Take Care

Sorry this is late. Thank you for your patience!

Jameson was reading when Angela got home. She’d had an easy day, only one client, and she’d made some cookies, tidied the bathroom, and had made significant headway in her latest novel when the lock clicked and her wife followed it.

Immediately she knew something was up. Angela was usually bubbly and chatty when she got home, eager to share stories or commiserate over the day’s events. While Jameson was a homebody, ascribing to the less is more philosophy of working, Angela fostered a vibrant clientele which sometimes got overwhelming. It made for a decent sized and fast growing nest egg for their young marriage but sometimes she overdid it.

“Hey, sweetheart, welcome home. How was your day?”
“Ugh. I feel like shit. I feel like a dump truck ran me over. Why am I so dumb!”
“Why? What happened?”
“Oh the usual, I overbooked myself. I know better than to see Carpal Tunnel Guy and Coke Can Cock on the same day. Then I ate too much at dinner again so I feel gross and bloated. When will I l earn!?!” Angela collapsed on the sofa with a wincing sigh. She met her wife’s concerned eyes and suddenly the walls fell. Fragility replaced irritation and tears spilled over her cheeks.
“My darling love, I’m sorry. It’s ok. It happens sometimes. I know they take it out of you. How about a bath?”

Jameson sometimes did a bath ceremony with her clients but she liked nothing better than to give the healing touch to her soft, tiny wife when she burned out. She’d insisted on the right kind of tub when they were apartment hunting all those years ago and Angela thought her fixation absurd. Until, that is, the first bath.

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to do that. It’s my fault. I knew better…”
“Shhhhh. You just chill while I go get stuff ready.”

Jameson’s first stop was the fridge for a glass of white wine. Too much would simply feed Angela’s low mood but one glass would keep her busy while Jameson drew a bath and lit candles.

Fifteen minutes and their bathroom had been transformed from the boring white and blue pit stop to a refuge, full of fragrant steam, flickering soft light, and low music. Jameson went to fetch her tiny wife and the process of covering her in soft, feminine sensation.

First, she sat next to Angela and simply took her hand, caressing it gently all over. Angela’s eyes closed and her breathing started to slow under the hypnotic movement. Jameson took the glass and set it aside, then began slowly, gently undressing Angela, taking time to rub, feather light, over each bit of skin as it was exposed.

“How does this feel?” She asked as she caressed near a nipple. Neither of them ever knew whether they would respond or reject Jameson’s touch after the well intentioned but rough handling by clients. “ok? Maybe later? Not today?”

“Not today. That sweaty, prickly…”

Jameson cut her phrase short with a delicate finger to Angela’s lips. “Shhhh. Only answer, don’t think.” Angela smiled. It was a good reminder. She began again to clear her mind and let Jameson do what she did best.

Jeans and underwear gone, Jameson finished her whispering touch with a brief, firm foot rub and then took Angela’s hand and led her, mute, to the bath.

Lavender and low light continued the process Jameson had begun on the sofa and over the next half hour, Angela soaked and enjoyed as her pale pink life partner slowly, carefully, gently washed every inch of her with special soaps. With Angela’s eyes closed, Jameson felt no self-consciousness just looking at her wife. It never got old.

Angela was short, only a bit over five foot, and hippy for someone so petite but it gave her a lucrative body that was enough mother goddess to inspire lust while staying trim enough to fit today’s body narrative. Her hair was dark and fell to her shoulders and her limbs fit with the rest of her: a bit short but right in the middle between skinny and strong. She had shape that appealed broadly enough that she was in high demand, and her rates reflected that.

But Jameson’s favorite part was her skin. Some mix of olive and orange that made her look like a quiet sun shone from inside. In the dim light she looked dark like chocolate but in the sunshine she glowed gold and the red undertones shone from her hair. Soft, smooth, her few blemishes placed so perfectly you’d have thought she had someone put them there, her skin was a work of sensuous art and it was a shame she had to drown it out and ignore it so often. Clients were always so well-meaning but they’re men and men rarely are as delicate and sensitive as women. Their rough cracked sweaty bodies guzzled from the well of Angela’s bubbling femininity and she loved providing that respite from the sensory desert most men live in. But it took a toll, particularly when they were large, scratchy, or particularly emotionally intense. Today had been all three.

As she carefully sloshed soapy water up to Angela’s chin, she saw with satisfaction the near-sleep expression on her face and smiled. “Ok, sleepyhead,” she whispered, “time to rinse off.” She started the water draining and stepped away long enough to set up their massage table in the living room. By the time Angela was toweling herself off, Jameson had the living room similarly transformed. “It’s the deluxe treatment for you today, my darling.”

Angela’s dreamy expression never left her face as she moved, pleasantly sluggish, from place to place as directed. It was so easy to serve such a willing, passive client. They’d been sex workers long before they met, Jameson working with a massage table and steep restrictions, Angela working too hard, and they simply clicked. Their shared desire to please served them well as they took turns taking the client/provider roles and adapting the work they usually performed on men to their life together.
Jameson finished the evening with a long, slow body rub. Beginning at her shoulders, she kneaded and stretched muscle until she felt the tension start to leave.

“Draw your attention to my hands. Feel the tension leave you. Feel my focus on you and soak it in. Allow your body to open to the sensation of my fingertips, my palms.” Jameson kept up a low monologue to remind Angela to stay present, keep her mind from drifting to the next day, allow deep relaxation to occur.

All down her back, kneading her butt and thigh and calf, then the other side, all while reminding her to breathe, be. The work was familiar but the sensation was so different with such perfect skin under her hands. She worked lotion over every inch of her beloved wife and soaked in the love that filled the room, fragrant as the steam from the bath.

“How do you feel?”
“Haha, that sounds about right. Ready for bed?”

The two women climbed into bed together, unclad, and cuddled as close as they could.

“Thank you. You are incredible, you know that right?”
“Yes. Yes, I do. Goodnight.”

And they fell asleep, breathing each other in, preparing for another day.