Page 25 of Black Light: Cured

first, letting his body get used to mine. My shoulders roll and rock to the thrumming beat surrounding

us, until I’m caught up in it, moving in slow, determined movements.

I’m in my zone—just me and his body. Until I feel the rumble of his words as they vibrate through

his skin.

“So, how long have you been doing this?”

Typical question. Just about everyone asks me this. Still, I’m not sure why it’s bothering me that

he’s being like every normal client. I was expecting to get grilled on his muscles and what type of

massages I like best. But instead, it’s the ho-hum, perfunctory, let’s make small talk, type of question.

“I’m going on year five. But even though I haven’t done it as long as others, I’ve made it my

mission to use my continuing education to study body dysfunctions and how to correct them.”

He didn’t ask, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to throw that tidbit in there.

“I see. Do you work just here?”

Gritting my teeth, I continue to knead his shoulders, desperately trying to figure out why he’s

asking me such dumb questions.

“No, sir. I have another job outside of here.”

With that, we descend into an awkward silence. It’s as if my answers annoy him. Like I’m not

giving him something he’s wanting. But I can’t even fathom what that is. I’m answering his questions

to the best of my ability. I try to get back into my groove, to give him the best damn massage he’s ever

had, but then he asks another question. “Do you like your job?”

A soft sigh escapes my lips as I slide my feet back and hunch over his back. Using my forearms, I

get a little deeper, massaging muscles underneath the surface layer. What I want to tell him is I

wouldn’t be doing it if I didn’t like it, but that would come out too snarky.

“Just like every job, it has its good days and bad days. It mostly depends on the clients. Some

clients are just amazing, and that makes my work so much easier.”

“I see. And what makes an amazing client to you?”

One that lets me do my job? One that doesn’t speak to me with every word dripping with

condescension? “It’s the energy. You know. The feel. The vibe.”

“No,” he finally responds. “I don’t know. I don’t give two shits about how my patients ‘feel’ or

what their ‘vibes’ are when they come to me. They all get the same treatment.”

Pausing, I rest my hands on his back and lower my head so that my lips are near his ear. “Are you