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A middle-aged man's salvation.

"I'm afraid you will have to point them out, because I don't see them."

"You'll have to look closer," She said.

I wondered how much closer she wanted me as I stepped towards her trembling form. When her foot jerked as if to take a step back, I stopped. Our breathing and the music of the fountain splashing in the atrium was the only sound. I lowered myself gently to one knee and then the other, placing my hands between my quads and calves.

"Show me," I smiled up at her.

Slowly, she placed one foot closer to me, then after a moment another step. She stopped when her abdomen was almost touching my nose. I could see baby fine hairs stirring to each of my breaths.

"I used to cut myself." She whispered.

Now that I knew what I was looking for, I could see the thin lattice of scars, barely visible even as close as I was, here and there on her body. I leaned forward slowly, giving her ample time to pull away, and pressed my dry lips to one thin trace of a scar.

"I'm sorry your soul hurt so much you had to do this to let the pain out," I whispered against her skin. "You aren't alone. Unless you want to be."

"I don't." She lowered herself to her knees so that we were eye to eye. "Right now, right here, I don't want to be alone. I don't know if I can do ... everything. But, I don't want to be alone right now. I want to be with someone who sees all of me. The real me."

"We'll only do what you want," I assured her. "Nothing else."

Her lips were as gentle as they had been forceful earlier. I took my cue from that and tenderly caressed her arms where they rested on her knees. She shivered and flinched from the touch.

"Why don't you get on the bed?" I asked, breaking that tender kiss. "I'll give you a massage if you like."

"That sounds nice." She said. "I haven't had a good massage since Tony closed his shop."

"I doubt Tony and I are in the same league," I smiled. "But, why don't we see if you like my technique?"

Some minutes later, as I was trailing the backs of my fingers up her calves and across the backs of her knees, she turned her head and looked at me.

"I don't think I've ever had a massage like this." She said. "Where did you learn this?"

"A playboy video, 'The Art of Sensual Massage'." I winked at her. "It works better if you don't talk or even think of anything except the feel of my hands."

"Well, that has to be the most subtle way a boy has ever told me to shut up," She laughed and turned her head to face the headboard. I considered slapping her panty-clad butt, but that would have spoiled what I was trying to achieve.

For thirty minutes, I touched, kneeded, caressed and stroked every bare inch of the skin on her back, her arms, the back of her legs, her rounded buttocks. She flinched when I undid the clasp of her bra. I pretended not to see, but kept stroking and caressing. Soothing.

Her hand caught mine as I took the waistband of her panties in my fingers. I looked up to see her staring at me a little wild eyed.

"It's up to you, little one." I whispered. "Women tend to carry their stress in the gluteous. I was only trying to help you relax."

Finally, she took her full bottom lip between her teeth and nodded. Her hand came away and she turned to face the headboard once more. I could feel the tension in those rounded cheeks humming like an overtuned piano wire as I slid those panties over them. Her quadriceps tweaked and spasmed as the silky material slid along them. Her calves jerked and her knees started to bend I my caressing fingers slid past with that delicate scrap of material held in them.

I paused to drop them to the floor with my left hand, careful to keep contact with my right. And then I began the process again by pressing her achilles tendons with the thumb and forefinger of each hand. Her skin was like finely kept velvet beneath my fingers as I stroked and caressed my way back up her legs. Her head came up as my caresses touched that vulnerable crease where roundness gives way to the plane of the leg.

"I'm not a fan watching your face on the screen.

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