THE BENCH IS ACTUALLY THE MASSAGE TABLE. I don't trust myself fully-clothed, facing Yennara; much less so, supine and spread under her honeyed gaze and gifted hands. The bench is high, long and narrow. My feet are heavy as I climb up the cream bedding spread over it. I move to sit but Yennara's voice comes again.
"No, no, Your Grace, turn around!"
Somehow the way she pronounces 'Your Grace' seems like she means something else entirely.
"What?" I feign oblivion—like I don't know exactly what a covered table, a tub of oil, and full body nudity signify.
Yennara walks close until she stands right beside me. The tips of her breasts are rose buds that tempt my eyes. Her skin shimmers in the wan glow of the room. "Turn around." She meets my red face with a simple smile. "Unless," Her fingers rub up the light abs glistening her belly. "You'd prefer not to. Either way, I'm okay."