Just type the words “happy ending massage” into your browser and see what pops up.  I swear there must be seven hundred and fifty thousand entries for men, and like, three entries for women.  You have women from every ethnicity advertising that they are the best and will rock a man’s world.  You, literally, must go into the black market to find a man that offers a sensual massage for a woman.  What is the big taboo about a happy ending for a woman?

I turned forty-seven today, which makes me sound like I’m about to expire, like milk.  I know I shouldn’t look at it like that, but damn.  It’s widely known that most men become sexier with age, while women, well, just age.  Not everything is negative about being middle-aged.  What I lack in youth and confidence, I more than make up in experience. 

After reflecting on how much I have missed in life, by putting my career first, I decided on making a bucket list of erotic, and maybe taboo, things I want to experience before my expiration date is up.  I say this light-heartedly because I managed to cross off an experience before I even made the list.  Now, as I lounge here in my bed with my personal trainer/masseuse, let me tell you what happened last night.

Every year everyone in the entire world makes the same New Year’s resolution to get into better shape.  My best friend, who happens to be male, conned me into joining his gym, so I could “workout” with him, but I was on to him right from start.  He just wanted to torture me.  You see…he’s tall and toned.  There’s not one inch of fat on his body anywhere.  Whereas, with me, I’m short and curvy.  I don’t mind my narrow waist but detest the wide hips and overflowing boobs.  I look like a squished hourglass. 

Malcolm, my best friend, finally weaseled me into going by promising me that he would be my personal trainer.  Tired of arguing with him about it, I put on my workout gear:  baggy T-shirt and loose pants.  Right from the start, he nagged me about my clothes.  

“Why do you always wear such unflattering clothes?” he griped.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?  I’m comfortable and here, aren’t I?” I sniped back.

He harrumphed but said nothing. 

“Why does there have to be so many damn mirrors in this place,” I stated aloud.

The one condition I had about coming to a public place to work out was that we go when there no one around.  Being very self-conscious, I worry what I look little to other people.  So hence the reason we were at the gym at 11:30 pm, which suited me fine, because the place was deserted.

For the next half hour, he coached me on the correct ways to lift weights.  I’ll admit that the way his hands were sliding up and down my body, correcting my mistakes in form, was beginning to turn me on.  So, I started to intentionally make mistakes, just to feel his hands on me.  It’s been a long time, since I had been touched, much less fucked.

“What are you doing?  I’ve already shown you the proper way to lift that,” he snapped, “Just put it down before you hurt yourself.”

“If you’re gonna bitch at me all night, I’m going home,” I said.

I got off the bench and started gathering my things, all the while mumbling about pig-headed men.  As I brushed past him, he grabbed my arm and pulled me to his chest.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he growled softly into my ear.

My nipples hardened into peaks.  I’d never heard him use this voice before. 

“Home,” I said, breathlessly.

“Oh, no, no, no.  You haven’t had a proper cool down.  Don’t want to get a cramp,” he whispered.

“Too late,” I squeaked.

“Well, I wouldn’t be a good trainer, if I didn’t help you get rid of that cramp,” he said, lips brushing against my ear.

Shivers went up and down my down, settling right on top of my clit.  What was he up to, I wondered?  He could have anyone woman he wanted.  Dare I think that he was flirting with me.  My mind wandered, as he led me to the massage room. 

“Again, what’s with all the mirrors in this place?” I said, absently.

“Exposure.  Awareness.  Who knows?” Mac replied.

“What are we doing?” I whispered.

“I’m giving you a massage,” he simply stated, “Now, get undressed and get on that table.  I’ll be right back.”

Staring at myself in the mirror, I remembered the last time I was with a man.  It had been two years ago, and my husband of twenty years had just finished the most boring fuck of my life.  We had a lukewarm relationship, to begin with, and neither of us really liked one another.  He turned to me and said that he had fallen in love with our twenty-two-year-old neighbor and wanted a divorce.  I should have been relieved, but instead, was devastated. 

My self-esteem was in the gutter.  Mac, his best friend at the time, thought what he did was shitty and decided to break ties with my ex-husband.  He stayed by my side, lending me his wide shoulders to cry on.

Confused by the sudden turn of events, I debated on just leaving.  On one hand, Mac is my best friend, and this would change things between us.  On the other hand, it’s been so long since I had been touched. 

“Fuck it. I deserve this,” I said to myself.

Not entirely comfortable with being completely naked, I stripped down to my bra and panties and climbed up on the table.  I wrapped the towel around me, feeling the need to conceal my flaws.  With mirrors all around me, I was feeling vulnerable.

“I was wondering when you would make your decision,” Mac said.

“I’m hoping you’re not just fucking with me,” I said, point-blank.

“No…I’m not fucking with you.  I’ve wanted to see you like this for a long time,” he answered, as he approached the table. 

My hands shook, as he gently unwrapped the towel, removing it from my grasp.  Walking behind me, he lifted my chin, wanting me to watch him in the mirror.  His large hands slid down my arms to my waist.  My heart was pounding in my chest; my eyes focused on his hands, which had traveled up my ribs and rested on the sides of my bra.

“Don’t need this,” he murmured, unhooking it with one hand.

My bra hovered on my breasts a minute before gravity teased it off my body to the floor.  His hands slid around my ribs, resting just under my full chest.  He gently cupped them.

“You have beautiful tits,” his now gravelly voice said, “Such a pretty shade of rose.”

I watched helplessly as he rolled my nipples between his fingers, making me aware of how wet my pussy was getting.  Amazed at how turned on I was, I compared this with the last time I had sex.  I was wetter than I had ever been, and all he had done was play with my nipples. 

He laid me on my belly and proceeded to massage the back of my legs and arms.  Using warm oil, he worked his way down my back to the upper part of my ass.  I was being reduced to a quivering mass of jelly; limp and relaxed.  Using his thumbs, he worked the tendons in the crease between my ass and thighs, and with each tug, he opened my pussy a little wider each time.

Groaning, I buried my face into my arms, hoping that he couldn’t hear my soft moans.  Because, with each stroke, I was getting wetter and my panties were soaked.  I was aware of how my back arched with each stroke.  I couldn’t help pushing my ass into his hands.  I was lost and barely aware of him sliding my panties off.

“Sit up,” he growled. 

He guided me to one of the mats on the floor, right in front of a mirror.  Restless, my eyes darted, landing on one thing only to flit to another.  Excited and fearful, I looked at him, silently asking what to do.  He pulled off his shirt, which had been long enough to cover his crotch.  His loose joggers were tented; his thick cock outlined perfectly. 

My knees buckled, and I slid to the floor.  He sat down behind me, pulling me back between his hard thighs.  Panting, I watched him hook my legs over his. 

“Look into the mirror,” he demanded, “Look at what I see.  For so long, I’ve put up with you degrading yourself.  You don’t see what I see.

"I know that if I ask you what you see, you'll prattle on about saggy boobs, fat thighs, blah, blah, blah.  Let me tell you what I see,” he whispered.

I looked into the mirror, watching his hands cup my breasts.  I listened as he spoke about the softest skin, tightest nipples, plumpest lips.  I witnessed him wrapping my hair around his fist, pulling my head around.  His lips grazed mine in a teasing touch.

Suddenly, his grip tightened, making me gasp.  Mac took that opportunity to claim my mouth.  His tongue thrust into my mouth, and holy fuck, could that man kiss.  Dominating my mouth, he consumed my soul, making me beg the universe for him to tongue fuck my pussy the same way he was fucking my mouth.

Letting go of my hair, he dropped his hands to my inner thighs.  Rubbing the soft skin in circles, he gradually approached my dripping pussy.  Soft whimpers escaped me, as he pushed my swollen pussy lips together, pressuring my throbbing clit. 

“Look at your pretty pussy; all glistening and rosy red,” he said, as he pulled my lips apart.

I watched his hands.  I could see everything.  Oyster colored juice dripped from my open hole.  My clit was swollen and peaking out from underneath the hood.  I could even see my brown, little asshole contracting in pleasure. 

My eyes crossed when his middle finger dipped into my pussy, scooping out slippery fluid.  He smeared my juice all over my clit, circling slowly.  My body stiffened, as a long groan left me.

“You like that?” he asked, sucking on my ear lobe, “Tell me what you want.”

“Put your finger inside me,” I whispered.

“And do what?” he prompted, sliding his middle finger just inside my open slit.

Speechless, I could do nothing but watch him wiggle his finger, teasing me. 

“Come on…you know what you want.  If you don’t tell me, then I’ll just…” he warned, pulling his hand away from my body slowly.

“Finger fuck me!  Please! Don’t stop, please,” I begged.

Wet, sloppy noises came from my pussy, as he pushed his thick middle finger all the way inside me.  I dropped my head back onto his shoulder, as he slid another finger inside, hooking them in search of my G spot.  I wailed, as he pressed down on the spongy tissue deep inside my pussy.

“I’m gonna make you cum so hard,” he promised.

Nearly picking me up by my wet cunt, he finger blasted me.  Small jets of fluid escaped my hole each time he let off my G spot.  When he pressed his thumb against my clit, I screamed out loud, begging him to stop, but also threatening him not to stop.  Tremors racked my body, as the hardest orgasm that I ever had overtook me.  My thighs quivered.  My hair stuck to my sweaty forehead.

Grabbing his hand, “No more. Too sensitive,” I panted.

We sat together, silently.  His hand rested lightly on my pussy; fingers still dripping with my cum.  I stared into his eyes, as he did the same.

“What next?” I asked, unsure.

He turned me around to straddle his lap.  His cock felt harder than marble.  A large wet spot covered the area around his cockhead. 

“Well…I figured that I would take you home and fuck you thoroughly,” he said all cocky like.

So that’s how I ended up at this moment in time, making a sex bucket list, with my best friend, who is now my lover.  I can’t wait to check off the next experience.