And kind words

It really was a surprisingly short amount of time: between you inviting Sara into your house, and the woman being stood there in just her underwear. You barely had a chance to put some towels across the sofa and close the curtains, before she stripped immediately down to her skivvies. Partly it was due to the general shamelessness of those in her line of work, you guessed. Medical practitioners as a whole didn’t have much time for being squeamish about naked bodies, theirs or otherwise. But you got the feeling there was a little more to her eagerness to bare all in front of you, than just that.

“Would you prefer if I took my bra off too?” She asked, pinning you with an inquisitive stare.

You blushed deeply, trying not to leave your gaze lingering jealously on the mature curves she’d already exposed.

“Y-you don’t have to…” You squeaked, feebly trying to avoid the question being your own choice. “All that matters really is that you’re comfortable!”

The woman shrugged. “Well, give me a hand then… I’m still struggling to reach that high. We’re all girls here, after all…”

She turned her back and offered the clasps for you to unfasten, which you reached towards with trembling fingers.

“Umm… You know I wasn’t… I’m not… I just dress like…” You struggled to find the words, as you always had. Still slightly terrified that the response would involve screaming or slapping or crowds with torches and pitchforks.

“But what matters is who you are now, right?” Offered Sara in rescue, turning her head to offer a reassuring smile.

You realised that her hurry to get undressed might also have been an overcompensated show of solidarity. A phenomenon among certain older ladies that you had encountered several times over the years. It was almost as if they couldn’t wait to flash their tits out at you, once they’d decided you were safe. A fact that somehow both warmed you heart and made you feel even more guilty and embarrassed. After all… it wasn’t as if you didn’t find Sara’s buxom form alluring.

You managed to get her safely laid out upon the sofa, and a little dish of oil bubbling above its candle. Shoes off, you set straight to work spreading that warm and viscous liquid across her swathe of skin. As always… the sense of running your soft hands across someone else’s body sent little shivers of endorphins running up your spine. There really was nothing that made you happier than the idea that you were kneading some small amount of pleasure and relaxation into another person’s life. It didn’t need to be sexual at all… You just liked to help. To soothe. To serve. That was what mattered.

After a while, you were feeling a bit more confident in exploring the contours of Sara’s muscles with your hands. Following a thousand youtube guides you must have watched and re-watched over and over. You hoped it was achieving something towards un-knotting her built up tensions… and had certainly not received any complaints, which was probably a good sign.

“You know…” You began, just about ready to broach the subject which had been on your mind for the last twenty minutes or more. “I don’t actually really identify as a girl… either.”

It was something you didn’t really hand out often, mainly to keep life simpler… but you had quickly come to view Sara as someone you could trust… and someone you wanted to recognise you for who you were sooner, rather than later. Though the prospect still made you anxious.

“Hmm…” Replied a sleepy-sounding massage customer, her contented hum almost seeming purr-like. “It doesn’t matter much to me, Lovely… as long as you keep doing that.”

You decided to push on anyway… wanting to get out the words while you still had the courage to do so.

“I’m actually more of an… object… really. So I’m not really male _or _female…”