Unlike most smart people, I tend to ignore the fact that warming up before strenuous exercise is essential for your overall good health and for best performance. I’ve always been lazy like that and until recently, I’ve been lucky. But my luck ran out playing tennis on a hot day, and during the course of stretching to make a shot, I pulled and injured some tendons in my upper thigh.
I ended up assigned to physical therapy twice a week, and the first day was uneventful. My therapist, Gretchen, was very patient and compassionate considering what would have to be done to get me back to normal. Gretchen is tall, with light brown hair, usually braided down her back. Even those scrubs she wears cannot hide how toned her body is. She explained that subsequent visits would include exercises along with some manual therapy on my upper thigh.
No problem, right? Except that it requires direct contact with the skin to effectively manipulate the muscles and tendons. At the second therapy session, I was covered by a sheet over my lower body and had only my boxers on underneath. She told me to relax and even though I tried, the proximity of her hands to my groin made it less and less possible to avoid an erection.
On the third visit, I lost control and the sheet poked up from my obvious excitement. I tried to apologize, but she was very reassuring. “Don’t feel embarrassed, Mr. Jameson, it’s perfectly natural and it happens all the time.” That didn’t help quell my embarrassment but at least I felt better about getting hard when her hands grazed my ball sac.
Yesterday I arrived at the office early and I tried to ignore the stupid cooking program on the television in the waiting room. I tried looking at a magazine but found myself staring at it blankly, anticipating those firm hands with wonderfully kneading fingers.
Gretchen stuck her head out of the office door, as always with a polite (and beautiful) smile. “Ready, Mr. Jameson?”
When we got inside, I noticed there were no other patients, when there are usually at least two and sometimes as many as four being treated. I questioned Gretchen and she said, “One of my aides is on maternity leave, one called in sick and the other is not scheduled until after lunch. Luckily you’re my only patient this morning.”
The warm-up pad on my upper thigh relaxed me, and I was ready for another physical struggle of sorts. Once I had my pants off and the sheet over my lower body, Gretchen began. “Your skin is so dry, Mr. Jameson that I’ll need to put some moisturizing lotion on it so my hands won’t bruise you.” She poured some oil in one hand and reached under the sheet, starting at my knee. She used both hands, pulling, pushing and kneading the leg, working her way up my body.
When she was ready to work on my upper thigh, she applied more oil to one hand, lifted the sheet and slapped her hand on my upper thigh. It didn’t hurt, but it splashed some of the oil on the crotch of my boxers. She apologized profusely and then insisted she do something else.
“Slip off your underwear and I’ll put them in the oven where we warm our towels. They’ll be dry by the time we’re finished.” I already had the usual erection, and the idea of being naked worried me, but she was genuinely convincing.
