Third Age

Jack, in his late 70’s, brought his own equipment: massage oil, whip, surgical gloves. He was paranoid about infection of any kind, after having caught a venereal disease in his youth, when he was in the army.

He was here to receive a massage but also for some mild domination. He wanted us both to wear surgical gloves. I didn’t think he should need to wear any. He wasn’t likely to infect himself. He instructed me that during the massage I was not to touch myself. I said, ‘Touch myself? How do you mean?’

Jack pointed at my crotch. I said firmly, ‘No-one will be touching me there. No-one!’

‘Oh, alright.’ He sounded a bit peeved. Maybe he’d intended to have a rummage round my anatomy, hence his gloves. I understood his fear of my being a potentially hazardous area but he could rest assured that he would leave my premises carrying only the diseases he came with, if any. He certainly would not be permitted to delve into my ‘forbidden zone’.

After we’d sorted out the health concern, Jack went to the toilet. He’d been so finicky about me having clean hands that when he came back into the massage room, I asked if he’d washed his hands. He paused for a second then said no, that he’d only touched the side (of his penis).

So that’s alright then? I asked if he’d mind washing his hands because I had a thing about clean hands too. He looked askance but did as I asked. Well, it goes both ways.

It wasn’t a good massage. What relaxation can be achieved when a masseuse is wearing slippery gloves?! Then came the domination. I told Jack to get on all fours so I could flog his backside. He crawled across the floor to ‘worship’ my feet. His phobia didn’t seem to include the unpleasant conditions of the feet so I decided not to mention anything about the manky afflictions I have encountered in feet during my massage work.

At the end of the massage I had to stifle Jack’s moans by clamping my hand over his mouth. ‘Quiet!’ I demanded, in my capacity as dominatrix. But I was more concerned about bothering my neighbours. Then again, my massage life had been so quiet lately, I decided that one audible flogging, with the accompanying vocals, wasn’t so bad. It’s not like I was disturbing the peace with ‘heavy metal’ music, such as Motorhead.

Jack had the halitosis that I’ve sometimes noticed in the older person when they’ve still got some, or all, of their own teeth. Apart from that, he looked at least ten years younger than his age and was an interesting conversationalist. I liked how he bought his surgical gloves in boxes of 1,000, so in spite of his phobia he still managed to ‘get about’ and experience life.