Her muscles began the second round of begging for forgiveness, this time they sang the names of the gods of her fathers and mothers asking them to forgive the sins of her ancestors. It couldn’t just be her own sins she was atoning for as she pushed them with such cruelty.
“Stop!” he said.
“Lie down and stretch, you would have had muscle pull in a few minutes if I hadn’t stopped you.
She went to her mat and lay down, her leg and back muscles began to clench and it was very painful. Was this what the muscle pull was?
“Are you in pain?”
“Yes o,” she bit her lip before whispering her reply.
“Did you remember to stretch before you started?”
“I don’t think so,” she muttered.
“Lie on your stomach let me stretch your muscles with massage. I’ve told you that you must stretch before you start. You need it more than most other people because you do your routine in the evening after work and facing Lagos traffic.”
He started out on her shoulders and moved to her back, it was much gentler than she expected.
“Your hands are so soft, I can sleep after this.”
“You’re definitely going to sleep,” he replied.
“It’s past nine Oga, e don late already.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll walk you home as usual.”
Because she was usually his last client for the day, she nearly always waited for him at the end of the session and they went home together. His street was just before hers but he always followed her until she entered her house.
“Na you sabi,” she retorted.
He ran his fingertips across her waist, it was on her skin which wasn’t covered by her blue yoga pants or her red tank top. He did it again, right on the band of stretch marks on her waist. How did he know they were extra sensitive?
She chuckled at her confusion, he was a gym instructor after all. He must have seen thousands of clients who had tiger stripes. His hands cupped her bum and they pressed them. Was this still a massage? She wondered.
As he continued downwards, pressing and kneading just the right spots, she felt stirrings in the place Donald Trump liked to grab people by. Her breath caught in her throat.
“Oya turn and lie on your back let me complete the massage.”
“I don’t think it’s necessary,” she said quickly. “I’m fine now.”
“Story, you’re still very tense. I have to get you fully relaxed to prevent pain for you tomorrow.”
He knelt by her head and began to knead her shoulders and clavicle. She was floating when she felt his hands probing her breasts as if they were examining for lumps. Her eyes flew open.
“Your mammary muscles are so tense.” He said quickly.
Oga na my breasts you dey mould like fufu so, she thought but she stayed silent. Instead she watched his fingers dance on her chest and how they deliberately missed the arrow sharp tips at the centre.
They wanted to be included in the massage too, to burn against his fingers as they brushed the darkened skin. She wondered if there was also a flow of blood to her nipples that made them rise to greet him, like the engorged flaps of skin that tingled in the junction where her legs met and divided.
She moved her waist a little and watched his eyes shift to her yoga pants.
“I’m about to massage your imaginary six pack,” he announced.
His fingers probed the bands of fat on her abdomen while his wrists brushed against her nipples, she bit her lower lip hard and he chuckled.
“In a few weeks, you will be able to wear crop tops without looking like you are addicted to beer.”
“I wish I actually drink beer,” she sputtered.
He moved his hands to her hips and he stood up slowly, his crotch a few inches from her face as he lifted his hands off her body. She was just about to cry from abandonment when he made a turn and stood by her feet. He squatted, took off her sneakers and began to massage her feet.
“That feels so good, I didn’t know my feet were so tired,” she moaned.
“Haven’t you heard about reflexology?” he asked.
“Coach, I’m too tired to discuss anything.”
He moved his hands upward, stopping at her ankles for a minute before tracing a line along her calf from her left ankle to the back of her knee while doing the same thing along the shinbone of her right leg. He massaged her knees and widened her legs a little further.
“I need to incorporate more leg exercises to your programme, your thighs should be more toned than this.”
“If you add more exercises, I’ll shoot you.” she shouted.
He laughed and moved his hands to her thighs and kneaded them. His eyes were fixed on her thighs which were gripped by the shimmering yoga pants.
“More exercise would help control your violent tendencies.”
“Add more exercises and I will show you what true violence is.”
He burst out laughing while she hissed and rolled her eyes. He moved his hands upwards, stopping to touch every inch of the journey to Rome, the place where all roads led to. Even the road to an orgasm.
He splayed his right palm across her groin and there was a renewed uprising in her nether regions, she propped her hands on her head to prevent her naughty hands from taking her pants off her waist and hips. Her hands wanted to place his fingers on the soft triangle of flesh that was calling his name.
But she hadn’t shaved in three weeks.
He nudged her legs further apart and lightly traced the volcano that sat directly beneath the seam of her pants and she felt a damp heat that surged with every shift of his finger.
He continued to his middle finger back and forth slowly across the seam of her pants while his other fingers danced on her groin area. She turned her head several times but kept her body still.
His middle finger became more forceful, tracing the tiny volcano and moving it from side to side. His index finger moved to join his middle to form a V and they began to rock the raised mound of skin.
She sounded like a hungry kitten, she thought.
Why was she thinking about cats? she hated the pesky animals. She opened her eyes to be sure it hadn’t been an actual kitten meowing. There was no other cat in the room.
He took off his fingers and placed his palm where his fingers had just been and began to move it fast. Her throat felt dry, there was a ringing in her ears and she gasped.
He moved his palm faster and pressed it on her skin with a little more pressure and she gasped again. His other hand dove for her left nipple and tweaked it softly as the fire he had been stoking, engulfed her entire body.
He dusted his palms against each other, stood up and then rubbed his palms on his knees. She couldn’t make out his features properly, were those tiny white things dancing across the room, stars?
“You should be well relaxed now; I’ll leave you to sleep for thirty minutes. Is that ok?”
“It’s ok,” she said and
And she slept.