"Run to the store and fetch some oil," she told me as I rested by her side. "I need a massage."

    I stood up and stretched, reaching my arms into the warm sky. "Okay, Ms. Collette. Is there any other thing you need while I'm gone?"

    "No," she shook her head, "that should suffice."

    I nodded, "I'll be back shortly." I turned for the side gate, and let myself out, bounding for my truck sitting in the driveway. Firing up the engine I drove to the nearest store.

    I returned fifteen minutes later to find Ms. Collette still lying on her stomach on the hunter green and white chaise lounge, a burgundy towel pressed beneath her. The temperature of the early Arizona morning was climbing, indicating another hot day.

    I pulled the bottle of baby oil out of the small, brown paper bag. I set the bag on the ground as I knelt down at the foot of Ms. Collette's chaise. "Shall I begin?"

    "Not yet," she whispered behind closed eyes.

    I knelt on the concrete, the bottle of oil gripped tightly in my hands. I looked upon the prone body of Ms. Collette, lying there in her bikini, soaking up the early morning sun. I knelt there, sitting on my calves waiting for permission to begin the massage. I twisted the bottle in my hands, longing to pour the oil, to start. I waited.

    Twenty minutes later her voice startled me; "you may begin." I smiled and popped open the top of the oil bottle. I poured a generous amount of oil into my cupped right hand, and then set the oil bottle on the ground by my bend knee. I tilted my palm and poured the contents of my hand up Ms. Collette's right leg; ending with a line of oil starting at her ankle, ending just above her knee.

    I pressed both hands flat onto her calf, and began running them in opposite circles. My right hand rotating clockwise, and my left counterclockwise. I spread the line of oil over the length of her lower leg, coating the skin in a glistening sheen.

    Picking up the bottle I poured a little more oil into my hand. I picked up her right foot and rubbed the oil into it. The arch of her foot was pointing towards the Arizona sky as I massaged the oil into the top of her foot. My thumbs were pressing firm lines up from her ankle to her toes. I gently gripped each toe individually, twisting and pulling the coated digit, rotating the toe as I squeezed.

    I lowered her foot back down onto the towel, and began kneading her calf, beginning at her ankle and working my way up to her oiled knee. I pressed my palm into her leg and began twisting the underlying muscle, working away the tension underneath. I pushed my two hands as one up her calf, my skin slipping against her well-oiled leg.

    I grabbed the bottle of oil, nearly dropping it from my oily hands. I poured some of the oil on both of her thighs. Setting the bottle down I began massaging the oil into her powerful thighs. I smoothed the oil out, coating her skin. With strong hands I squeezed the flesh of her thighs, first one, then the other. My hands were firm as I twisted my fleshy palm deep into the muscles of Ms. Collette's thighs. With both palms I rolled the flesh back and forth like rolling dough for bread. I crawled around the chair to continue my ministrations on the other thigh.

    I massaged the back of her left thigh next, easing the built up tension there. I grabbed the oil again, and spread an even film of the slippery material fully down her leg ending at her relaxed foot. I repeated everything on the left leg as I had done the right. The massaging, the kneading, the smoothing, the pressing.

    I heard her moan, a contented sound; a brief gasp of pleasure. I glanced up at her face. Her eyes were shut, her full lips slightly parted, smiling.

    I worked on her left foot, again gripping each toe individually. I twisted the digit in a firm grip made by my index finger and thumb. Holding each toe I pulled them out gently. I pushed each toe up from the bottom towards the ankle, stretching the muscles. I wrapped my right hand around all five toes as one and squeezed. My left hand wrapped around the bottom of her foot, I pushed my hands in opposite directions. In this wringing motion I massaged her whole foot, my right hand keeping its grip on her toes and my left slowly moving up and down the foot.

    I moved myself up to her back, bringing the bottle of oil with me. I stand above her, a foot on each side of the lounge chair. I poured a little oil into my hand and slowly dripped it onto the small of Ms. Collette's back. I work the oil into the exposed skin of her back, coating the flesh with the sensual oil. The heat of the Arizona morning is warming the oil, causing a deep warmth to spread over the coated surfaces of her body.

    I massage her back, my fingers splayed, my palms pressing firmly into the spine. I twist my palms in a rotating motion, twisting and pulling the muscles and skin. I work away the tension of the previous workweek. With both hands I pull her thick, brown hair into a single stand and gently lay it above her right shoulder. She is facing left, with her eyes still shut, breathing heavily.

    My oily fingers begin to knead her shoulders. I press my fingertips into her flesh and pull them towards my palm, pinching the skin. I work both shoulders in this motion, back and forth, towards her neck and back once again towards her lazily draped arms. I move down a little and begin massaging your left shoulder blade with both hands. Again, the twisting motion of my pressed palms brings a slight gasp from your mouth. I work both shoulder blades, switching randomly from side to side.

    I lower my hands to your ribcage, massaging your side, pulling my hands back up to the small of your back before pressing them down again. I use my fingertips to press strongly along each individual rib, following the curve from your spine down to the burgundy towel and back up again. I repeat for all of the ribs, both sides.

    Next I press both hands down, my fingers spread, my thumbs pressing into your spine. I run my thumbs up your back, starting at the waistband of your bikini, and ending at the base of your skull, my fingers dragging through the slippery skin. I make little claws of my hands and trail my fingernails down your back, scratching the skin while leaving no marks. Using my nails I claw random patterns into the flesh on your back, down each leg, and back up again.

    A moan as soft as a rose petal escapes your lips.

    I pick up the oil and pour a little more into my hands. I swing my leg so that I am no longer straddling the chaise and once again kneel by your side. I use my oiled hand to coat your right arm. I pinch the skin of your arm between my fingertips and palm, squeezing the flesh. I work my pinching motion down from your shoulder, past your elbow to your hand. I pick up your arm and flex your wrist; pushing it up towards the top of your arm. I hold the wrist bent for a few moments, and then bend it the other way, towards the arm's underside. I pivot the wrist up and down a dozen or so times, exercising the muscles.

    I begin working on the fingers of your hand. I bend each finger individually into a coil, and then straighten it up, and flex the digit towards the top of your hand. Next I wrap your hand in mine and squeeze the fingers together as one. I squeezed the fingers close to the tip, and work my hand towards your wrist, opening and closing my hand around yours in a strong embrace.

    I crawl again to your left side and repeat the massage of your arm, wrist and hand on the left limb. Finishing your back, I whisper, "are you ready for the other side, Ms. Collette?"

    With your eyes still closed you answer, "I am very relaxed. The sun feels so good on my back. Give me a few moments, please."

    "Whenever you are ready," I reply. I stand up and head into the house. Inside I grab a glass and fill it with ice from the freezer. I press the glass into the slot in the refrigerator door, filling the glass of ice with filtered water. I return to your side and set the full glass next to your relaxed hand.

    After a few minutes you roll over, spotting the glass of water as you do. "Thank you," you say to me taking a sip. You take another sip and set the glass aside. "Do my front now," you smile.

    I kneel at your feet, and pick up the oil. I pour a seam of oil up the front of your leg from the foot to the top of your thighs. I massage the oil into the flesh, working from your ankle to the top of your slightly parted thighs. I kneed, grip, massage and press my hands into your skin. I begin running my fingertips in strong, rapid circles along your upper thighs, jumping from point to point in a random mColletter.

    I again look at your face, happy to see a contented look there. Your eyes are shut again, allowing you to concentrate on the feelings of the massage, savoring the sensations of the oil as the rising sun heats the skin. Your skin is warm to the touch as I continue working at the muscles under your skin.

    I pour more oil from the bottle, onto your left leg. I run my spread hands down your leg from the top of your thigh to your ankle, spreading the oil. I knead the oil-covered limb. I run my thumbs in lazy circles, pressing firmly. I grip your ankle and squeeze. With your ankle gripped in my strong grasp, I begin twisting my hand back and forth. I keep a strong grip and pinch my way up your leg.

    Finishing your legs, I pick up the oil bottle again. I drip slow, intermittent drops of the sun warmed oil onto your stomach. The oil begins to run in lazy rivulets to pool in your belly button. When I have dripped a small puddle in the middle of your stomach I put the oil aside, sealing the lid.

    I use my fingers to spread the oil around your midsection. Up from your stomach to the base of your bikini-clad breasts, and down to your waist. Again I run my fingertips in circles, pressing, massaging, working away the tension. I press my oiled fingers into the base of your neck, and pull my hands down, between your breasts, my thumbs pressing a glancing trail along the swell of your breasts. I press my fingertips into your skin firmly. I push my open hands into your stomach and press sideways pushing my hands down your side towards your back, massaging your sides.

    I alternate running my fingers from the middle of your stomach towards the sides, pressing with strong hands.

    I trace an extended finger around your exposed flesh, drawing little lines in the oil-coated skin. I run my finger along the top of the small bikini, following the edge of the material up between your breasts, along the tops and back down following the curve at your side. Around both cups of the bikini, over and over again. My finger traces light, tickling patterns in the skin.

    Your eyes are shut again; your full lips still slightly parted. You sigh, a happily contented sound, and I smile. I sit on my calves, my fingers continuing their tickling lines. I run my fingertip along your body, your arms, your legs, your stomach, lightly caressing the warm, oiled skin.

    I am content to sit there, my fingers teasing the exposed flesh as you lie there tanning in the now early afternoon son. You occasionally reach down and take a sip of water in the perspiring glass. When you finally finish the water, you open your eyes, and smile at me. A warm, welcome smile that prompts one in return.

    "Thank you," you say to me, "but now I think I need to take a bath."

    "Would you like me to prepare the bath, Ms. Collette?" I ask, still on my haunches.

    "No, that won't be necessary. What I would like is to take a relaxing bath alone. You have chores to do anyway, don't you?"

    "Yes," I reply. "I shall do them now."

    You smile at me again, a warm smile that illuminates your lovely face. "Join me inside when you are done."

    I nod, "Yes, Ms. Collette." I watch you walk into the cool house. I pick up the brown bag and throw it away in a nearby trash can. I place the sealed bottle of oil, now one quarter empty, by the large Jacuzzi in the back, and head to the small shed at the side of the house.

    I open the shed and grab the hedge clippers, the large scissors that they are. The hedges have become a bit unruly, and I begin the much-needed task of trimming the unruly bushes, humming happily as I do.