Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Tuesday Tales - Magic Fingers Massage

Welcome to another Tuesday Tales.  If you arrived from the main Tuesday Tales blog, be sure to return to check out the links for all the other writers participating.  If not, head on over after you read my little story to see what the other authors came up with from the prompt, "massage". 

http://tuesdaytales1.blogspot.com/

Mine this week turned out to be a little sweet fantasy tale called "Magic Fingers Massage" and here we go:

Magic Fingers Massage
by Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy

Too many hours, a day stretching from sunrise to long after sunset left Daphne with just enough energy to sprawl across the bed in the cheap motel room she’d rented.  With the convention in town all the name brand chain hotels were booked and it’d taken over an hour to find this little homegrown motel on the old highway loop.  Sandwiched between a pawn shop and a small bakery, Misty Morning Motel managed to maintain a neat appearance, no small feat in that neighborhood.  The single story low building featured twelve units facing onto a gravel parking lot running vertical against the horizontal street.   Each door had been painted a bright, cheerful red and the structure whitewashed in recent months.  Geraniums bloomed in little window boxes at each unit and Daphne, desperate to find a room, thought finding the place lucky.  So far, it seemed clean, a definite plus and she’d yet to spot a single cockroach.

            Her feet ached from standing in the convention hall all day long, handing out brochures for the plastic kitchen ware line she represented.   She held a wash cloth filled with ice on her forehead hoping it might relieve the killer headache and she raised up to sip bottled water to soothe her dry throat, parched and sore from repeating the spiel over and over again.   Her back hurt too and she wished she had someone to massage her tired muscles.

            In addition to every other ailment Daphne’s stomach growled with hunger.  She’d had no time for lunch and breakfast, a bagel breakfast sandwich from the drive through window of the Golden Arches, was too long ago to matter now.  She didn’t want to get up or leave the room but if she didn’t, she had nothing but a couple of packets of peanut butter crackers tucked into her oversize purse.  I could lie here forever, she thought with a sigh.

            Thirty minutes later, head thick with drowsiness, Daphne roused up so she could find a quick dinner.  She hurried outside to her car and drove a few blocks down to a pizzeria she’d spotted.  She ordered a small pizza to go with mushrooms, black olives, and red onions, then waited while it baked.  Daphne inhaled the aroma as she took it back to the motel and her stomach flipped over in response.  It tasted even more scrumptious than it smelled so she ate most of it before collapsing back on the bed.

            As she put the pizza box on the nightstand she noticed for the first time the bed happened to be a “Magic Fingers” bed, the kind often written about in cheap romance novels where you inserted a quarter to make the bed offer up a motorized massage.   On impulse, Daphne rooted out the three – not just one – quarters required and dropped them into the coin box.   As the bed began to vibrate she shut her eyes and let the movements offer what comfort possible.   She started on her back but flipped over, her face against the comforter she hoped was as clean as it smelled.

            If she didn’t know better Daphne could have sworn real fingers worked the tension out of her taut muscles and actual hands massaged her weary back.  The massage eased away the day’s strain and she relaxed, occasionally murmuring small inarticulate sounds of pleasure.  She’d figured the cheap magic fingers would last no more than a few minutes if that but the massage continued until she began to wonder if the thing malfunctioned.   She sighed and rolled over to check, figuring it might be just her luck if the damn bed would continue all night long.  Daphne opened her eyes and then stared.

            A young man, tall, lithe, and lean stood over the bed.  She gaped at his hands, large and powerful with long fingers.  He’d been massaging her, she realized, not the magic fingers of the bed.  He smiled down at her and said in a voice as deep as bass thunder,

            “What is your wish now, lady?”

            Daphne noticed he wore a strange outfit, long red harem style trousers and a tight jacket trimmed in gold.  He wore an odd little cap on his head but the weird ensemble seemed familiar.  She searched her brain and realized it appeared to be a male version of the outfit worn by the lead character, Jeannie, in the old television sitcom   I Dream of Jeannie.

            “My wish?” she asked, with confusion. “What are you?”

            He chuckled. “My name is Azram and I am the genie of the magic fingers, mistress.  I was bound long ago to this bed and place to serve.  What is your command?”

            Daphne rubbed her eyes.  She must be dreaming, she thought, or there’d been something in the pizza causing hallucinations.  So she closed her eyes tight and when she dared to open them, Azram remained, waiting with a soft smile.

            “What can I ask of you?” she questioned.  If he were truly a genie, she wondered if she got three wishes.  Maybe she could ask for a better job, one not requiring constant travel and trade show appearances or a fortune or a lover.

            “Anything you wish,” Azram answered, “as long as it remains in this room or can happen within these walls.”

            So much for the money, Daphne thought, or the job but as she remembered the feel of his hands against her body, she knew what she wanted.   She decided too she’d stay here whenever she came to town.

            “Make love to me, genie,” she said with a slow smile, “Love me with your magic hands and your skill until morning.”

             Azram bowed his head. “As you will, my lady, as you will.”

            And so he did.

           

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