Happy Friday! We've made it through another week and what a loooong week it was. I just started a new position in the hospital and I'm sooo exhausted! But, as a treat I'd like to bring you my review of a delicious romp of a short story. It was entertaining and very graphic *wink wink* I hope you enjoy it!
Rub Me the Right WayKelli ScottDecadent Publishing (10.16.12)Heather Bowen is an uptight, stressed out insomniac in desperate need of a massage or a shrink or an orgasm to cure what ails her.
On doctor’s orders, she starts with a massage to work out her knotty/naughty kinks. At the hands of a talented massage therapist, Heather gets a full body rub down. And more. Next stop—a psychiatrist to get at the root of her anxiety and sleeplessness. But is she ready for Dr. Simon’s controversial treatment?
What begins as prescribed therapy becomes a wild fantasy ride of erotic discovery that makes Heather question her sexual orientation along with everything she believed about her carnal desires.
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Quick & short but very descriptive Rub Me the Right Way is something that you can read as quickly as a magazine article. In Playboy. Definitely on the naughtier side, this short story definitely speaks to those who like to delve in sexual fantasies and role playing. For a short story it's not lacking in background building or character knowledge. Kelli Scott lets us know all that we need to know in a span of a few sentences and it works. My only issue was that I had a bit of hard time discerning whether her encounters were merely fantasies or if they actually happened. Other than that, I enjoyed it.
Read an excerpt
“You all ready, Heather?” Tasha called out, probably worried about how long it took me to get undressed.
I shoved the drape of the dressing room aside. “Absolutely.”
She led me to the room across the hall as if through a slow motion dream. She was that graceful and lithe and willowy. Tranquil sounds filled the space. Waves lapping at a sandy beach.
She patted the massage table. “Up or down?”
“Excuse me?” I didn’t know there’d be a quiz.
Perusing the clipboard, she asked, “First massage?”
“That’s right.” Then couldn’t help but add, “I’m a massage virgin.”
“Well, we’ll see what we can do to remedy that.” She smiled, not taking my comment offensively, unless she was a really good actress. “Would you like to start face up or down?”
“What do you recommend?” I stopped myself from repeating the virgin reference.
She skimmed the clipboard again. “Lower back pain. Tense, knotted muscles. Insomnia. Headaches. Stress. Let’s start face down.” Looking up from my long list of afflictions, she asked, “Would you like me to step out while you disrobe?”
Would that be rude? “Of course not.” I scoffed. “We’re both women, right?”
Tasha turned her back, preparing her oils or instruments or whatever. With her attention elsewhere, I slipped out of the robe, hung it on a peg, and hopped on the table quick like The Flash, hauling the sheet over my nakedness, which I still wasn’t sure was appropriate. Oh, well, what the hell? She’d just have to deal with it. I planted my face in the face donut and waited.
The acoustics transitioned into raindrops on a tin roof. Occasionally a clap of friendly thunder rumbled in the distance to mix things up. She positioned me like a rag doll, placing my arms at my sides on the outside of the sheet.
“Comfortable?” she asked.
“Yes,” I mumbled.
I fixated on her delicate bare feet, her toenails painted a fuchsia color. The fringe of her sarong nearly tickled the floor as she gracefully glided around. A silver chain encircled her ankle. How I wished I could be more like her. Free-spirited. Serene. Bohemian.
“Be sure to tell me if I rub too hard.” She rested her palms on my skin, and I tensed.
“I am,” I protested.
About the Author
Left for dead in an enchanted forest, Kelli was raised by wolves, which explains her thick coat of fur and keen night vision. As an adolescent, she was exiled from the pack due to her love of well-done steak smothered in ketchup (her penchant for blackened beef has also caused her ejection from several fine eateries). On her own, she roamed the streets, eating from dumpsters and sleeping in abandoned dog houses. Cold, starving and destitute, Kelli turned to the oldest profession—writing. Since her fall from grace, she has penned several smutty stories for which she has received many accolades. And despite her limited vocabulary, inability to punctuate properly and her well-documented spelling disability, Kelli has collected some awards (some of them for her writing). But what she wants most in the world is to return to the enchanted forest and her pack. As soon as she figures out north from south and east from west, she will do just that.