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Dorothy (he reminded himself of her name) rose from her desk as he walked in and crossed to shake his hand. She was a smallish woman in a white starched blouse, with dark eyes and brown hair in a pageboy cut. She came up only to Bob's forehead, but her muscular arms added to a commanding presence. "You won't be using those shorts," she informed him, pointing at his groin, "they get in the way."She pointedly turned his back and Bob uncomfortably pulled his shorts off from under the smock. She had him lie down on the massage table, opened the back of the smock and flipped a towel over Bob's ass, relieving his embarrassment. For the next few minutes she probed, squeezed and manipulated every muscle he knew of from the base of his spine to his neck, and several he hadn't known existed. During the procedure, she poured some hot oil into her palms and used it in the massage.Bob started to relax - he was beginning to see why his friend had recommended the massage.Dorothy worked on his spine. It touched me. I jerked about, panicked. It bumped me again.I forced myself to calm down. I steadied my breathing. I felt the object. It was smooth and round, some sort of ball, maybe a basketball or soccer ball.The car turned. The tire sounds changed and we went over several large bumps, as if we had pulled off the road. Then the car stopped completely, and the engine shut off. Wherever we were going, we were there.I heard a car door open and close. Then another open. I heard Lauren moan. I heard his voice, deep and gravely. I couldn't make out what was said. The car shifted. The door slammed. Then silence.I waited a bit. I opened the trunk.I looked out facing the sun. It was low in the sky. Streaks of red and blue washed across the horizon.The car was parked on gravel in front of an old wooden house. Its paint was peeling, but had probably been white. There were slats of wood nailed over the windows. A rusty screen door hung loosely over the front entrance. I heard the front door.
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