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Hmm, erotic-massage, you ask? Dark, it is, yet thrilling. Me, a Clinical Research Specialist, yes, but Yoda I be now. Do or do not, there is no try – applies to this too, hmph. Research, I’ve done, sneaky-like, on this slippery topic. “Shame,” my fave flick, colors it all – Brandon’s hunger, raw it is, like hands kneading flesh, seeking somethin deeper. “I’m not playin this game,” he’d hiss, but erotic-massage? A game it ain’t, padawan.

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Finally, I make it to the office. I’m all flustered, and my hair’s a mess. I walk in, and my coworker, Jan, is like, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Thanks, Jan. Just what I needed. But then, he hands me a donut. A freakin’ donut! Suddenly, life’s not so bad. I mean, who can be mad with a donut in hand?

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