The Team Masseuse (Audio Script)

Stories

I won’t lie, I was looking forward to not being needed tonight.

I must have got up on the wrong side of the bed, because the second I opened my eyes this morning, I knew I wasn’t in the mood to go to work, even for he playoffs.

But tonight had to be a major game.

And just as I picked up my bag to leave, I got a message.

The team captain has to see me.

Sure, I’m happy to see him, and obviously, I’m not going to leave him if he’s injured...

But it’s getting late, and my body wants nothing more than to crash onto the couch the second I get home.

But of course, the captain had to hang onto the hoop after scoring the slam dunk of the season.

And tweak his rhomboid mid-celebration.

I head into the relaxation area, and my nose is filled with the artificial scent of fresh cotton and jasmine.

You’re sitting on one of the padded, minimalist benches, freshly showered and checking something on your phone.

We know of each other, we’ve passed in the corridors, I’ve seen you at game afterparties with the other players, but we’ve never actually spoken to each other.

I’m the post-game masseuse, and you’ve never needed a post-game massage.

Until now.

"Hi, uh… Max?"

"Yes, uh…hi.

You’re the masseuse?"

You look up from your phone and stop.

I knew you were gorgeous, but seeing you in the flesh?

Holy…shit. It never gets old.

The pictures and game footage really don’t do you justice.

I shake my head, trying to collect my thoughts.

You sound surprised to see me.

Your coach did say you have me and not the regular masseuse, right?

But then again, the coach and I aren’t exactly on first-name terms.

The team coach is known for being terrible with names, so I’m ‘that girl with the ponytail’...Which, really, could mean anyone.

"That’s me.

The coach said you had me and not Joe, right?

I was told you’re having an issue with your –"

"Yeah, it’s uh…

My right arm and rhomboid.

Tweaked it on my last basket tonight."

"You mean, the one that just won us a spot in the finals?

That jump was pretty impressive."

"You saw that?"

"It could rival Jordan’s, if you ask me."

"Okay, now you’re just flattering me."

"Why don’t you come on back?"

I can feel your eyes burning into my back and I feel a flush of heat in my face.

"It was a great play, but it won’t do your body any favours if you keep swinging from the hoop like Tarzan."

"No, I, uh… I suppose not."

You’re nothing like I thought you’d be in person… you’re much more shy up close than on the court.

When you’re playing, you’re the life of the party.

All eyes are on you, and you have the personality to match.

You ooze confidence, and you’re not afraid to play that smooth, almost bad boy image to the fans and press.

But now? Here? It’s like I’m seeing another person entirely.

"So before we get started…are there any other areas that need work?"

"Uh, yeah, I’ve got a couple of knots around my upper back, and my lower back gets a little sore these days.

I tore a ligament in my knee ten years ago, so it gives me a few problems sometimes."

"So basically everywhere. If you could help me with any of those, that would be awesome."

The confidence must be your on-court persona, and you play it up for the fans and the cameras.

That’s not uncommon.

But even though you’re tall, at least a foot taller than me… and you take up space like the star basketball player you are, you’re so much more understated than I expected.

I notice the way your hoodie clings to your broad shoulders, and even with your shirt, I can see the definition of your chest against the cotton…

"Are you okay?"

"What? Yeah, yeah, just… It’s been a long day."

"Tell me about it."

My cheeks are burning.

What is wrong with me?

"I’ll uh, just give you a minute to change, and you can lay down on your stomach on the table, okay?"

I’m used to seeing basketball players half-naked on my table.

And many of the guys on the team are just as smooth-talking here as they are on the court.

Usually groaning in pain as I’m working out some of the most insane knots I’ve ever seen in a person’s calves.

So many players are different in their public and personal lives.

But you… I don’t know, surprised me, I guess?

I was expecting to massage some smooth-talking Captain who has an answer for everything, and have it grate my nerves for the next half hour.

But you’re…humble? Shy, even?

It’s…cute, actually.

No, no, focus.

Cute or not, you’re still my client.

I have to say professional.

"Ready, come in."

You’ve done exactly what I asked and the way you’re looking at me with that cute, sweet little grin as you rub the back of your neck is not helping.

As I get everything ready, I try not to stare at the way you shift, and how every muscle in your back ripples.

I try to keep my eyes on the bottle of massage oil as I squirt some onto my hands and warm it up…

"Okay, we’ll start with a general massage around the back and then hone in, okay? Since you tweaked your rhomboid, all the other muscles will start to tense so we want to work that out before it becomes a problem."

"Sounds great."

"Are you ready?"

"Ready when you are."

I start from the top of the shoulders and glide my oiled hands down your back.

Your skin is smooth, and I can smell the clean citrus of your body wash from the shower.

I move my hands down to your lower back, following the tight lines of muscle and fascia with smooth pressure back up to your shoulders.

I work my thumbs into your shoulders, massaging out some of the tension.

You’re already getting some relief it seems, and that’s a good sign.

But it doesn’t help that you sound…really good when you make that sound.

Focus…

"Good?"

"Fantastic.

I really needed this."

"I haven’t gotten to your problem areas yet.

You might not like me after that."

"Oh, I’m sure I can find a way to forgive you."

I circle my thumbs a little deeper, focusing on a knot at the top of your shoulder.

"Okay, let’s get that shoulder blade looked at."

I work my hands over the muscle, gently, looking for the trouble spot.

"Argh!"

You reach out for the support bar along the side of my table…

Instead, your hand grips my thigh.

"Oh my god - I’m so sorry –"

"Oh no, it’s – it’s okay. Reflexes can get you like that."

You relax under my touch, but I notice your hand lingering a little.

"I took the bars off so I could reach better… but you can hold on to me if you need to."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I need you to relax to do my job so… if it gives you something to hold on to."

You relax back on the table, keeping your hand on my thigh, just below the hem of my loose shorts.

It’s strange, and definitely not allowed.

But it feels…good.

"I like having something to hold onto."

My face goes beet red.

"Okay, could you turn on your back for me, please?"

As you shift onto your back, and I pick up the bottle of oil again, pouring some onto your stomach and chest.

"Sorry, I know it’s cold. Just a little more…"

I slowly trail the oil down your stomach, and try not to stare. Less ogling, more massaging!

You seem to notice my internal dilemma, and look…amused by it.

Once again, you reach out for my thigh.

But you don’t seem to be looking for something to hold on to out of pain, this time.

It’s more a caress, slowly tracing up and down, squeezing a little in appreciation.

"Is this okay?"

"Yeah, that…that’s fine"

"Tell me if you want me to stop…"