Sometimes Samantha wondered if Ella was really only four. The child seemed to understand everything—that daddy wasn’t around anymore, that mommy had to work extra sometimes, and that mommy was single now. She had even asked Samantha if she was going to get a new daddy one day. Samantha had no idea how to answer that.
Samantha had been on very few dates after Ted. She was careful not to bring different people into her daughter’s life, and she was also yet to find someone that intrigued her. Samantha was more concerned about her work and getting more jobs. It was ideal for her to stay with her parents at this stage, though she would move to her own apartment the very next day if she could. Running a business was tough, taking care of Ella was tough, and having to stay under her parent’s roof was tough, but she was thankful she had them to watch over Ella when business got busy.
Chapter 3
Samantha entered the frighteningly tall building. Looking around at the space and the people, she felt as though it might cause her to develop acrophobia. The thinning older woman in a cotton suit and shirt standing behind the sole structure in this gargantuan lobby, the front desk, raised an eyebrow as the casually-attired Samantha approached.
“And who might you be?” the lady asked.
“Samantha Parker. I have an appointment for a massage for James Ramsey.”
The woman seemed to keep one eye on Samantha and one on her computer. That was impossible, but perhaps it was her posture that made Samantha feel as if it were happening nevertheless. The woman tapped something into her computer keyboard. Very slowly. Then she grumbled and tapped something else. Unsure whether she was being watched or not, Samantha stood stock still, waiting. Impatiently.
“Yes, the fiftieth floor. Ask at the desk.”
“I come here almost every day, you know,” Samantha said.
“I’m not used to seeing your type here, that’s all.”
I’m not used to punching people who think too highly of themselves in the face, but, for you, I can make exceptions, Samantha thought about saying out loud. She didn’t. She did, however, give the attendant a look that got the message across.
Eventually, she ended up in Ramsey’s office. It was her first time in this part of the building. One of her other clients, who worked in another part of the building, had recommended her to Ramsey. Ramsey’s office was bigger than Samantha’s apartment. That is, back when Samantha had an apartment. In this paperless age, there were no files, only a single desk, and two chairs. A clearly pre-organized massage bed sat in the middle of the room. It felt like it took Samantha nearly a minute just to cross the unused space. A balding, short man emerged from a side door. He was not wearing any shoes, and without speaking, he began taking off his suit.
“Hi there. I’m Samantha, I’m here to—”
“I know who you are. I keep a very tight schedule.” Ramsey did not change his expression. However, without hesitation, he continued to take off all of his clothes. All of them. Samantha turned away.
“Mr. Ramsey, do you want a towel?”
“No, if you do that, you’ll miss my ass.”
He meant the glutes, Samantha thought. Well, I hope he meant the glutes.
She began on his upper back, and with barely any applied pressure, the central bone clicked as it readjusted. Samantha had mixed feelings about chiropractic maneuvers. She often had a hard time explaining the difference to people between her profession as a masseuse and the profession of a chiropractor, the latter of which had little science to back it up. It did make people feel good, though, and it did no harm if done well. Mixed feelings summed up her standpoint well.
Having seen Ramsey’s penis within a minute of meeting him, Samantha was not especially inclined to talk to him. She attempted to progress around the rib cage, feeling out where the knots were and where she would have to apply more pressure later. As she continued to the shoulder muscles, which tended to be where most people felt the most tension, she heard Ramsey begin to moan. This was not an unusual occurrence by any means.
Neither, unfortunately, was what Ramsey then said. “Work your way down my spine.”
“Mr. Ramsey, there’s a process.”
“We all know you know what you’re talking about. Just do as I ask.”
So, carefully, Samantha began working down each disk of the spine.
“Oh my god, just get to my ass already.”
“The glutes, Mr. Ramsey. The glutes are the muscles at the bottom of everybody’s back.”
Keeping one hand on his back, Samantha slid her elbow over the space of the curve—well, the flattened curve—of Mr. Ramsey’s flabby bottom and began carefully working pressure into it.
“For god’s sake, woman, like this,” Ramsey yelled, grabbing Samantha’s hands and pinning them over each ass cheek.
“Yeah, yeah, like that,” he moaned.
“Mr. Ramsey, my methods prevent me from tiring out too quickly, and thus ending your massage too quickly.”
“I don’t give a shit about that. Oh yeah, like that.” Ramsey continued to moan. Seconds later, he turned around, and his once moderately-sized flaccid penis was fully erect.
“You like it, don’t you? Don’t deny it. Time for a quick ride on it, huh?”
Samantha took a step back, shocked. “Mr. Ramsey, I…”
“Come on. You can’t let me down. I can be talked down to a gentle jerking.”
“Mr. Ramsey, you scarcely need that, as you are a jerk yourself!”
With a naked and erect Ramsey looking on, Samantha picked up his pants, fished out his wallet, and emptied it, all the while keeping her gaze on him. With that, she stormed out of the room.
For a time, Samantha was able to control her anger. However, as the elevator descended, she began to shake. She would have given in earlier, but she forced herself to keep her composure as she passed that nasty piece of work at the desk. She trotted more briskly forward in order to reach the bench outside the building. Upon reaching that bench, she curled up in a ball and started to openly and loudly sob, tears running freely down her cheeks.
It wasn’t as if Ramsey had been the first creep that she’d had to deal with. Far from it. She had put up with that kind of nonsense exactly once in her career, in the first couple of weeks of her starting, which was such a long time ago now. She had refused to touch the man or let him touch himself, but she had persevered until the end of the session. Then she had told her colleague, who had explained to her that she was a professional masseuse, not a sex worker, and sexual abuse was still sexual abuse. Samantha let herself cry about it sometimes because it was frustrating not to be taken seriously in her profession. However, the real reason for the extent of her emotional outburst at this moment was less to do with that and more to do with the fact that she had just stormed out of the offices of the richest clients that she had ever had. And, she estimated, in front of about two-thousand five-hundred other people.
She knew she needed the money, but there was a line she wasn’t willing to cross. It was a choice between extending her time staying with her parents or doing whatever it took to get that pay. It was Ramsey today; it could be another the next day, then another, and another. That, or she could sue for sexual harassment. There would be some drama, probably some threats, and Ramsey might even be forced to settle out of court to avoid bad publicity for the company. She thought about it, but a part of her had a feeling she wasn’t ready for something like that just yet.