Anything You Can Do I Can Do Better
Really? Yes, really…
Emma Vincent wants to know about the strangest date ever …
Well, not so much a date but a meeting for a competition. Who gives the best massage? I was pretty sure I could win hands down. I’d had plenty of practice on my dad who had suffered a back injury in New Guinea in WWII and needed a heat lamp and a massage every morning just to get out of bed. I had strong hands and fingers and had perfected my dad’s massage ritual.
Lance drove stock cars at Speedway. We were all in the same friends’ group. One Sunday at Speedway, we started chatting about massages and we challenged each other to a competition.
We planned to meet at his flat that night. I had to sneak out of my room and ride my pushbike. For some reason, I chose to wear my white broderie anglaise wrap-around dress tied with a wide pink ribbon. I swear I had no ulterior motive only to win the competition and give him the best massage he’d ever had in his entire life.
We didn’t have any alcohol. He might have had a beer before I arrived but we were both stone cold sober. The legal drinking age was 21 and I was nowhere near that. The only thing I had ever tasted was homemade beer called jungle juice and it was disgusting.
The competition started. Ladies first. I stripped down to my bra and panties and poured a liberal amount of sesame oil on his beautiful bare back. I had never used oil on my dad, and I didn’t know such an oil existed. The smell was intoxicating. I don’t know how long I massaged him for, but there was a lot of pleasurable moaning escaping from the pillows.
“Mmmm… that was goooood. Let’s see if I can do better.”
So we swapped places. He sat on me but not before unhooking my bra. He oiled me up and started to massage my shoulders, first gently, then deeper into the tight muscles. I started to relax. If I was at all worried about him having his way with me, I wasn’t any longer. We became more comfortable with each other and took off our undies and continued massaging each others’ bodies face to face — an all over body massage.
Suddenly, we were so entwined in each others’ arms and legs, we were having the most intimate sex that I hadn’t noticed it was happening. He was so gentle and the massaging continued even after he orgasmed. We continued to enjoy each others’ bodies all night. We didn’t sleep at all. It was the most perfect night.
The sky started to lighten so I hurriedly dressed and hightailed it back to my room. I parked my bike quietly, and slipped into bed, smiling.
At breakfast, I was told to pack my bags and leave. No explanation was needed. The old couple whose back room I rented mustn’t have been as blind and deaf as I thought.
I never told anyone about the most perfect night of my life. I remember that night and wonder what made it so perfect. Was it because it wasn’t a date but a competition? And I think we were both winners.
I wonder if he remembers.
