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My Massage Had a Happy Ending

I love getting a massage. And I usually get a couple of them a year. It's one of the few things, other than oral sex, that totally relaxes me.
But I've never gotten a massage by a male therapist. I've often wondered how it would be different. Mainly, would I get sexually aroused?
I haven't been turned on by a massage before. My only bodily response, other than the release of some taut neck muscles, has been the increased need to pass gas. And that's embarrassing no matter what the gender of the massager is. But massages can definitely be sexual.
Male friends, both gay and straight, have told me that they sometimes get erections when having a massage done by both masseuses (females) and masseurs (males). Gender doesn't matter. It just has to do with being touched by another person in a soothing, relaxing manner.
But I like to push out the edges of my comfort zone one inch at a time so, after much internal deliberation, I decided to have my recent massage, a hot stone massage, done by a male masseur. I figured I was on vacation, far from home. He wouldn't know me and I'd never see him again.
I was a little nervous going in, naked underneath my robe. I didn't have breakfast that morning because I didn't want to have to pass gas. The masseur was cute and very polite. He left the room for a few minutes while I crawled underneath the sheet on the table. (I know, they all do that.)
And then it began. The treatment started with a traditional massage to warm my muscles up. Right away, it felt different than my other experiences. His hands were stronger, bigger. The warm oil, the hot stones. I felt like I was slowly being enveloped in a bath of warm, creamy butter. And my mind started to drift ...
I'm lying naked on a soft platform at the beach. It's dusk, the sultriest time of day. There is a soft ocean breeze. And I'm having the best massage of my life. The strong hands, the warm stones, the fragrant oil. And I'm thinking of what Sergio's finish is going to be like. The anticipation is driving me crazy. His hands are on the back of my legs, rhythmically stroking them. And with each stroke, he gets closer to my ...
Then I flinched, which is what I do when I'm almost completely relaxed and dreaming of doing something physical. And I remembered where I was and who I was with. Embarrassed by my flinching, I muttered sorry to the masseur. Then hoped he didn't realize that I had drooled and was also completely aroused. My equivalent to an erection? Engorged labia.
He didn't have much of a reaction to the drooling or the flinching. Most men don't. And if he noticed the steam coming from my vaginal area, he ignored it. But I was very tense for the rest of the massage. So much for being relaxed. I guess there's a reason that I usually have a female therapist.
After the massage, I texted my husband and asked him to meet me in our hotel room. I figured I might as well have him finish off the fantasy for me with the happy ending I was looking for.
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