“Oh Beaux, what have I done? I am not gay, I am not a lesbian, I’m not allowed to do this!” I comforted her, telling her that having an orgasm f...om a massage was not a sign that she was gay, but just a sign that she had a lot of sexual energy built up in her, and that her body was eager to release that energy, giving her a lot of pleasure. She was still sobbing, but stopped crying. I continued massaging her back and her lovely ass. To my surprise she then slipped off her V-string and moved. The steam on the window had faded. Outside, it had become evening. Dry autumn leaves were scattering along the narrow brick street. The gathering dark made the gas lamps seem to glow more brightly. In the building across the street, in a window level with ours, stood a man in a dark suit. He was tall and handsome, younger than us. When he saw us looking at him, he smiled and waved, then gave a nod of encouragement. I turned back to my lovely wife, sprawled on the little sofa. I handed her her. More

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