It was about 112 degrees when I stepped off the plane in Phoenix for a week long industry conference and for what would turn out to be my first lesbian experience. The heat nearly took my breath away as did what would transpire the next night.
At baggage claim, I met Mary, a colleague and competitor, who had been on my flight from the East Coast although we hadn’t seen each other. So we shared a cab from the airport to the hotel and conference center.
When we arrived about 2 PM, the hotel was overbooked so we agreed to share a room with two double beds. While we are competitors in the technology sector, Mary and I had collaborated successfully on a couple of projects where the customers wanted to combine parts of her systems and mine. Though we may not have been best friends we were certainly good acquaintances. In fact, we both cashed some big commission checks about six months earlier and we went out for a glass of champagne, but had not really talked since then. We have several things in common. I am a divorcee in my late 40s with two daughters in college. Mary is single, about three years younger. She is attractive, but so am I. Neither of us is anything remotely resembling the dyke-type.
After checking in and unpacking, we went down to the pool for an hour or so and a couple of “umbrella drinks, then back up stairs to shower and dress for cocktails and dinner with other conferees. After dinner, we turned in early – about 10:30 PM but – 1:30 am by our East Coast body clocks.
The next day was filled with speeches, meetings and classes. By 4 PM I was dragging with another session yet to go. I saw Mary in the lobby between sessions and told her I was going to make an appointment at the hotel spa for a massage when the day was over. She said that would be very expensive – $125 including tip for a one hour massage – and she would make an appointment for both of us with a friend, who cost about half that. Will she take us both on such short notice. “She’s a sister, she’ll be glad to,” she said.
I was so naive, I thought she meant she’s LIKE a sister, meaning a really good friend. I quickly agreed and we met in our room at 5:30, dumped our books, brief cases and brochures and headed out for a taxi.
Margot had a beautiful house in the Camelback area with an incredible view of the city. She was an attractive blonde in her mid to late 30’s who gave Mary a warm kiss at the door and a friendly kiss for me. They were good friends, I thought. After introductions and a little chit-chat about our conference schedule what Mary had done since her last visit, Margot said, “well, let’s see if we can get rid of some of those muscle cramps and brain cramps, get the blood flowing and flush out some of those nasty big city toxins.”
“Let’s start with a Jacuzzi, while I set up my equipment.” I said I didn’t have a swim suit with me and Margot said, “Good, you don’t need one anyway. I’ll give you a towel you can slip out of as you get in the water.”
In less than five minutes, Mary and I had slipped into the bubbling waters and were enjoying the breathtaking view below us as the lights of the city flickered on. Five minutes after that, Margot was handing us each a glass of deliciously cold white wine. Ah, bliss.
We were about half done with the wine when I felt Margot sit behind me on the edge of the whirl pool, with her legs dangling in the water on each side of my arms. She begin to massage my scalp. Oooohhhh. It felt so good. So relaxing. Soon I sensed moisture in my hair and I thought she was giving me a shampoo. “What are you doing?” I asked.
“Giving your hair a hot oil treatment,” she replied. “The dry heat in the desert will turn your hair into straw in hours and your skin into parchment just about as fast. So we’re going to see that that doesn’t happen.”
She massaged the sweet smelling oil into my hair and scalp for about 10 minutes, then moved to the other side the pool to do Mary’s hair. After Mary’s tresses were well oiled, Margot said, “all right, now that everybody’s relaxed, let’s sweat out some of those big city toxins before we get to your massages.” With that she led us to a sauna inside the house with two benches about 6 feet long. By now, I was so relaxed, I completely forgot about wrapping up in my protective towel and just headed off to the sauna naked as a jaybird just out of the bird bath.
In the sauna, Margot had laid out towels on the benches and told us to lie down. She threw a couple cups of water on the hot rocks and steam engulfed the room. In no time we were both sweating profusely. Margot came and got us one by one. I didn’t see where Mary went but she led to a very professional massage table – the kind with a split in the table where your face goes so you can lay with your neck and back perfectly straight. She had two bath towels rolled up and she placed one under my pelvis and the other under my ankles so my feet and toes could hang perfectly straight down without twisting them in or out.
She also wrapped my still oiled head in a warmed towel and tied it in a turban. I’ve never been able to do that. I’ve been washing my own hair for 35 years and I’ve never mastered that towel thing. She then began to slather me in a fragrant massage oil that she said was made from desert flowers and cactus juices. She spread my ankles about eight or ten inches apart. I felt her pour a steady stream of the liquid down my spine and right into the crack of my bottom. In fact, when she reached my bottom, it seemed she just kept pouring. You can imagine where it went. She massaged the oil all over me very quickly and reminded me that she didn’t want me turning to parchment in the desert.
As her fingers worked their way back up my legs from the feet, she began massaging my bottom and her fingers dropped into the crack as part of working on my inner thighs. She began to probe around my anus. I began to squirm a little to let her know that she didn’t need to massage that. Before I said anything, I felt something long and slippery slide into my bottom and up into the rectum.
“What the?” I realized she was giving me an enema. I started to jump off the table, but before I could finish my sentence or move, she gently but firmly placed her hand in the small of back so I could not move.
In a soft, but very confident and very reassuring voice, she said “Settle. Just relax. This all part of flushing out those big city toxins.”
As the solution started flow in, she kept her hand on the small of my back. Though I had not expected nor wanted an enema, her hand was in a sense reassuring. She then put her other hand right the base of my bottom, near where the tube entered, and in about one or two minutes, I was feeling as mellow and relaxed as I’d ever felt in my life. I hadn’t had an enemas since my last child was born and that certainly wasn’t anything I remembered as pleasant. This was becoming very pleasant, indeed. I learned later it was because Margot’s “special cocktail” was a very special solution, indeed.
More about that later. After about five minutes, Margot said, “You’re doing very nicely. You’re over half done.” Then she took her hand from the small of my back and slid it under my pelvic bone and began to lift. “Now, I want you get up on your knees, but keep your head on the table like a baby.” That will let gravity do its magic and you’ll fee less pressure to expel.”
As I raised up, she squirted a large glop of her massage lotion into her hand and began to massage my belly. First very gently, mostly to cover the area with the rich emollients. Then another handful of the liquid and she moved to my breasts which hung down about a half inch from the table. She massaged them very gently, but very well, working the desert flower essence into my nipples by rolling each one between her thumb and forefingers – gently pulling, then rolling then squeezing. They were becoming extended and engorged. I was feeling very erotic, very sexy, yet incredibly mellow and relaxed.
She took a third handful of lotion and returned to my tummy and began deeply kneading my lower abdomen starting right on my mons and working her way up toward my navel. As she did, I could feel the enema moving higher and deeper into my body. That relieved the urge to go and made me more relaxed. As she worked, she commented on the friction and roughness of her massage caused by public hair. “We’ll get rid of that for the next time,” she said.
I don’t know how long she worked on my belly and breasts. Maybe five minutes – maybe 25 – but then she said, “OK, you did very well. You took nearly a full quart. Now I’m going to take the tube out but I want to you stay in this position for 15 minutes.”
“When the little timer goes off, you can go to the bathroom. Your first trip will be very active. Lots of water. Lots of noise and you’ll think you’re done. But you’re not. Just come back, lay on the table and relax. In about five or 10 minutes you’ll have to go again. It will probably take about five trips and 30 to 40 minutes to completely evacuate but we will have sweated and flushed a lot of those nasty toxins out of your body and you’ll be ready for the best massage of your life.
“Right now, I’m going to give Mary her massage then I’ll be back.” She then covered me with another huge warm towel out of the sauna and put in another new-age tape in her baby boom box and left.
As she left, a little voice inside was saying, you should feel foolish kneeling her with your butt up in the air like a Thanksgiving turkey all greasy and shiny from your hot-oiled hair to your cactus- juiced toes. But I didn’t. I felt peaceful. Serene. Toasty and cozy in my warm towel cocoon.
By the time the little alarmed made its one “ding”, the urgency to go to the bathroom had subsided to just a slightly stronger than normal urge to go. But when I went, her prediction cam true. I hope no one heard me. I would be terribly embarrassed. Still the relief was wonderfully pleasurable – almost like an orgasm. I don’t think I had one but it was close. Until that moment, going to the bathroom was jut a job to be done that usually came at a very inconvenient time.
After that first explosive release, I laid down on the table again and just as she promised, made about five more trips in the next 45 minutes or so. With each I seemed to feel a certain lightness and increased energy. No energy like I wanted to run a marathon or even play tennis but a feeling of having my whole body invigorated. Maybe there was something to this “toxins” stuff after all.
Just as the tape ran out, she returned asked, “Well, do we feel are clean and sparkly and healthy inside.?” I told her I had never experienced all at once the combination of feelings I was enjoying. It was the closest to nirvana I could imagine.
“Well, good,” she said. “Now I’ll you in on the secret of Margot’s special cocktail.
“The wine!” I exclaimed. “You put something in the wine.”
“No just grapes,” she said. “But I dissolve two Valium tablets into the enema solution. The effect is very pleasant as you seen and almost instantaneous.”
Intellectually I was wasn’t pleased that I’d been given a drug without my knowledge but I couldn’t argue with how I felt. “In seven years,” she said, “I’ve never had a complaint.” I certainly would not be her first.
“OK, on your tummy,” she said as she covered me with yet another fresh warm towel, turned out the lights, put on another tape, and began to massage my feet. Gradually she worked her way up my calves and thighs with long, powerful strokes leading to my touché. Then another giant dose of desert flowers with cactus nectar. It ran down my rib cage and down the sides of my breasts. Once again I felt it running down my crack and trickling between my labia. She quickly smoothed it in and began massaging my shoulders, neck, and back. She was soo-ooo good. My arms and shoulders relaxed so that my arms just fell off the table and jarred me back to consciousness.
Then she began re-kneading my buttocks, alternating between deep, powerful strokes and feather-light, almost tickling, caresses. Once again, she spread my ankles apart slowly, gently, almost imperceptibly. I didn’t really notice until I felt her fingers sliding down my crack and caressing my out labia. Somewhere far away I heard my left brain asking “what’s happening here? You don’t do this.” (And I don’t. I rarely masturbate. I don’t even own a vibrator and I’m not in any kind of relationship.) But my right brain was saying, “why ask why?” as a spread my legs just a little further apart without her urging.
Moments later, her finger penetrated me and ever so gently found my clitoris. As I began to arch my back, she whispered, “turn over.” I hated her taking her hand away for even a second, but it was only five or ten seconds before I was comfortably on my back and her hand returned.
Then I felt more desert nectar poured over my breasts and mons and flowing into my vagina. I was incredibly turned on. She began to massage my breasts with her other hand. My nipples were aching with excitement as the fingers danced and pirouetted over them. Then a second finger slipped inside me while her thumb began to massage my mons , looking for my G-spot. Again she said, “this will be better next time when this hair is gone and you’re baby smooth.”
I had never felt so sexually alive, as the other hand moved from breast to breast rolling, pulling, gently tweaking each nipple. Then both nipples. As the waves of orgasm began to wash over me, I again a whisper from the left brain - from about as far away as the Grand Canyon – saying, “she doesn’t have three hands. She can’t touch all those places at once.”
I did not want to deal with facts like that just then. “Why ask how?” Just ride this incredible wave. Suddenly a pair of lips encircled my left nipple. Soft, feminine lips…but eager hungry lips. Whose lips? Whose fingers?
Then I felt another tongue diving into my vagina. I began to spasm and shake almost violently in a second (or was it third or fourth) orgasm. Who was causing these incredible sensations? I reached up and grabbed the head that was suckling my breasts and pulled it harder down onto my nipple. Her hair was matted and soaked – in hot oil.
As the orgasm subsided she kissed her way up to my lips and lingered there. Slowly lips disengaged from lips. Four sets in all. Once again, fingers began to skip through the dark, caressing my body until they once again found homes in my most sensitive erogenous zones. I could feel the tide rising again. Another kiss, as our tongues met, I felt light wisps of dry hair tumble along side my face and tickle my ear. Mary and Margot had changed places.
No sooner had that realization set in than a second tongue launched into my vagina and homed in on my clitoris. I ignited like a sky-rocket en route to another orgasm. I’ve been divorced and virtually celibate for 10 years. It seemed like was packing 10 years of missed sexual activity into one unbelievable night.
After that I was sexually exhausted but physically invigorated and content beyond words. In fact, I could barely speak. Margot turned on a very dim light. As my eyes adjusted, I could see we were all naked. She and Mary must have had a good time of their own before working on me. “Now, let’s get you both cleaned up,” she said. “We’ve got showers to take, shampoos to give, and you two have to get up early tomorrow, I’ll bet.”
“Tomorrow?” I’d completely forgotten about tomorrow or where I was for that matter. I jumped off the table in a near panic. As I landed, Margot grabbed me a gentle but firm bear hug and said in that same voice when she started the enema, “Settle. Relax. You’ll be out of here in no time, but let’s not spoil all those good feelings we’ve generated inside you by sending you out of here all tense.”
Then she led us to a beautiful master bath with (another) Jacuzzi and a huge, glass shower stall at least six or seven feet square with shower heads on three walls and bench seats on two adjoining walls. She started the water, adjusted the temperate and led us inside. She had each of us sit on the benches as she directed two of the showers over us. Then she poured a generous amount of shampoo on each of our scalps. She worked each our heads into a slight lather then said, “OK, you two shampoo one another but you’ll have to lather twice or tomorrow you’ll each have stringy, oily hair instead of rich, smooth shiny hair.
As we shampooed each other, she quickly wet herself down, shampooed once (because she did not have a head full of hot oil), soaped up, rinsed off and aimed the showers back at us to rinse out our first shampoos. Then she stepped out of the stall for a second and came back with another bottle of shampoo…another desert flower something or other…and poured about a quarter cup over each of our heads.
“OK, we work this up into a good lather, then we’ll also use this as a body shampoo, instead of soap, so we don’t strip away all that good stuff I’ve worked into you.” Then she stepped behind Mary and said, “I’ll shampoo Mary and Mary will shampoo you.” From behind, Mary worked up a frothy lather on my head. There were billows and billows of suds running down my back, over my shoulders, trickling down under my arms, over my face and down my front over my breasts. With eyes closed to keep the soap out, I was in a cocoon of suds insulating me from the cares of the world. My sense of fair play said I should be doing something to reciprocate but deep down, I was glad to be on the receiving end without having to do anything.
Mary’s hands then slipped around to my face and gently massaged my temples, my cheeks, my forehead, my eyelids, chin and neck. Then she slid her hands under my arms and washed my armpits and around to my breasts – which she washed particularly well. Next she slid her hands down over my belly, across my mons, and back to my buttocks. She went back to my hair for a fresh supply of lather. Then with what I am sure was two giant handfuls of suds, began caressing my mons before slipping around to polish my bottom which she worked on for what seemed like several minutes.
Then I felt a hand trying to lift my leg. I couldn’t imagine what I was supposed to do. “Put this foot up on the bench, darling”, I heard Margot say.
“Whatever for?” I asked.
“So I can shave you, like I said, darling.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” I replied, “I don’t think I’d like that.”
“You’ll like even less being two-thirds shaved,” she said. “So you might as well let me finish.”
I reached down to my mons. It was mostly smooth like a baby’s butt although I could still feel some hairs down close to the labia. “Won’t it itch when it grows back?” I asked.
“You won’t let it grow back,” she replied, “You’ll come to love it like this, honest.”
In a few minutes we were all rinsed and out of the shower and drying off. As I stood in front of the mirror with my towel wrapped around under my arms, she handed us both scrunchies the wet pony tails we were pulling our hair into. Then without a word she removed my towel and proceeded to powder me all over. Again, it was some incredible desert product – Essence of Apache Wind Dancer, or something – that like everything else she’d put on or in my body that night felt the smoothest and silkiest of anything I’d ever tried. Powder often made me feel dry, this seemed to dry all dampness off my body while leaving me feeling moisturized but not damp.
Moments later, we were in her car and she was driving us back to the hotel. “I don’t know how to bring this up,” I said, “but how much do we owe you?”
“You owe me nothing,” she replied, “if you were pleased, I am pleased and that’s all that matters.”
“I told you she was a ‘sister,’ Mary said.
“So now that that’s cleared up,” Margo asked, Tomorrow night, same time?”
I apologized saying I had dinner and drinks with customers for the next two nights. (Really. At these industry conferences, we try to schedule our customers for dinners or entertainment out away from the competition’s representatives so they hear our message, not the other companies’.) Friday night, perhaps. Friday wouldn’t work for her.
We talked very little in the car the rest of the way to the hotel. I was trying to come to grips with what had happened. I never before had an orgasm(s) like that, never had lesbian experience, a Valium-laced enema, or had my pubic hair shaved. I was silently humming the song “I had the time of life.” I was definitely glad that I had been on the receiving end so much attention. As I thought about it, I couldn’t develop any excitement about returning any of the favors I was so thankful to receive. I wasn’t turned off, repulsed, just uninterested in kissing a woman or performing oral sex on her.
When we got back to our room, Mary asked if I’d really had a good time. I told about silently humming the song and she said, “I’m very glad. I didn’t know things would turn out how they did. It could have been just a massage but I knew you needed something – some release. I’m happy for you.”
I brushed my teeth and jumped into bed. When Mary came out of the bathroom, she turned off the light and started to get into bed with me. I said I really needed my sleep because the next two days would be brutal at the conference. She was offended, in fact, she cried. I told her again how incredible the night had been and that I really wasn’t rejecting her (but I was). “I would like a good night hug and kiss,” I said. She gave me a perfunctory squeeze and a kiss on the cheek. I took her wet hair in my hand and pulled her face to my lips and kissed intently, but not passionately because there was no passion.
We barely saw each other for the rest of the conference. We were both up early each morning and I didn’t return to the room until 1:30 (when the hotel bar closed) each night. She’s called several times since we returned to the East Coast. I can’t get into the idea of a relationship with her or any woman.
But I would very much like to recreate that one special night where everything happened to me like magic. I’ve even thought of flying back to Phoenix to see Margot but I don’t know her last name or phone number. It would be incredibly rude and insensitive to ask Mary for it. I just couldn’t do that to her.
Maybe it’s because I know you can’t catch magic in a bottle that I only dream about repeating that night, so perfect in every respect.
I don’t ever want to forget it and that’s why I wrote this story. I re-read it and re-live it every three days when I’m shaving.