this guy did, and I couldn’t do that while dressed. It’d be tricky enough controlling my power to get the healing done from purely internal reserves while not letting it drain out of my feet. Doing it clothed would be outright impossible for me.
I slipped out of my brief clothes, then began oiling the man up, using the action as cover for an internal physical examination. Obviously his leg was in pain, but I found two other sources of problems that were obvious in retrospect. First, he was tortured with itching under the cast, and second, his shoulders were a sore wreck from supporting his weight on the crutches.
I went after the shoulders first, as that was the most immediate acute problem. It was in that pose that his eyes reopened for the first time in minutes, greeted by my dangling breasts, inches from his eyes.
“You’re topless!” he said, surprised.
“Actually, I’m naked. I hope it doesn’t offend you, because I do better work this way.”
“Seriously?” he asked, looking stunned.
“Seriously,” I replied with as much certainty as I could manage. “Now relax and let me work.”
“My shoulders feel wonderful already,” he replied. Then after a few seconds, he said, “Um, should I close my eyes?”
“Not if you don’t want to,” I replied casually.
“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he offered uneasily.
“I get to see you naked,” I pointed out. “Fair’s fair, right?”
“I’m pretty sure that’s not how the orthopedist felt when he inflicted this damned cast on me,” he said with a small smile.
“Well, I’m a different sort of healer,” I replied seriously.
“You certainly are that,” he breathed, still watching my wobbling breasts as I stroked around his overstrained shoulders, infusing a trickle of power to help them re-heal. It wasn’t a difficult healing, just pushing his body to do what it already wanted to do a little faster than it otherwise could.
I then casually stepped around the side of the table, bringing my bush into his view for the first time, stroking along his injured leg.
“Careful with the oil,” he cautioned. “It’s not an old-style plaster cast, so I can shower with it, but I think letting it get oily will be bad.”
“I will be careful,” I assured him, “but I’ve got to work out this itching here.”
“On the crutches you’ll find a round-tipped plastic scratching stick strapped to the center post. Would you please…?” trailing off at the end.
“Sure.” I turned and felt his doubly-grateful gaze on my butt, retrieved the scratching stick, and slipped it carefully under his cast. As I moved the stick up and down, I slid a tendril of power along his skin to soothe the itching. It was tricky work, staying away from the synthetic cast and stick materials, but I was targeting his all natural skin, so it worked out well enough.
He clearly misunderstood what was happening, because he groaned, “Oh, wow, you’re goooood at that stick! You’ve had practice at it?”
“Um, let’s just say that it’s all the same to the healing art,” I offered, expecting him to attribute the results to my massage skill.
While I worked, I got ambitious. I delved down into the leg and saw the healing break in his tibia. I still had about half of my power reserve left. Could I? Why not? I pushed the rest of my power into his leg along the simple fracture and saw it close up a bit. The man’s face slackened noticeably in relief.
“You are amazing!” he breathed.
“My husband likes my ass, too,” I joked.
“I mean the way you’re using that stick…” he tried to explain.
“Yes, he likes how I work his stick, too!” I continued with the tease.
“I mean…!” he interjected, failing to find the words.
“Relax, I’m just playing,” I said with a smile, adding a soothing stroke over his thigh, easing his tension. “You’re welcome. Now let’s see about getting you flipped over.”
He turned over with what was surprising ease to him. “Wow, you’ve really loosened me up!”
“You’ll be twice as loose when I’m finished here,” I told him, then helped him complete the turn.
He looked torn between continuing to watch me and putting his face down into the hole in the table provided for the purpose, so I deftly guided it down and in under cover of working on the back of his neck. He didn’t resist me, and I took his mind off my body quickly, finishing off my work on his shoulders and neck.
I gave him a quick back rub and then massaged his buns and upper thighs for a while, then checked a small clock the Alexanders had placed in the room to help us with our schedule.
“Time to get up,” I prompted him, then helped him to sit. I handed him his shirt, then slipped his boxers and pants up his legs while he got that on. I helped him down off the table, and we slid his drawers up and got things re-fastened. I saw him begin to stiffen as he fastened things up, looking away from me.
“It’s okay to look,” I told him. “I like being watched.”
“I certainly do like to watch,” he murmured.
Then I turned from him, fetched his lone sock and shoe, and helped him get them on, then helped him strap the orthopedic boot on over the cast.
I turned again to fetch his crutches, catching him staring at my butt when I spun with them in hand. His eyes shot up to my face, seeing it split in a broad grin. He smiled back sheepishly.
I then helped him to the door, opening it for him.
When he was in the hall, he asked, “Aren’t you getting dressed?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” I replied cheekily. “Enjoy the party!”
“Oh, you’ve absolutely helped with that, not just here in this room, but I don’t think I’ll be leaving halfway through like I’d planned to now. Thank you ever so much!”
“Good night!” I said, then turned to find my clothes, leaving the door open. He stayed there in the hallway and watched me re-dress, and I let him, giving him a nice reverse strip-tease. “Shoo!” I scolded after I’d pulled the cropped cami over my head.
He smiled and hobbled on down the hallway.
No one had come by and seen why the man was staring into an open room’s doorway. I didn’t know if I was upset or relieved at that.
We danced through several songs, got a plateful of nosh each and had half a glass of something lovely down when Molly Alexander stepped onto the portable stage again and tapped the microphone a few times to draw the crowd’s attention.
I quickly downed the rest of my drink, inferring that we were back on for our third massage of the night, and I turned out to be right. My winner was a female Santa. This was going to be interesting.
“Good evening, Ms. Claus. This way, please,” I bade her in my most obsequious tone.
She grinned broadly at me and followed silently.
I gave her the spiel, which she waited patiently through, then asked, “Are you one of my North Pole elves?” She was looking pointedly at my, ah, pointed ears.
“That depends. Do you have naughty elves, Ms. Claus?”
“Oh, I most certainly do, and I can see that you are a very naughty elf. Being such a very good person myself, I cannot possibly guess what a naughty elf might do to me,” she said in a falsetto of faux fear.
I thought briefly, decided on my action plan, and began executing it.
“The first thing a naughty elf would do is undress you completely.” I paused briefly, just long enough for her to object, then began slowly unbuttoning her red fur-lined coat, watching her eyes as much as I could consonant with completing my task, waiting for any sign of resistance, of hesitation, but none came.
I took the coat to the coat rack, hung it up neatly, then came back for the next piece, but she said, “I think a naughty elf would take off a piece of clothing of his own next. And he wouldn’t hang it up, he’d fling it into a corner of the room.”
Deciding to take the improv path with this exchange, I said, “I was going to suggest the very thing.” Since I had only four pieces of clothing on at the moment, I cheekily pulled one leg up into a loose tree pose, removed the slipper, and tossed it back over my shoulder, then returned my foot gracefully to the ground, using my bicyclist’s muscles to make the movement as smooth as a dancer might do it. One that was a bit out of practice, perhaps, but elegant enough nevertheless.
“Now, Ms. Claus, it is time for me to remove something else of yours. I think the boots must come next. Yes, those and the socks.” Then I knelt and gingerly removed her footwear, supporting her balance by the calf. Not a dancer or bicyclist, I could tell from this.
Then I rose and tossed my second slipper over my other shoulder. “There, now we’re even, Ms. Claus!” I said happily, eyeing her up and down. “I suppose your pants must go next, Ms. Claus. Yes, off with them!” I decreed. She did it herself, unbuckling the wide belt and letting the baggy pants fall to the floor with a clunk of the buckle. She stepped out of them, displaying red-and-white candy-cane patterned cotton panties. Oh how that pushed my buttons!
She saw me looking and smiled knowingly down at me as I gathered up the pants and flounced over to the coat rack in a way I imagined a naughty elf might, then hung the pants up beside her red fur-trimmed coat.
“Are you feeling naughty now, Ms. Claus? Just a little bit?” I teased.
“Yes, I’m afraid you are corrupting me, you naughty elf,” she replied breathily.
“Maybe you’d like to select the next piece to go, then?” I suggested. There were only two left, the hat and my shorts. I wanted her to choose which it’d be.
She pointed at the shorts, and then said, “Leave the hat on. I think men in floppy conical hats are soooo sexy!” she cooed so ostentatiously that I almost busted out laughing, but I kept it to a broad smile. “The scarf, too; keep that.”
“Yes, ma’am. Did you want to do it yourself, or would you prefer that I remove these naughty elf shorts? Mind, there’s nothing under them but me,” I warned, wanting her to be clear on the consequences of her selection.
“Oooh, I think I will remove them myself, now that you ask.” Then she knelt before me and slowly, slowly, slowly tugged them down, intentionally focusing most of the force on the back, so that the front gave way last. My flaccid seven and a half inches was dangling before her, perhaps five inches long in that state, doing me proud enough in the warm room. Thank goodness we hadn’t done this outside in the snow!
“Awww, I was hoping to discover your South Pole,” pouted the North Pole’s emissary.
“I’m an Indian naughty elf, Ms. Claus; that’s not my pole, that’s my trunk!” And I mimicked a bull elephant’s call, swaying backwards and squeezing my pubococcygeus muscle to make my ‘trunk’ rear up for her.
American kids learn to mimic horses and cows, Indian kids learn to mimic elephants. Way it is.
“Most amusing, Mr. Elf, but I was hoping for something stiffer,” continuing the pout.
“It could be stiff, if that’s how you wanted it, but this session is for your enjoyment, so we can now proceed to the massage if you’re done playing with this naughty elf,” I offered.
She was still kneeling before me in her white tunic and candy-striped panties, her gaze slowly moving between my face and my dangling member, trying to make up her mind. Was I playing with her? Was I serious about erecting myself on command? Was I backing out of our game?
Then she stood and said, “I think you aren’t done playing with me yet. What comes off next?” she asked.
“Definitely the tunic,” and she wordlessly raised her arms and let me slip it off her. I flounced once again to the coat rack — in nothing but my hat and scarf now — and hung her top neatly there.
When I turned, she had her back to me and was looking over her shoulder. “I need a little help with the bra, my naughty elf.”
“Of course, Ms. Claus.” I slid the backs of my fingers gently up her spine, underneath the bra strap, making her shiver slightly. Her chin came down to her shoulder, her eyes closed, and she gave a small pleased “mmph” sound.
I took the bra to the coat rack, hanging it neatly by both straps, turning once again to see she had held her position, except that her arms were up around her breasts. “I find myself unable to remove the panties myself. If you would, Mr. Elf?” she asked coyly over her shoulder.
I decided the massage should begin now, so I teased up and down her back and legs for a while before sliding my fingertips into the waistband, then paused waiting for any negative signal, then slowly inched them down until they popped over her well-toned buns. I controlled their descent down her legs, caressing them with their passage downward. She stepped out of them without prompting when they hit the ground, and I hung them on the rack with the rest of her things.
Turning back to her once more, I found she was still in the same position, waiting for my attention to return, whereupon she turned slowly, her arms still across her breasts, squishing them up to give exaggerated cleavage, then dropping them suddenly to cause them to bounce.
“Those are very nice Christmas cupcakes, Ms. Claus,” I complimented.
“And the cookie?” she prompted.
“Oh, also very nice,” I acknowledged. “You are becoming very naughty, Ms. Claus. What would ol’ Kris say?”
“Oh, he is ever so busy making toys this time of year, leaving me alone all day for weeks in a row, but let us not waste any more time speaking of my domestic problems. You belong to me for now, my naughty elf, and I mean to make full use of you.”
“Then may I suggest that you lay down on your front?” I prompted. “Then we can begin.”
I didn’t ask her which oil she wanted; I knew. I got her back and legs all pepperminty, cheating with her the same way I’d done with the driven businesswoman, but not having to work nearly as hard to get sighs of pleasure out of her.
She kept her eyes on me the whole time, turning her head while on her front to follow my movements around the table, then having an easier time enjoying the show once I’d had her turn over. She was determined to get her 20 minutes’ worth.
By the time I’d done her front, she was almost asleep. It was at this point that I nearly became a really naughty elf and left her there with the door open, but I restrained myself, rubbing a bit of the minty oil on the tip of her nose, saying, “Almost done, Ms. Claus.”
She began to come back to herself and said, “You are no naughty elf at all! You are very, very nice! How much longer do we have?”
“About 3 minutes, I regret to say, Ms. Claus.”
“How are you not hard? I mean, I think I’m pretty good looking, and you’ve had your hands all over me. I’m not complaining, exactly, but I have to know, are you gay?”
“No, Ms. Claus, I’m happily married to the other naughty elf who is working next door.”
“Ah, enlightenment dawns,” she said. Then, “How naughty is this other elf?”
“Oh, she can be very naughty. I have to spank her sometimes,” I said with a mournful tone.
“Do you think she would mind if I had that inside me?” she asked in a rather needy tone, waving at my crotch. “Just for our last few minutes?”
I’d faced this once already tonight, but that was back before the thumping noises had come from the other room. I wasn’t feeling vindictive or like I needed payback, but I did feel I had a chit on the table, and it wouldn’t get any shinier sitting there unspent. “I don’t have any condoms with me,” I said regretfully.
“I thought you were a naughty elf?” she challenged, but before I could come up with a clever answer, she said, “Never mind, hand me my wallet. It’s inside the jacket, in the breast pocket.”
She’d called my bluff! I was on the hook for it now.
I went to her jacket, pulled out the thick lady’s wallet — nearly a strapless clutch purse — and handed it to her. She fished around inside it and found a wrapped condom. “Um, it’s a regular,” she said, guessing what my response would be.
“Ah, sorry, won’t fit. Not trying to be arrogant, just is what it is.” Her eyes fell, making me think about things for a bit. “Tell you what,” I said, “I’m clean, and I have full confidence that you are as well. It’s your prize, so I feel somewhat obligated to see to your wishes. Do you trust me not to come inside you?”
“I do,” she said.
I nodded and told her, “Turn around, Ms. Claus.”
As she turned and put her hands on the massage table, I quickly spun and lubed my cock with the plain oil, then turned back and slid easily into her, eliciting a strong gasp from her. “Is this good, Ms. Claus?”
“It is very good, you naughty elf. You have only a few minutes to give me an orgasm. Can you do it?” she challenged.
“I can.” Magically cheating once again, I used her body’s own internal reactions to guide my strokes, building her to a snapping crescendo of an orgasm in just a minute, hitting the perfect spots at the perfect angle with the perfect amount of pressure and speed each time, ratcheting her up the O scale one notch with every thrust, no ground lost at all on each pass.
“Errrrrrrmmmmaaaaaggggrrrrrrrdddddd!” she grunted, teeth clenched, trying not to yell loud enough to alert my wife next door. I was betting Kaitlyn would be okay with it, but I appreciated her restraint nevertheless. I stopped thrusting as soon as the orgasm hit hard, her vaginal muscles clamping desperately onto my cock as she fell over a cliff into the frothing sea of Eros, my hands a blur over her gym-toned MILFy body, stretching the ecstasy as long as I could manage.
When it was over, I slid out and willed my cock flaccid again, then went and retrieved her underwear for her, handing them to her before she’d straightened again. I could see her forearms shaking, so I said, “Take your time. I think we have quite some time before the next event.”
“I wish I’d known that before I’d made my request,” she said shakily. Then she thought better of it, saying, “No, that’s selfish of me. You’re here to enjoy the party, too. I saw you earlier with your wife. She’s really going to be okay with this?”
“Relax,” I soothed. “She won’t be mad about me giving you an orgasm. I take it it was good, by the way?” I asked, wishing to be solicitous again.
“I don’t know if you’re serious or teasing, but by the purple mountains, yes it was good!”
“I am most gratified to hear it. Anyway, what would have annoyed my wife is if I’d come home without one of her loads tonight. She’s a bit greedy sometimes,” I informed Ms. Claus.
“You seriously didn’t come?” Then she looked at my crotch in wonder, “And already limp. How?”
“Ancient Indian guru trick,” I informed her seriously, dialing the accent up to 11.
“Bullshit,” she said, shaking her head.
“Want another go?” I challenged.
She just stared at me, unable to get words out, but I just patiently awaited her answer. Finally she snapped out incredulously, “All right, yeah, I guess‽”
I willed the return of my erection, then once it was up again I prompted her, “If you will turn back around again, please?”
I didn’t need the lube this time. There was still plenty in her channel, and she’d supplemented it with her own, but I decided I had to try this peppermint stuff. I lubed myself up again and immediately got the tingling feeling. Then I stood at her entrance and asked once again, “Ready?”
“Dammit, yes, give it to me!”
Shortly after my first thrust, she let out a long “Aaaaaahh!” in part because of the sensation of having me in her again, I’m sure, but also because of the peppermint oil, because she added, “Oh, that’s wicked feeling!”
A Bostonian upbringing, I wondered?
Then I proceeded to repeat the feat, bringing her to orgasm in just shy of 2 minutes, holding onto my seed even through her pulsations, stroking her body in a standing massage as she regained control of her heavy breathing. She never yelled or called out in ecstasy, but I could tell it cost her something to achieve it.
I slipped out, let my erection go again, then went back to retrieve Ms. Claus’ underwear for a second time.
When I turned back to her again, she said, “Those ears… They’re real, aren’t they? You’re an actual elf, a member of the Fae Court; you’ve charmed me, and you’re about to ask me for my firstborn, right? He’s an annoying 15 year old brat, so you can have him.”
I could tell she was grasping for humor to ease the shock of it, so I said, “I’m very human, Ms. Claus. I just have some unusual talents, that’s all. So, did you enjoy your massage, inside and out?” I smiled broadly at her.
She threw her arms around me and said, “Best massage ever!”
Then she kissed me on the cheek, then the lips, then the other cheek, and then gave me an amazing deep-mouth kiss. I accepted it gratefully as consolation for having to hold onto my ejaculation twice in short succession. I expected to be unloading shortly enough. I could hang on.
My third client for the night was an elderly man, looking about ready for retirement. He was in good shape, as far as I could tell through the conservatively tailored suit.
“This way, sir,” I bade him, leading him to the room the Alexanders had assigned me.
“There in the corner is a dressing screen and towel for your use. Please undress to your level of comfort. You may also have me change how I’m dressed to make you more comfortable.”
“If it’s all the same to you,” he pronounced gravely, “I would prefer that you didn’t put more on.”
“You may actually ask me to take some of this off,” I offered diffidently.
His eyebrows shot up in surprise, and his eyes widened. “I couldn’t possibly…!”
“You certainly can,” I said. “This is not a professional engagement, and I’m willing. So, how about it?”
“Well, um…you would certainly make an old man much happier if you did. Disrobe, I mean.”
“Certainly,” I replied. Then taking a cue from his use of the formal word ‘disrobe,’ I got undressed in a businesslike manner, folding everything neatly on the side table.
The elderly man had stayed to watch the show rather than go behind the curtain, so I prompted him, “In your own time, sir.”
“Oh! Um, ah, I’ll be right back,” he stammered, then tottered over behind the screen.
I turned to prepare, keeping myself looking busy until I heard him step out from behind the screen. Normally I’d let the client get onto the table themselves, but I turned early this time and said, “Shall I help you onto the table? It is rather high, isn’t it?”
“Yes, if you would, missy,” he said in his cultured voice.
I helped him up, got him turned onto his front, then untucked the towel from around his hips and lay it out over the table edges so I could get under it at need.
I then massaged his shoulders, upper arms, back, buttocks, thighs, and calves smoothly. I then noticed while working on his feet that he’d kept his underwear on.
I held up the towel in a shallow tent, then said, “If you’ll now turn over, please, sir?”
He did, getting a gentle smile on his face as he once again saw my breasts, his gaze trailing down across my taut stomach and settling on my full but trimmed auburn pubic bush. “You are a lovely creature, miss!”
“Thank you! How are you feeling?”
“Oh, quite well. Better than the PT people we have at the hospital for this, I assure you!”
I took this as an informed compliment, and I got warm enough inside to blush. “So kind of you,” I murmured with a small bow to him.
“Kindness for kindness,” he returned, gliding his gaze back up my body, settling on my smiling face, returning a smile to me.
I decided to start with his shoulders as I’d done for the unlucky skier, giving my client a show of my dangling C-cups.
“I got into medicine to study the beauty of nature, to set it right when it goes wrong. You are the picture of health, and it does my aging heart good to see it. Thank you so much!”
I leaned down and kissed him on his grandfatherly forehead, and resumed my work.
“Hey!” he said shortly afterward.
I just stopped and looked a question at him. “Those ears! Have you actually had them cosmetically altered? Let me see!”
“I have a friend that does special effects for stage and film,” I half-lied. This was true: his name was Bill, and he was back in Moab, but he hadn’t touched my ears. “He custom molded these appliances for me, then blended them into my skin with make-up.”
Am I going to hell for lying to a kind old man?
In a professional tone, he opined, “Awfully good work, then! I’m a cosmetic surgeon, you see. The, ah, reconstructive sort, not the glamor sort. I fix people up when they get messed up in auto accidents and such.”
“A noble calling,” I commented.
“I could swear those are real, though,” he persisted.
“That’s the idea,” I returned with a smile.
“Hmmpf,” he grumped as I resumed working my way down his body.
I’d been tapped out by my last client, so I didn’t have any magic to use to inspect my current one. I was fearful that he’d have enough going wrong at his age that I’d have a choice of things to leave unfixed even if I’d been fully powered up, so I felt only slightly saddened by not being able to do anything more for this gentle old man than give him the massage he’d won in the drawing. A naked massage, so more than he’d even hoped for, I comforted myself.
I saw the towel had tented slightly as I passed his mid-point, but I didn’t comment on it, just finished his lower body massage.
His eyes closed when I got far enough down his body that he could no longer see me clearly, having passed into the lower part of his bifocals, set up for close focusing only. I’d given him a choice between getting a crick in his neck to continue watching or to give up on it, and he’d chosen the latter. Wise man, I thought, but I made it a point to finish off the massage with a repeat of the work on his shoulders. He smiled up at me as I smiled down at him.
“All right. Time, sir,” I informed him, then helped him to sit and slide down off the table.
As he was re-dressing behind the curtain and I in front of it, he said wistfully, “I wish we could have a massage room like this back at the hospital.”
“So do I,” I responded, “though not simply for salacious purposes. It seems to me that your profession would be easier and we’d get better medical care if society as a whole wasn’t so uptight about nudity. Any place those joke medical gowns are used today, the patient should have the option to simply go without, even if that means walking down a hallway nude at some point.”
He didn’t answer, but I went on, getting wound up, “Oh, and never mind other patients and such, what about the techs? You go in for an MRI scan, that thin robe provides no meaningful concealment from the ones driving the machine, which can produce an exact image of the patient’s nude body! Why not just put a sheet on the machine’s table and ask the patient to undress to their level of comfort, as I do here in my practice, so long as they remove all metal items? If they want a gown, fine, but why make them strip naked then wear a figurative fig leaf? Even if you accept the strange notion that seeing someone naked is somehow harmful, the ‘damage’ is already a foregone conclusion!”
“Sounds sensible to me, young lady,” he returned, walking around the screen.
“And what about extended hospital stays?” I spilled forth, fully encouraged now. “I sleep nude at home, and in the warm months I don’t bother with a robe when going from bed to morning shower, so why not at the hospital, too?”
“Oh, quite right,” he agreed from behind the screen. “It was almost that way when I got started, fresh out of medical school, but these days…” he trailed off.
“Here’s another one, sir: sleep studies! You go to have them evaluate the quality of your sleep, but they make you do it their way. What’s the point in that? If I sleep better bare, don’t I wreck the test if I accede to their demand to wear pajamas?”
“Probably,” the reconstructive surgeon agreed circumspectly.
“It’s so strange, isn’t it, sir? Society is far more sexualized now than back when you started, yet medical offices are ever more cautious about nudity. It makes no sense at all.”
“Indeed not, young woman,” he offered patiently.
I opined, “It’d be an objective improvement in the practice of medicine to return to bare-naked medical examinations, leaving behind the ‘lift your shirt and let me stick my hand blindly up it’ sort practiced these days, don’t you think? What is the sense behind the term ‘examination’ if there’s an implication that the subject will not in fact be examined because they’re covered in cloth? Y’oughta be able to arrive at the doctor’s office in your skin to save time, get your appointment’s business out of the way, and then go back home to dress!”
The elderly man laughed amusedly at that image.
I defended, “If nothing else, sir, it ought to curb the incidence of fatal melanoma!”
Through his subsiding chuckles, he replied, “It surely would!”
My science nerd chose that moment to come out and play. “Doctor, maybe you can answer this one for me, something that’s been bugging me for years: why do nurses take a patient’s weight on arrival when they know perfectly well that the reading will vary by anywhere from, oh, I dunno, 2–10 pounds based on your clothing and pocket contents alone? Shouldn’t they at least require you to get down to your underwear to reduce the variance? How can a field retain a pretension to scientific rigor if they regularly accept a 1–5% error in a key everyday measurement? Most other fields of hard scientific endeavor refuse to accept measurements with less than 3 significant digits, meaning a worst-case error under 0.5 pounds for weight measurements of adult humans!”
The elderly man was looking thoughtful when he replied, “Doesn’t make much sense, I suppose.”
I added, “GPs are accepting errors two to ten times higher than the rest of the scientific community, best case! Underwear weigh-in, I’m telling you, doctor: that’s the way.”
He was smiling again, drolly offering, “Speaking only for my own office, I’ll see what I can arrange.”
“Well, good! Maybe between us, we can get society into a healthier state, mental as well as physical.”
“Deal,” he said, shaking my hand before walking back out into the party. He paused at the door, saying, “Those ears!” Then he shook his head and swung the door gently closed behind himself.