Simple delights

There are perks to not having a job. Believe me having now not earned a single cent since October I've had plenty of time to spot a lurking perk, sometimes hiding in plain daylight - or in this case harsh unflattering fluro light. After a day of much re-discovery of portfolio drawings, magazine editorials and the like; and pulling from camouflaged hiding places my ski gear I decided to treat myself from these apartment-bound tasks, and nip off to the gym for a good cardio session. Didn't need to concern myself with weights - ski boots wiggled from the back of a v high cupboard hide hole and ski pants, jacket, mask, hat, gloves etc all bulky and quite heavy - discretely hidden from my adored, often purple-robed Papist's view; in the cavernous secret places of his rather large loft. Much huffing and puffing emitting from my lips as I reacquainted myself with these lost necessities.

Thus, following a damn good workout I was headed towards the changing room. Suddenly genie like the resident masseur who was trying to drum up business by performing mini massages on view to other sweating workoutees suggested he work his magic on my body which he had determined saw a lot of stress throughout the day (possible pervert perhaps - ogling me working my body into a lather). Ha, of course I agreed wholeheartedly, nodding that yes I was under a tremendous amount of daily stress - the pressures of modern life. However, I responded that whilst it was a kind offer, I had sworn allegiance to another and couldn't possibly let the knots in my back be worked on by foreign hands. He mocked my dedication, boasting that after an hour's gratis massage I would be begging him for a weekly pummeling.

Naturally I had to take on this challenge, and thus quickly swept into the massage studio, leaping wholeheartedly and naked on to his massage table - poo-pooing for dramatic effect, for the first few minutes his inability to shake my belief in another's strong hands.