Scene Setup:  Tucker is down in the dumps and Tanya gives him a massage to relax him and lift his spirits.

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"Man has will; but woman has her way."--Oliver Wendell Holmes.

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Tucker:

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   Someone's standing in my doorway now, Madame Masanet, and someone else hovering behind her, Tanya. 

   “Señor Blue, Señor Dick has informed me about all the stress you have today and suggested I help you to find comfort, to relieve your stress.” 

   “I appreciate it Madame, but I'd rather be alone. I have a lot of thinking to do; you understand?” 

   “Of course, Señor. Have you eaten today?” 

   "Actually, I have. Then again, I guess now, I don't have it anymore."    

   “We have brought you a tray, nothing elaborate, but something to help bring you out of the depressing state you are suffering. Please, Señor, indulge a mother who knows when her son needs nourishment. It is only a bowl of brou de pollastre, Catalan style of course. Think of it as our grandmother's chicken soup. And an entrepà de pernil i formatge, a simple ham and cheese sandwich and an excellent cava rose. 

   “Thank you Madame. I could use something; I suppose.” 

   “Tanya will remain here to feed and soothe you, Señor Blue.” 

   “That won't be necessary, Madame, but thanks, Tanya.” 

   “Señor Blue, we are all very sensitive to the loss of Señora Monica from last night and of the grief, you are suffering. Tanya is not here to replace the Señora; she is to make you more comfortable. After you have had your fill, Tanya will bath you and prepare you for a nice massage to relieve your tired muscles and remove your tensions so you may enjoy a good sleep tonight. There is no obligation for you to have sex with Tanya, none at all. Please don't even think of her being here, she is simply here to make everything comfortable and relaxing for you. If you do not wish for her to share your bed tonight that is quite okay. She will just tuck you in and leave you if this is your wish. But, please, Señor Blue, eat, drink, take a warm bath, and enjoy a nice relaxing massage to help your troubles disappear, at least for tonight. Tomorrow you will be reborn, and you will be in a much better state of mind to make the difficult decisions confronting you. Take my word for it, Señor Blue, please. You won't regret it. I promise.” 

   “I suppose you're right, Madame. I'm at the worse for wear right now. It all sounds very lovely, so I'll do as you say. But, I hope neither you nor Tanya (I look at Tanya standing next to the Madame in a sheer nightgown holding a tray) will be offended if I pass on tonight. Most of what's troubling me is I've fallen in love with Monica, and I'm feeling very helpless to do anything to save her. I’m afraid for her safety; you understand,” I say. 

   “Perfectly, Señor, I am very acquainted with love and the breaking heart which is a large part of why I would like to help you to find your way out of your depression and into the light of clarity. For you to bring yourself into a good mental state to save the Señora you must first attend to the needs of your body, then your mind will find its way.” 

   “Thank you Madame for all your concerns and your attention. I will let Tanya bring me back from the dead tonight.”  

   Madame bids goodnight and walks from the room and out of the apartment. Tanya places the tray across me as I remain lying in bed, and without saying a thing; she begins spooning the delicious, warm soup into my mouth. I want to look at her; she is so beautiful, but I close my eyes and accept the food and drink instead. When she pours a glass of wine for me, she says, "Madame has given me this small dose of Valium for you, to help you relax.” She holds up a little white tablet. "You do not have to take it if you would rather not, but I would recommend you do, to relax you before the bath and massage and to enhance a euphoric of peace of mind.” 

   I take the pill and follow it with the Cava. 

   “Thank you,” I say. She smiles. 

   I've eaten everything and am a third through the bottle of Cava when Tanya rises from the edge of the bed and removes the tray. 

   “I will run your bath now, Señor,” she says. 

   “Thank you, Tanya,” I say and lay back into my pillow listening to the sound of the water filling the tub.  The Valium is taking effect along with the drink. I can feel the stress beginning to subside a little, the tension falling away. 

   “Come, Señor,” says Tanya. She offers her hand to help me out of bed. I'm already naked, and she walks me across the room and into the steamy bath where jets circulate bubbling water. She takes my hand as I slowly and carefully ease into the hot water. I dunk my head under, wetting my hair and face while Tanya kneels to the side of the tub sponging my chest with a soft flowery looking sponge. My eyes close, and she gently wipes across my face, and my neck before rinsing with warm clear water from her cupped hands. 

The sponge continues finding its way, across and around my groin and down both legs to my feet. 

   “If you will sit up, Señor Blue; I will wash your back.” I do. 

   “Please stand now so I may wash your backside and legs.” I do.  

   She pulls the drain and stops the jets. 

   “I'll turn on the shower now so you can rinse off." 

   The hot-water racing over my back feels magnificent. She sends a second spray over my backside and between my legs using her hand to lift and separate for a thorough rinsing. I melt at her touch. Stepping out of the shower, she wraps me in a large soft towel and dries me off from head to toe, at one point brushing her head against me, causing a bit of arousal. 

   “Now, Señor Blue, if you will follow me," she says, taking me by the hand and leading me out the bathroom across the hall, and into a second bedroom where a massage table is already assembled and draped with linen. Oils and perfumes stand ready in their heating jars on a side table. Candles barely illuminate the room and in-wall speakers push through a soft Mozart.

   Pulling back the top sheet Tanya says, "please, Señor, lay here on your stomach and place your face inside of the ring." It too is lined in white linen, but with a large enough opening that my face is not covered. 

   “Please lift your feet, Señor." And when I do she slips a small oblong pillow beneath my ankles. She drapes a white top sheet over me then folds it down to my waist, exposing my back. 

   “Are you comfortable, Señor?” she asks. 

 “Very.” 

   Stepping to the side, she says, "I know you do not want to have sex with me tonight, Señor Blue, as you told the Madame . . .”  

    “I didn't mean to be unappreciative Tanya, I loved our time together this morning. It's just, right now ...” 

   “I understand, Señor. I do not take offense. I wanted you to know the techniques, I use to give massage, may seem a little unorthodox, and I didn't want you to think it includes sex if it is not your wish. But, I give deep tissue massage.” 

   “Exactly what I like.” 

   “And for me to give a good deep tissue massage, and because I am not a large person, I many times have to supplement my strength with my weight to apply adequate pressure where it is most needed. This requires for me to climb on top of you. I assure you I will not hurt you nor will the table collapse, but I will press my knee into your back. Will that be okay, Señor?” 

“That'll be fine. If you start to apply too much pressure, I'll let you know. Go ahead and do whatever you'd like. If there's anything else I'd like you to try or certain places needing more attention than others, I'll tell you." 

   “Very good. You have had many massages?"    

   “Many. Usually once a week, so I'm pretty familiar with the various techniques."   

   “Wonderful. Then we will get started."  

   After the food and drink, the Valium and the hot bubble bath, I'm on the verge of sliding into the embrace of my self-induced coma. And I love these tables with the face holders. Drool to your heart's content. 

As the lights dim and a soft musical lullaby gently pulls me into a twilight of tranquil repose, the first drops of hot oil scorches across my naked flesh like a wake up shot of napalm. I flinch. Every muscle in my body tightens, on guard and ready for the next assault, prepared not to be blindsided by such an ambush again. When the hands of the goddess hovering over me slip into the silken oils and glide across my back like a lover's charms, every muscle throws in the towel relinquishing its guard and surrenders. Those hands, oh, those hands. Spreading glorious bliss over my welcoming pores, sucking it up like a believer at the rapture. Over my back, across shoulders and down the sides of my ribs to my waist, then two-thumbs reversing and pressing up the side rails of my spine throwing off tension like a boat cutting through a tight sea. 

   More oil, and her hands pull another slippery grip down one arm where she lifts my hand and digs a hard thumb into the palm before attacking fingers and pulling them like roots one-by-one until knuckles crack, groaning their thank you. After thoroughly molesting one hand, she turns to its brother and gives it the same treatment as any fair-minded mother would. 

   “Now, I'm going to climb on top of you and straddle you, so I can give you a deep tissue massage." 

   “Okay," I croak. 

   Straddling means sitting on my naked buttocks with her legs folded alongside and clamping me in an erotic vice. She rises to her knees, and leaning forward, pushes all of her strength and weight behind her two thumbs as they travel again up the rails flanking my spine. Up and over each shoulder blade to my neck where they dig into the base of my skull kneading away tensions I never knew were hiding in there. With her fingers spread over my crown, she moves through my hair like a human comb gently massaging my scalp. Her body is extending entirely over my own, a thin sheen of fragrant oil separating us, basting her warmth into me. A soft purring floats on her breath into my ear, stirring me like a promise. 

   She pulls herself over me, slippery and warm then rising to her previous position, straddling my buttocks; she takes my arms in her hands and leans back pulling them with her like reins of a horse. I can feel her pelt against me, grinding out little pleasures shuttering forth on currents of her own nectars.  

   A moment passes, two, and after a couple of breaths and a sigh, she dismounts and cool air washes across my bare skin.

   My eyes remain closed, anticipating where her hands will go next. And, just as I should have guessed the dribbling returns to warm the audience before the main event and this time over my buttocks and down the backs of my legs. The little jar goes back to the small heater on the side table to remain warm and molten, while her hands return to me spreading the slippery substance across my backside and down my legs to my feet and between my toes. With both hands, she bends each foot inward then kneads the tops and soles before deftly running her fingers between and around each toe. She takes a toe into her mouth like an offering to a deft tongue for suckling and fondling. 

   Never have I ever experienced such pleasures at the most unlikely end of my anatomy. And why should not those all important pedis of human anatomy, the two extremes on which we depend to carry us through everyday of our lives, to dance and play and for women to wrap in Jimmie Choos; why should not these wings of Mercury receive the attention Tanya is so lovingly bestowing upon mine?

   Though they be the farthest end of our anatomies, it is but a simple U-turn for Tanya's hands as they find their way back up my calves and along my thighs, pressing hard, like an earth compactor breaking stubborn tissue and muscle along the way. She signals for me to spread my legs wider, so she can continue her journey up the inside of my thighs and underneath. I raise my hips a little to give her hands room to run over the fronts of my thighs. 

   When my legs are thoroughly oiled and assaulted from the backside, she again mounts the table, this time clamping my two calves between the vice of her legs. Reaching for the small jar, she amply oils her hands, rubbing them together like a surgeon preparing to reach into a woman to extract something. She pushes down, hard against my buttocks, one hand on each cheek, kneading them vigorously with the heels of her palms. Then, rising to her knees, and leveraging all her weight, she folds her hands into fists and digs into the muscle, twisting and turning until they scream. With each upward push, my buttocks spread and the cool air of the room finds it's way into places rarely visited. 

   She stops and reapplies a new bath of warm oil. Then, placing one hand against the center of my lower back and rising up on one knee she signals for me to lift. She reaches around and takes me into the grip of her hand and squeezes me while a single digit from the other traces its way up and between my buttocks, sending Morse codes of indescribable pleasure to my brain. The same route is retraced a couple more times, softening my resistance until she comes to a certain place when, without notice, she invades. 

   It was an awakening, and I snap around her finger like a noose, but she remains, unperturbed and confident. After a moment, the digit wiggles, then circles, slowly coaxing me to relax. When I do she assaults me with a second ambush, this time to the hilt. Again, the noose snaps like a bear trap, but it's too late because now she's massaging my prostate, and I'm lapsing into a mild insanity. Do I complain? And risk expulsion from this institution of higher learning where pleasure trumps sanity? No way. And this was only the first level. 

   Post-graduate studies came when the first hand, in which I was happily cocooned below, tightened its hold and like a pump in simultaneous effort - above and below or in front and behind, whatever - launches me into a place where if I could spent the remainder of my days, and retire there, I would. 

   She says nothing, and neither do I. At this juncture, words are an anachronism. 

   Bringing both hands together she returns to my buttocks, each grasping a cheek. And with thumbs side-by-side, pressing into my cleavage, she spreads and I can feel her face and her cheeks pushing against me while something else flicks like butterfly wings creating a sensation so unexpected, so unfamiliar to those regions, yet so intensely erotic and wicked, I lose myself a second time into the linen underneath. When she senses I am finally and completely exorcised of all strength, like Delilah's haircutting Samson, she backs off and dismounts the table with the agility of a gymnast. Now here I lay, the last vestiges of strength having been drained away along with all the blood in my body.

   She returns to the heating oils and again anoints her hands liberally before approaching the head of the table where my face is mashed into the circular rest like a mute death mask scrutinizing the floor. Up against the face rest, she leans her whole self across me pushing her slick hands down my back. On their return she reaches under my armpits and pulls both of my dead arms around her waist.

   “Hold me, Tucker while I reach across you," she says.

   I do, and with her hands gripping my hips she hoists herself up and over me until her legs wrap around my head, and her face lays against my buttocks. Again, she spreads me and again flicks at me with another round of the same incredible sensations I'd never imagined to have. It was wonderful but on this go-round, she was beating a dead horse. I can only say to this new and unusual experience, while I thoroughly enjoyed the receiving end, I am not at all certain I could find myself on the other.

   When the Guns of Navarone, this time, failed to fire, she dismounts, again with the same agility of a  gymnast coming off a pommel horse, and I brace myself for those two dreaded words of every masseuse, "times up," but no. 

   Standing on the floor next to the table, she says, “Now, Señor, please turn over onto your back and scoot down the table, so I can remove the face rest.  

   Holy shit. There's more?  

   She asks me to lie so my head is hanging backward off the table. I humor her, but when I'm in position, the joke's on me because I'm now privy to a full view of her small V-shaped pelt, only upside down. The urge to crawl back from whence I came is overpowering. 

   She spreads another liberal hand bath of oil over her entire front, her breasts, down her stomach, between her legs and over her thighs then taking the heated dish, she dribbles oil over my chest and stomach and groin and thighs before replacing it to the side table.

   She returns to her standing position in front of my upside-down head and pushes into my face leaning over me spreading oil as far as she can reach. Her hands glide with an incredible feminine touch and each time she leans over me, stretching herself forward her pelt pushing into my face, and each time I inhale, I am intoxicated. I'm so hard and erect, all over again; it surely must belong to someone else.

   Once I am as thoroughly oiled as a turkey ready for the broiler, she leans her whole body forward, pulling herself over me, sliding just enough, when she spreads her legs, they separate exactly over my face and I can taste her at will and inhale her aromas, and I do. 

   With her bare belly pressed across my chest, and her breasts spread softly over my belly; her hand wraps around me guiding me into her mouth. Our bodies’ slip and slide across each other like two slabs of greased meat. And like a metronome squeezing out synchronized rhythms of pleasure, her thighs tighten around my head until together, as one, we're pushed upward into an exploding crescendo of ecstasy. It was a raw and unfettered release. 

   As the aftershock tremors fade away, and she's squeezed out every last drop, her head collapses onto my groin. Moments later, her breathing tells me she's fast asleep, with only a thin sheen of slippery, warm lubricant separating us.

   I too fall into a dreamlike state and awaken only when she slides off and drops to the floor with a thud. Ouch. Fortunately, like the over-relaxed drunk surviving the impossible automobile accident, she's okay. 

   How do I feel? Better? Physically, I am regenerated into my youth of twenty-one; tons better. But, it's not enough to prevent my thoughts returning to Monica, and backsliding into my funk of despair. Guilt backwashes up my throat, and I'm again seized in the paralyzing grip of helplessness that all is lost with Monica. Dragging myself into the bedroom, Tanya follows, but I tell her, not tonight.

   "I'm sorry. You were wonderful company, and the massage was the most awesome I've ever experienced, but I need to be alone tonight." 

   “You are missing your woman, aren't you?" 

   “I'm afraid I may never see her again." 

   “But, you might too. You should not allow yourself to give up, Señor Blue. She is still out there waiting for you. You are probably her only hope, and unless you do something, she will be doomed. Maybe you cannot save her, but you do not know because you have not tried, and if you do not try you will never know, and she will be doomed for sure.  

   Señor Blue, I am Romanian, and I too was kidnapped and sold into slavery when I was but only thirteen. My father tried to save me, but he was killed while trying. My brother tried to save me, and he too was killed. Eventually, I escaped, but I never forgot what my father and brother tried to do for me, and if they had not, I would have surely been killed too. Instead, their trying gave me a determination to escape, and I made my way here, to Madame Masanet. It may not be the best thing in the world for me, but I know that, anytime I want, I can leave. I am not a slave to this place. I am here because she was decent enough to take me in, and she treats me very well. But, I will never forget what my father and my brother tried to do for me, never. And why did they do it? They did it for love, because they loved me. Not the same love Señora Monica has for you and you for her, but love nonetheless. Love is love. Love is when you are willing to do anything, to give up everything, even your life for the other. 

   I only wish I could give up everything for love - someday maybe. But, you have your chance to do it now. You could save Señora Monica, and if you do, you will have love. If you do not, you'll never have it because you will not be deserving of love. You cannot pick and choose love. Love picks and chooses you, if you are lucky. So what, you might lose everything? What better thing is there to lose if not everything for love? What could be more honorable, what could be more romantic? You know yourself if you do not do everything within your power to defeat these evil people and save your woman, you'll never have love again because you will never again be deserving of it. Without sacrifice there can be no love. Besides, who said you cannot defeat these evil ones? 

   She's counting on you. She loves you, and you love her, so what is the problem? Get out of your depression and get mad. What do you have to lose? Is anything worth losing love over? You have nothing if you do not have love. 

   Good-luck Señor Blue. I will leave you to yourself tonight, and you can dwell on what you must do. I know you will do the right thing because I know you are a good man. I could only wish I was as lucky a woman as Señora Monica to have a man like you coming to save me." 

   With that, Tanya walked out and left me to do what I have to do.