Classified ad in our local weekly newspaper: "Certified masseur and instructor will teach you how to massage your partner safely and painlessly. $99 includes all but the 1% 'private area.' At my studio or in your home. Call Lars at ___-___-____."

That sounded like just the thing for our otherwise happy marriage. Amy and I, Matt, have a pleasant, if not spectacular, sex life. She often tells me that it's easier for her to orgasm if she's "relaxed first." So, I'd set up candles, incense and soft music for slow dancing. But when I'd try to add a nice massage using lotions or oils, my manual technique would either be too rough or too wimpy, too rushed or too slow. Help!

On Amy's condition that that "one percent" would definitely be off limits, I could set up an appointment. Cool. I was really ready for some lifelong learning.

*

Prior to his visit, Lars asked that we have available a small table or TV tray, two medium towels and—surprise, surprise—our choice of candles, incense and soft music. The masseur arrived promptly at 7 p.m. on that Wednesday evening. He was wearing sweatpants and a blue medical smock. We greeted him and the three of us briefly exchanged small talk. I helped him set up his folding table. He placed his kit of supplies onto our tray and unzipped it. Inside I could see an assortment of hand wipes, washcloths and two insulated containers of warm oils.

He politely turned away while Amy took off her plush robe and mounted the sturdy massage table. Lying face down, she wore only her most boring white cotton panties. The table was padded, with an open face hole at one end. Her breasts billowed down onto the soft surface.

"Okay," Amy announced.

Lars turned around and offered me, the pupil, his first important piece of advice. "Unlike most masseurs, I like to start with the neck. It's the center of many nerve and muscle connections." With both hands, he began with a series of gentle pushes along the nape of Amy's neck, down to the tops of her shoulders, avoiding the spinal center at first. Asked how that felt, my wife said it was "kind of relaxing."

Next, he somewhat more firmly stroked the same edges with the sides of his palms.

"No problems, Amy?"

"Nope."

Lars then asked me to repeat those two actions on her. I did. No complaints, but no compliments either. He suggested I use slightly less pressure on the pushes and a bit more on the side strokes. I did so.

"Better, Amy?"

"Yes. Good job, student."

"Now, I'd like us to work on the same area together," Lars suggested. "Do you have a preferred side to stand on?"

Being right-handed, I took up a position on her left side. We then began our coordinated neck rub using the two techniques. He asked Amy how well balanced our manipulations were. She said it felt a little weird to have two different hands there, but the sensation seemed to be all right.

After Lars dribbled a thin stream of warm, scented oil along Amy's spine from her neck to the top of her hips, he demonstrated how to work the backbone. We took turns using our knuckles to gently glide back and forth in increasing inches downward. No reaction from our "patient," but Lars explained that our spinal work sent nerve signals sideways to her back muscles, in preparation for massaging that area. More oil, this time spread across her back muscles with all four of our hands.

"Hmm," Amy hummed.

Unlike his previous shallow-then-deep technique, Lars went straight to medium pressure, first with his palms, then with his fingers. I followed suit. Amy made a small shift—I assume to readjust her chest a bit. Her breasts flared sideways a little more. As tempting as it was, at least for me, to slide down to those lovely shapes, neither of us ventured into that territory.

When we arrived at her feet, Amy warned that, although she would enjoy a foot massage, her soles were too ticklish to go there. Lars had an idea. "How about if I apply warm damp cloths and wrap them around your soles, tops of your feet and Achilles tendons?"

"You're the professional," she replied.

That completed, it was calf time. Lars told me that gentle, then more forceful squeezing were good for those firm muscles. A little less firm would be Amy's thigh muscles, a prospect I was certainly looking forward to adding to my education.

Our calf work finished, it was time to work on those wonderful upper legs. Wisely, I had made sure to wear loose-fitting shorts; it was nobody's business how erect I was getting. I did not want to check out Lars's nether region; not my business either.

I love every section of Amy's thighs—the backs, the sides, the fronts and, obviously, the soft, soft insides. But this was not an erotic massage, I kept telling myself. So, there was another part I remembered not to stroke, namely, the backs of her knees, a known erogenous zone for her.

After plenty of oiling, stroking and gentle squeezing of most of her upper legs, Lars asked my wife an important question about those inners. "Amy, would it be all right if..."

She immediately answered the unspoken request by moving her legs slightly, then a little bit more, apart. Was I relieved or was I disappointed that the crotch of her panties showed no sign of wetness coming through?

After we had done a good job of finishing her thigh massage, Lars had another request. "Usually, now is the time I would work your buttock muscles. We could do that with or without your undergarment in place."

"I guess it’d make more sense," she said, "to get my undies out of the way, so you can continue using the oil."

Lars asked, "Matt, would you do the honors?"

Wisely, I answered with a neutral "Sure," rather with than a loud, enthusiastic "Absolutely!" Non-erotic, non-erotic, I continued reminding myself. Panties to the sofa.

We gave Amy's butt a fine set of deep and shallow rubs and even a few light, playful spanks before moving on to her flip side. Time for the two towels Lars had requested. He turned away as before, as I laid one over her breasts and the other covering her pubic area.

Lars then showed me the best way to alternate strokes and squeezes to her shoulders, and mostly strokes on her rib cage and tummy. The next phase required a two-part permission: "Would you like us to massage your breasts and, if so, with or without the towel on?"

Amy answered with a stipulation. "Towel off, but no nipple pinching."

Almost ceremoniously, Lars and I removed the top towel and hung it on the back of the couch. To my surprise, Amy's half-dollar-sized nipples had not shrunk to the classic eraser tips. She was really taking this no-turn-on stuff seriously.

After a generous application of oil, this time of a different fragrance, I followed Lars's lead and laid one hand on Amy's right orb and began slowly pushing up and down. Her slight smile suddenly turned serious, accompanied by a long, slow sigh.

"Now, finally, Matt," Lars instructed, "Let's wrap both our hands around the bottom of the breasts and carefully slide upward just before getting to the nipples. We'll repeat that ten times, then rest our hands on top of her breasts, remembering ..."

"No pinching!" all three of us said together, laughing.

After a few minutes of that light breast massage, Amy sat up and was about to dismount Lars's table, when he said, "Well, that's it for my basic lessons. Before I ask Matt if he has questions about any of the different techniques on the various areas, Amy, what was overall experience today?"

"It was very relaxing, once I had gotten over lying here almost naked with two men in the room. I think Matt has learned a lot about patience, most of all."

"And Matt?"

"I hope I can continue being patient and use different parts of my hands, not just my 'eager' fingers. Amy deserves a non-sexual massage whenever she wants it."

"Well, thanks for your advance payment, Matt. It's the first time I've tried PayPal. It worked great. So, if there's nothing else, let me pack up my things and..."

"Umm..." I interrupted. "I'd like to ask Amy and you if it'd be okay if, before you leave, she could get a little one-minute massage... down there?"

"No!" she snapped. Pause. "Nuh..." Another pause. "We-ell..." Big deep breath. "On one condition. If he can touch me there, I should be able to touch his—"

"Cock?" Lars and I gasped in unison.

"His hairy chest."

"Wait," I asked. "How do you know Lars has a hairy chest?"

"Well, duh. You don't think I didn't notice his hairy arms? I'm guessing—hoping—he doesn't shave up there."

I looked at Lars, who shrugged and, with a crooked smile, nodded his okay. He pulled off his smock, revealing a torso not too furry and not too wispy. She reached up with one hand and found a home nestled in his chestnut crop.

"Let me check the clock," Amy quietly demanded.

She didn't track the time for long, though, as I went back to massaging her chest and Lars started to—what was he doing down there anyway? I had to see, for instructional purposes, of course.

He had slid one hand down from her belly button, raking curved fingers down into her curly, ginger-tinted pubes (Irish ancestry). Then, with the palm of one hand, he began softly massaging her entire pussy.  Yow.

Up at my end of the table, I decided to violate the no-pinching rule and began lightly squeezing Amy's nips, at last in tight formation. When she reached up toward my hands, I thought, Uh-oh, I'm wrecking the mood. Instead of swatting me away, though, she touched me tenderly on the cheek.

After that brief distraction, Lars went back to working his magic with slow, deliberate speed, now in a wide, circular motion. When he lifted his hand for a moment, I could see that the tip of her often-elusive clitoris had escaped its hood was now a deep brown and fully distended.

Suddenly Lars looked up and announced, "Time's up."

"No, it's not!" Amy shouted. Then, even louder, "LUBE!"

I bolted to our bedroom nightstand and fetched our bottle of Oasis Silk lubricant. But before applying it, I whispered into her ear, "Some of this is for Lars's long, thick fingers. And I'm also going to pump a couple drops onto your beautiful little clit." Her eyes—and legs—widened and I think she almost orgasmed at that moment. The power of the human voice.

I pumped some Silk into Lars's hand. He swirled the white pearly cream around for few seconds. At our first touch, Amy's slight smile again became serious. Her vagina gaped open. As promised, I contributed two of those creamy drops onto her fiery bud.

Then, slowly, very slowly, Lars's long thick middle finger penetrated my wife. After only a few deep insertions and retreats, Amy's upper chest suddenly reddened and her breathing deepened. That was my cue to begin doing something I had long known she loved when getting close: quickly tap-tap-tapping her clit.

Amy dug her feet into the table. She arched her hips toward the ceiling and somehow spread her legs even wider. And then...

... This woman who never misses Sunday Mass, let out a scream that I would have never expected from her: "JEEE-sus!"

Lars’s middle finger remained inside my Amy, no doubt trapped there by her subsiding contractions. Her legs were still splayed and locked in place.

Eventually, all three of us were breathing normally again. Lars and I gently massaged Amy's thighs back down onto the table. I gave her an upside-down kiss on the lips. "Oh, Matthew" was all she said. At least it wasn't "Oh, Lars," although he certainly deserved the same acknowledgement.

Ordinarily, after Amy and I make love, we lie exhausted in bed for awhile and do minor clean-up later. On that day, though—was it Catholic guilt for this mini-adultery?—she gave us a little wave and, in a slight limp, headed for the shower.

I helped Lars wipe down his table and collapse it. At the door, I mentioned that he should check his PayPal account for an additional payment.

"Oh, that's hardly necessary. Not to be too personal, but seeing and hearing and feeling your wife's powerful orgasm was enough of a bonus. Right now, I'm hurrying to my girlfriend's apartment to 'pay it forward,' so to speak."

"I know she'll appreciate it! Check your account anyway.  G'night, Lars."

*

After a suspiciously long shower, my wife emerged with a wonderful glow, enclosed again in her fluffy robe. The stare and the smile she gave me signaled that a happy ending might be in store for me too.

"Does that look mean that you want three orgasms today?" I asked.

"How... how do you know I had a second one? You weren't spying on me in the shower, were you?"

"No, dear," I said, giving her my own stare and smile. "Your rosy cheeks gave it away."

"So, now I suppose you want me to find you a happy-ending massager, preferably female."

"No."

"No?!"

I stripped off my clothes and answered, "All I want now is for you to open up that robe and wrap your naked body around mine."

Amy stepped forward and did just that. For the first time in years, we made love standing up. It took only seconds for me to enter her. No Silk lube necessary.

*

My $99 online tip to Lars was worth every dollar.