Chapter 1 : A Meeting of Lost Souls

Hands couldn't fold into fists. They formed the shape of scallop shells neither shallower nor deeper. His torso --thick at the shoulders where muscles bound into a hump at the base of his neck--rigidly tight at the lower back—also formed a curving shell creating a lumbering walk with his head tilted forward leading the way. Balancing on long, tightly muscled legs, each step seemed a precarious lunge forward threatening to escalate momentum falling face first into concrete, as precarious as an upright turtle struggling with its four footed nature, the return to horizontal an inevitability. Joseph needed straightening out.

A week of day labor pay in an envelope folded in the pocket of his damp jeans—he saved 75 cents by ending the drying at the Laundromat early—provided the means for straightening and the direction of his lumbering. He passed the massage parlor many times during post work strolls. He finally swallowed his nerves a week before and entered and inquired about cost. The envelope contained enough including tip. Truth be told the tip interested him more than the basics.

"Hour eighty dollar," said the short and stocky Korean woman behind the white Formica counter. All business, she neither smiled nor thanked Joseph when he counted out four twenties. Of indeterminate age, he guessed the woman to be middle aged from a sense of accumulated weariness. No lines etched her round, immobile face reflecting a life keeping emotions at bay. He did get a hint of wariness, and her left hand remained hidden while the right did the transacting. He imagined it held a weapon—perhaps a shotgun or some martial sword. Both had the capability to emasculate were he to threaten her.

Being large, with an intense, expressive and memorable not quite handsome not plain face, a small round nose and soft lips within a flat circle crowned by short light blond hair, he witnessed women shying when alone in his presence. Few words grunted low through his long thick larynx startled. His grim expression--a smile appearing so rarely it may as well have been nonexistent—further alienated women. And yet if they allowed first impressions to pass and looked into his large pale blue eyes and discovered what dwelled behind them, or listened to the content of the words, their arrangement and the style of speech, a calm intelligence and peace might have interested them. Then again, the other extreme from first impressions might have created disinterest. Either too dangerous or not dangerous enough, he couldn't win.

Winning however had never been on his agenda. He lost too much—parents, friendships, respect. He went into adulthood alone so as to avoid further losses. His only wins had been losses to him. When challenged by tough guys in school or in foster homes, his quickness put them on the ground unconscious and bruised if not quite broken, and he hated giving such pain even if deserved.

"Strip naked and lay on your back on the table. Put the towel over your middle," said a low female voice emanating from behind a curtain. The dimmed room smelled of disinfectant and a musk mix hinting of sweat and both male and female ejaculate. He did as commanded, his head tilted in the direction of the door, though the door could barely be seen at the lowest point of his vision. "Tell me when you're ready," the voice spoke.

"I'm ready," he uttered tightly.

"Oh my," said the woman. "You look to be a challenge." Tall, nearly six feet, with wavy raven hair tied into a pony tail reaching the top of her butt, her breasts stretched the red tank top to capacity, small nipples pressing out further. Her pale midriff peeked beneath, soft and lean. Her firm butt stretched the light gray sweat shorts as much as the shirt her breasts. Thick, muscular thighs, pale like the rest of her, took awhile to reach knees and calves tapering down to delicate ankles and long narrow feet.

Her large eyes, a dark blue, almost violet, sat with noticeable distance between them on an oblong face. Full wide lips pressed into a smile, exaggerating the scar running from their right edge to her high cheek. Except for the scar and maybe the hint of mustache and the discoloration around her eye, a yellowed, fading bruise, the woman could have been a cover girl. Her stooped posture also damaged her chances at being a model. Like the man, she seemed weighed down by life pressing at the base of her neck.

"I'm Gina," she said.

"Joseph."

She stood beside him, thumb and a finger of each of her long hands taking hold of the small towel rising at the middle suggestive of the state of his penis hidden beneath, and told him to turn over. As he turned, the towel continued concealing.

"I'm going to need all of the hour to work you," she sighed.

"You're beautiful," Joseph told Gina.

Gina pushed a button on a small boombox and seabirds and wave crashes and a delicate acoustic guitar strummed and picked from tinny speakers.

"Close your eyes, Hon," Gina commanded in a rich southern accent, her oil slicked hand gently resting on his upper back. Moments later, both hands became much less gentle. She pressed deep. It hurt, some places worse than others, but he felt tingling relief and loved her for giving him such pain.

"Who did that to you, Gina?" asked Joseph.

"Ssh. No talking."

"I won't talk much if you tell me your story."

"If you want your money's worth..."

"I have another hundred for you."

"We'll get to that later."

"I'll give you more if you tell me."

"Why?"

"I have to know."

"That makes no sense."

"You're beautiful Gina. Someone wanted to take that away. They didn't. Tell me who."

After a long silence as Gina dug even deeper into his tight muscles she finally responded, timidly. "Alright."

"The truth."

"How would you know?"

"I listen well."

She whipped off his covering and slapped his ass hard. "Nice buns," she pronounced.

"Thanks," said Joseph, surprising Gina by his lack of reaction. "So?"

"Maybe you should wait until you can watch my face; wait until I turn you over."

"No need. I can hear it in your voice. Besides, you wanted my eyes closed."

She pressed deeply into his glutes. He moaned. She giggled and continued the intense pressure. "Well, I asked you to keep silent."

"I will. I'll listen."

Gina proved her years of practice when she revealed her past to him and continued her masterful massage. "Mother had three problems which caused me to grow in her uterus at too young an age. She developed early and beautifully. She wanted out of her life of trailer parks and her mother's johns and her mother's meanness and her mother's sloppiness and her mother's growing fatness and ugliness. And she had no patience.

"Barely fifteen, the first man who approached her with cocky confidence and persuasive conversation--a man driving a big fancy automobile, ruggedly handsome, tall, exuding dangerous strength--she let seduce her. The fact that he played her like he played cards, reading her like he read his opponents, made him less resistible even if she didn't want to resist his charm. Within a half hour of conversation in which he pretended interest in her lousy life, separating her from her schoolmates while walking home, she let him escort her to his car and got in.

"But this wasn't some predatory rape. No, he kept his hands off for the first couple times they met, though she kissed his cheek each time when she got out of the car. The third time however, the chaste kiss became mouth to mouth. She wanted him to take her to his home. Instead he took her to a cheap motel along the highway. He claimed to be in the area on business. Too naïve or too desperate, when he parked and had her wait in the car while he went into the motel office, she didn't think about him getting a key only for the tryst.

"The first time he had her in a room alone, they made out like he was a teenager too. She'd kissed boys and let them fondle her breasts, already pretty large and enticing, but only outside her clothes. Turn over, Joseph."

His penis, over seven inches and thick, leaned down from its weight. Gina washed her hands and returned to work his face and continued her tale.

"They made out and she allowed him contact with her naked breasts, but it ended before clothes had been completely removed. By their third visit to the motel room, she needed him to fuck her. He removed her shirt and bra and she removed his shirt. His hand moved between her legs. She had been wearing skirts after their first intimate encounter. His hand had been there before, but through panties. Fingers slipped underneath and entered her wet pussy. Her hands worked his pants free and at last held his penis. He brought her to orgasm with his mouth while she, when she could concentrate, marveled at his cock. He taught her felatio. Though naïve, she was a quick study. Her success proven by his spurts, he held her mouth to it and insisted she swallow it all. It scared her. He spent the next few minutes calming her, telling her how beautiful she was and how delighted he was in her ability to please him. They returned to the sixty nine and he regained his stature. Then, with ease, he got her ready to be deflowered.