The Masseuse

The Masseuse (excerpt)

Sonja Blonde

Twelve families from the neighborhood were invited to the meet-the-neighbors party. Karl rented a limousine so the elegantly dressed guests wouldn’t have to walk.

For the evening, Karl selected a burgundy cocktail dress for Britta, accentuated by a delicate silver belt encrusted with tiny crystals. He asked his wife to leave her thick hair down but instructed the hairstylist to use hairspray to give it structure. Britta preferred her hair to fall naturally over her shoulders, but she understood how important this night was for Karl. They had to make a good impression on their new, influential neighbors.

The first to arrive were the bank branch manager and his wife. The fit, athletic couple insisted on walking.Bruno, the husband, was likely approaching sixty, though he could have easily passed for a younger man. His wife, Lisa, appeared to be around forty. With her voluminous, teased blonde hair, sharp jawline, and heavy makeup, she was a striking figure, complemented by a loud, boisterous personality. Lisa downed two glasses of champagne in large gulps, and the alcohol quickly went to her head.

“So, Britta, do you do erotic massages too?” she giggled.

“Don’t be vulgar, Lisa,” her husband scolded, then turned to Britta. “Don’t mind her, dear, she’s just joking,” he added apologetically—though the glint in his eyes suggested otherwise.

He had clearly entertained the thought.

“Oh, come on, Bruno,” Lisa scoffed. “I’ve been massaged by muscular, handsome men before. I know how good it feels.”

“Don’t project your experiences onto me. I never see a massage as anything intimate.”

“Really? Then why do you always book appointments with Annabelle—the one with the huge breasts?”

Bruno cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable.

“If it bothers you that much, I’ll just start seeing Britta,” he said flatly, effectively ending the awkward conversation.

Lisa eyed the hostess suspiciously before reaching for another glass of champagne.

“Don’t let that horse-faced woman get to you,” a mature, female voice murmured behind Britta.

It was Emily, the renowned surgeon’s wife, a woman in her sixties. She wore striking black beaded jewelry that suited her age and refined style perfectly. Her floor-length, shimmering gray dress complemented her natural silver hair, which she had never dyed. She carried herself with complete confidence, utterly at ease in her own skin. With a warm smile, she turned to the hostess.

“Welcome! It’s good to see that young people are moving to the countryside too—not just old folks like us,” she laughed. “And don’t worry about Lisa. She’s crude—especially when she drinks. Given that she spikes her morning coffee with rum, she’s like this all day, every day.. She can’t help looking like a prize-winning mare, but she can control how she behaves. Be careful with her, I wouldn’t be surprised if she used drugs just to cope with her husband, who plays for both teams. If you catch my drift.”

Britta felt overwhelmed, struggling to process all the information at once.

“Thank you, Emily. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Do you massage old ladies too?” the woman asked with a playful grin. “Or do you recoil at the sight of wrinkled skin?”

“Of course, I don’t!” Britta protested. “And honestly, I’d love to look like you when I’m your age,” she added with genuine admiration.

“Well, I can teach you how to stay beautiful for years to come. Though, judging by your face and figure, I doubt you have much to worry about. You’re a stunning woman.”

Britta blushed.

Eventually, Emily’s husband, the distinguished surgeon, joined them for a polite introduction.

Karl seemed pleased. The garden looked enchanting, the chef had outdone himself, and the staff moved seamlessly, almost invisibly, throughout the event.

Only Destiny and her husband arrived late. Karl, who had been impatiently waiting to meet them, rushed to greet them with an eager smile.

Destiny’s husband was noticeably older than her. He wore a pearl-colored silk suit with white leather shoes. When the much-anticipated guest stepped into the garden, he paused, surveying the scene and the guests with slow, meticulous scrutiny. Karl clasped the man’s right hand with both of his.

Destiny wore a halter-neck gold cocktail dress, paired with transparent stiletto heels. Aside from a diamond flower-shaped earring, she wore no other jewelry. She was the most understated woman at the party, yet every gaze gravitated toward her. She didn’t need lavish accessories—Destiny was a presence. She radiated effortlessly.

Britta was relieved to finally see the only guest she had already gotten to know, even if just a little. She happily led Destiny around, showing her the floral arrangements on the tables—the very decorations that Destiny had sent for the party.

“I’m so glad you like them.”

“They’re stunning, and they fit perfectly here. Thank you so much!”

Karl was pulling out all the stops to impress Mikos, the auto industry magnate.

He had a talent for ingratiating himself into the good graces of powerful men, making them feel honored by his company. Mikos, however, was a notoriously tough nut to crack. Everyone knew about his steel-like resolve. The son of an industrial tycoon, he had been raised to command—to lead, to control. He had learned from a young age that he had to be in charge—of everything and everyone. His composed yet commanding presence silenced any room he entered. His mind was razor-sharp, his intelligence undeniable, and he had grown accustomed to always having the final word.

His life lacked one thing—emotion. He had been taught that feelings only cloud judgment.

He was not conventionally handsome, but his presence, his aura, his impeccable sense of style, and his immense wealth made him irresistible to women. Mikos was used to getting whatever—and whomever—he wanted.

He had met Destiny at a horse racing event. At the time, she was a college student, teaching children how to ride horses. During the race, she entertained the audience’s children while their parents watched from the grandstands. Destiny had been engaged to a fellow student at the time. But against Mikos’ undeniable charisma, she had no chance.

By the time Destiny realized he was incapable of deep emotions, they were already aboard his private jet, en route to the Seychelles to get married. As a wedding gift, she received a luxurious equestrian center and seven magnificent horses. Destiny never believed in fairy tales, so she made peace with the life that had been offered to her. She accepted the immense wealth in gratitude and let go of the idea of everlasting love. That didn’t mean she didn’t love Mikos—she did. And Mikos, in his own way, loved and respected her, too. He gave her complete freedom. He never monitored her spending, never had her followed, and when they were together, he did everything to make her happy. They traveled, hiked, and rode horses together. If Destiny felt like it, they even played board games.

But it became clear early on that their sexual needs were vastly different. Mikos rarely desired intimacy. Destiny, on the other hand, wanted it nearly every day.

“I don’t want you to be unhappy—or to leave me. I could never find a better partner than you,” Mikos had once admitted. “I want you to have everything you desire in life. I only ask one thing—don’t make a fool of me.”

Destiny had listened carefully. From that day forward, she had made sure never to tarnish her husband’s reputation. She respected him. She was grateful for the life he provided her. And, in return, she gave him freedom.

*

“Let me help,” Destiny said eagerly as she opened the wardrobe door. “You’ll need something comfortable for hiking. Don’t you have any old clothes?”

“Any what?” Britta asked, puzzled.

“Old clothes. You know, something you wouldn’t mind getting dirty.”

Britta’s expression said it all.

“I see,” Destiny chuckled. “So, maybe something you don’t like that much?”

“Oh, I have plenty of those,” Britta answered with relief.

She showed her new friend a dozen pairs of pants, from which Destiny carefully selected the one she deemed suitable for a mountain hike.

“I’ll lend you a top from my running gear. It’s unbelievable that you don’t even own a proper tracksuit.”

The next morning, as soon as Karl’s car disappeared down the street, Britta hurried over to Destiny’s house to change. Destiny handed her a neon pink crop top and a matching, shiny zip-up jacket. Britta happily pulled out the expensive tennis shoes Karl had once bought her—on a whim, after he briefly took an interest in tennis. But when he realized that it was yet another sport that involved sweating, he quickly gave it up. To Britta’s great disappointment, Karl never even let her wear the beautiful shoes for grocery shopping. He insisted that his wife always remain feminine—he despised the sporty look.

Destiny drove with confidence, almost aggressively, clearly enjoying the speed. Her royal blue sports car suited her just as perfectly as the elegant pearl-colored luxury vehicle she usually drove. Everything suited her. She was simultaneously a young woman and a diva. Sporty and sophisticated. Subtle and sensual. She was like a hologram—constantly shifting, depending on how the light hit her.

Britta was giddy with excitement. She had no idea how Karl would react if he knew what she was up to. She decided that if he asked, she would simply tell him she had been at the library. Not that he was likely to ask.

If Karl came home in a bad mood—because his subordinates or superiors had upset him—it was best not to say anything. And Britta knew better than to talk. On those evenings, Karl would pour himself a drink and lock himself in his home office. Later, he would swim, use the sauna, and sometimes skip dinner entirely.

Regardless, the table had to be set, and the dishes had to remain in place in case he decided to eat later.

Mornings after such nights, it was unwise to disturb him—unless he clearly seemed to be in a better mood.

Secretly, Britta hoped Karl would have a rough day at work. That way, like a good wife, she wouldn’t have to burden him with her presence.

“Here,” Destiny handed her a cotton pad and a small bottle when they parked. “Wipe off your makeup,” she instructed firmly. “You’re going to sweat it off, and you’ll end up looking like someone punched you in the face.”

Britta laughed as she cleaned her eyes and face. Applying makeup every morning had become so routine that she hardly even noticed when she put it on.

“You’re beautiful just like this,” Destiny said, running her fingers playfully over Britta’s thigh. “You don’t need foundation at all. Your skin is flawless. Now at least we’ll see when you blush.”

“Karl likes my face to have an even tone with a subtle glow—”

“Karl, Karl, Karl,” Destiny interrupted impatiently. “He’s not here. And if I’m guessing correctly, he’s not even going to know how we’re spending the day. Am I right?”

“…Yes.”

“Then what does it matter what he likes, if he won’t even see you? Just be yourself! Britta—the gorgeous, sexy, free woman. Not Karl’s shadow. You have your own personality, not just the one he’s forced onto you.”

As soon as she said it, she regretted it. She shouldn’t have spoken to Britta like that—after all, they barely knew each other. She had no idea what Britta’s life with Karl was really like or why she felt the need to submit to him so completely.

“I’m so sorry, Britta, I—”

“You’re right, Destiny. It’s just that…”

“No, I’m not right. Forgive me, I overstepped. I had no right to talk to you like that.”

“It’s good to know how others see me.”

“No, no one sees you like that!” Destiny hurried to reassure her new friend. “I’m the other extreme—I live practically as an independent woman. With Mikos, I can do whatever I want. We spend one week a month together—during that time, he’s the best husband and companion. But when he’s away, I don’t know a thing about him, and he doesn’t know anything about me. Especially not the fact that I satisfy my sexual needs with escort men.”

“What?!” Britta gasped in shock.

Destiny threw her head back and laughed.

“Let’s not talk about that now! Come on, let’s take a long hike! There’s a charming little restaurant in the valley—we’ll have lunch there.”

The warm summer sunshine, the fresh mountain air, and Destiny’s captivating personality made Britta forget all her worries and anxieties. For the first time in a long while, she felt like herself. The cheerful, carefree girl she had once been—before life had tested her.

Time flew by with Destiny, and before Britta knew it, she had shared nearly every detail of her private life.

“I barely recognize you,” Destiny laughed. “The always immaculate Britta is now messy and covered in mud.”

“If you hadn’t scared me, I wouldn’t have slipped into the muck,” Britta replied, feigning annoyance.

Her tennis shoes were barely visible beneath the caked-on dirt. Her pants were stained with dried clay.

“If you want, you can wash up at my place,” Destiny offered.

“Thanks, but Karl won’t be home until four—I have plenty of time to erase the evidence.”

Britta felt intoxicated by the thrill of walking home messy, disheveled, and makeup-free—even if it was only a short distance between her house and Destiny’s. Exhausted but blissfully happy, she stepped through the gate. Before going inside, she headed toward the backyard to see if her sun lounger was out—she planned to wait for Karl’s return with a book in hand, looking relaxed.

But as she rounded the house, she nearly collapsed from fright. Of all the things she had expected, what awaited her in the garden was not one of them.

Karl sat on the terrace with two of his superiors and a female colleague, who held the same position as him. All conversation stopped the moment they saw Britta. The two men rose to greet the lady of the house, but Karl swiftly intervened.

“My apologies,” he said curtly. “Britta will freshen up immediately. I specifically asked her not to participate in that charity event—you know, the one where volunteers clean up a poor family’s yard—but apparently, she couldn’t help herself.”

“How generous of your wife,” Karl’s colleague, Zelda, remarked politely. “I could never let myself get that dirty for someone else. My admiration to you.” Then, with a pointed glance at her metallic-painted nails, she added with thinly veiled disdain, “Truly.”

She eyed Britta with mockery, her narrow lips curling slightly. Her green eyes, framed by thick false lashes, glowed with contempt. She pursed her unpainted lips just enough to ensure Britta had no doubts about her disdain.

“You should be proud of her,” Karl’s superior added. “I’ve never seen my wife in workout clothes. She has a personal trainer, but she exercises behind closed doors. She says it’s because she doesn’t want me to lose my attraction to her. Though I suppose some men aren’t bothered by seeing their wives like this.”

Karl was seething with rage. He wanted to storm after Britta and put her in her place.

By the time the guests left, however, he was too exhausted to yell. When he saw his pale, trembling wife, he could only manage one sentence: “Get out of my sight, you idiot.”