>His palm was pressed lightly against the back of my head as his thumb manoeuvred down to the nape of my neck. He weaved his fingers through my hair and gently massaged my temples. I closed my eyes and felt my whole body relax. It was the first time a stranger had touched me like this and it felt queer to be enjoying the hands of an unknown man on my body. He explored the lobes of my ear with his long fingers, taking them behind my ears, stimulating hidden pressure points where I was aware of none. The temptation was too much; I had to give in to the pleasure that swept my body as he let his hands fall gently to my shoulders, knowing exactly where to touch me to melt my resistance into easy acquiescence.
My taut muscles seemed to dissipate under his pummelling and pressing as he worked his hands up and down my back. I could feel his warm finger tips through my cotton shirt. But I couldn’t stop him. “Do you like that?” he asked me softly, careful to give me only as much as I could handle. I nodded silently, too weak to say he should now stop.
He switched off the lights and all I could hear was the whirr of the air conditioner in the small room. The sunlight filtered through the window pane plastered with cheap flex to keep the harsh rays out, and bathed the room in an orange hue. Time’s running out, I thought, and it won’t be long before I would have to leave. For the last time he massaged my scalp with his hands, leaving a tingling sensation behind and then stopped. I knew it was the best hair spa I’d ever gone for.