January 8th, 2000

My body was a collection of dull throbs. The deep throb in my shoulders from taking hits, the sharp twinge in my hip from crashing into the boards, and the familiar fire in my thighs. I was lying in bed, on my stomach, my face turned to the side, trying to find a position that didn't make some part of me hurt.

My door creaked open. I didn't move. If I was lucky, it was my mom coming to put laundry away. If I was unlucky, it was Alex coming to try and drag me out.

"You look like you got run over," Makaylah's voice said.

I grunted into my pillow. "Feels like it."

Something heavy landed on my lower back. I felt the bed dip as she sat down on the edge.

"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty," she said, poking me in the side. I flinched.

"Ow! What the hell was that for?" I mumbled.

"I felt like it," she said cheerfully.

I finally managed to turn my head enough to look at her. She was wearing my old faded hoodie, the one with the ripped pocket, over a pair of tiny grey running shorts that left a significant portion of her legs bare. Her hair was pulled back into a messy bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face.

She shifted her weight on my back. I let out another groan.

"Suck it up, you baby," she said, but her tone was softer now. I felt her fingers trace the line of my trap, right up the side of my neck. Her touch was light, almost feathery. "You played good last night."

I grumbled into the pillow.

I felt her lean down, her hair brushing against my ear. "You want a massage?" she whispered, her voice a low murmur.

My entire body, from my toes to the tips of my ears, went rigid. This was a ritual that had started back in Grade 10 when we realized that being a teenage athlete was a full-time job. She'd work the knots from my back and shoulders after a brutal game or a particularly punishing practice. In return, I'd return the favor after her weekend volleyball tournaments, my hands inevitably spending more time than was strictly necessary on the muscles of her glutes and thighs. I'd always called it 'preventative maintenance.' She called it 'being a perv.'

"God, yes," I breathed out, the words muffled by the fabric of my pillowcase.

"Stay there," she commanded, her voice playful. She left my room. I heard the pattering as she walked towards what I assumed was the bathroom. She quickly reapepared with her sleeves raised, and a bottle of oil in her hands.

She straddled my thighs, her knees bracketing my hips. She poured some oil into her hands. I heard the soft squelch as she rubbed them together, warming the oil.

Her hands landed on my upper back. Her thumbs were like little pistons. She started at my shoulders, digging into the muscles with a firm pressure. She moved her hands in slow circles, her knuckles pressing into the knots.

"Jesus, you're tight," she murmured.

"That's what she said," I grunted back instantly.

She smacked me lightly on the back of the head. "Don't be gross."

"Sorry," I said, not sounding sorry at all.

She worked in silence for a few minutes, her hands methodically working their way down my spine. The pain was intense, but it was a good pain, a productive pain. I could feel the tension beginning to unravel, the muscles loosening under her touch.

"Sean tried to get me to go out last night," I said into the quiet.

Her hands paused for a fraction of a second on my lower back. "To where?"

"The Royal. To 'scope out the talent,'" I said, putting a little of Sean's smarmy drawl into my voice.

She started moving again, her hands working on my obliques. "And what did you tell him?"

"Told him I had better things to do," I said. "Like lie here and wait for you to come molest me."

Another smack. "I'm not molesting you."

"Feels pretty molesty to me," I said.

She laughed. I felt the vibration through my back. "Oh yeah? Who are you going to report me to? Your mom?"

"My mom loves you more than she loves me," I said. "She'd be on your side."

She leaned down, her hair tickling my ear again. "She's a smart woman," she whispered, her lips brushing against the shell of my ear.

I turned my head, our faces inches apart. Her breath smelled like mint. "So you're admitting it's a crime?"

She met my gaze. Her eyes were dark. "No," she said, her voice a low murmur. "I'm admitting I'd get away with it."

I leaned in and kissed her, my neck straining. Her lips were soft.

She pulled back. "Roll over," she said.

I did, my muscles protesting. I settled onto my back, looking up at her. She was still straddling me. She poured more oil into her hands. She started on my chest, her fingers tracing the lines of my pecs. Her touch was light, almost teasing. She worked her way down to my stomach, her hands circling my navel.

Her eyes flicked up to meet mine. A small smile played on her lips. "You're ticklish here," she said, her fingers dancing over my skin.

I swatted her hand away. "Stop it."

She laughed. She leaned down, her hair falling around our faces, creating a private world. She kissed me again, deeper this time. My hands found their way to her waist, my fingers gripping the soft fabric of my hoodie.

She pulled back, her breathing a little heavier. "Happy ending, sir?" she asked in her customer service voice mixed with a low purr.

I propped myself up on my elbows. My eyes narrowed playfully. "What kind of massage place is this?"

"Only the best for our most loyal customer," she whispered, her lips brushing against my jawline.

Makaylah swung her hips over me, now standing beside the bed. In one fluid motion, she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of my sweatpants, pulling them down. My body was already responding, my dick hard against my stomach.

She leaned over, and grabbed the bottle of oil. I watched as she poured some into her palm. The oil gleamed in the lamplight. Her hand wrapped around me. She started with slow strokes, her grip firm. Her thumb circled the head, spreading the moisture.

She watched my face. "You're so easy," she murmured, a teasing smile touching her lips.

"You're complaining?" I managed to get out, my voice a low groan.

"Never," she whispered.

Her hand moved with a practiced rhythm, each twist and pull perfect in building the ache in my groin. My hips bucked up, a silent plea for more. She obliged for a moment, her grip tightening, her pace quickening, sending a jolt of electricity straight up my spine before slowing down again.

I threw my head back against the pillows, my eyes squeezed shut. "You're... you're evil," I breathed out.

She chuckled. "Just giving you what you want," she purred. Her other hand came up to gently cup my balls, her fingers rolling them in a way that made my toes curl. "You know, it's funny."

"What's funny?" I managed, my voice cracking as her thumb swirled over the sensitive head, smearing the bead of pre-cum that had gathered there.

"After our last tournament in Calgary," she began. "We were all crammed into that one room remember? Someone smuggled in wine coolers. We all got a little drunk." Her hand never stopped its torturous exploration. "And the conversation turned to boys."

My eyes fluttered open, trying to focus on her face.

She gave me a gentle squeeze. "Jessica was going on and on about how her ex was... lacking. And then Becky pipes up."

Becky had a big mouth.

"She says, 'Well, Makaylah doesn't have to worry about that.'" Makaylah paused. "Said she'd walked in on us once during a pool party. Said she got an eyeful."

A flush crept up my neck.

"Let me tell you," Makaylah leaned in closer. "The jealousy in that room..."

My mind raced, trying to process it. The mental image of a room full of girls, my girlfriend, discussing... me. It was the hottest thing I'd ever heard.

Her pace quickened again, her grip slick. She was aiming for the finish line now.

I could feel the pressure building at the base of my spine, a coiling heat that threatened to unravel me completely.

"God, Makaylah," I gasped, my hands fisting in the sheets.

"Come on," she urged.

That was all it took. I spilled over her hand in hot, messy waves. She milked me through it, her movements slowing as the tremors subsided, until I was completely spent, a panting mess on my tangled sheets.

I lay there for a long moment. I opened my eyes. Makaylah was watching me, a smug smirk on her face.

She lifted her hand, which was still slick with oil and my release. Without breaking eye contact, she brought it to her lips and slowly, deliberately, licked her fingers clean.

"I told you," she said, her voice a husky whisper. "Only the best for our most loyal customer."