Akin na 'yung paa mo.
'Yung likod ko na lang, pwede?
He starts the massage, dutifully kneading through her doughy back, the pressure of his hands slowly melting away each pain-inflicting knot. His soothing touch could send one to an R.E.M. slumber, and to an accidental masseuse like him, this is not a mere compliment--it's pure worship. A chime-dominated anthem would complete the zen experience, but on a rainy midnight on a deserted road, the soft trickling of drops on the misty windshield and the cool breeze are all it takes to make everything perfect.
Minutes pass. Ten, fifteen, twenty. She's not too inconsiderate to take the initiative in putting the massage to a stop with a "Thank you, that was awesome," rewarding his hardworking fingers with a needed rest. But not for long. She's selfish enough, as it would be evident, to segue to another teeny request--or at least that's what it is to her.
Pwedeng 'yung paa ko naman?
He submits to her request--or demand, rather--and moves on to massaging her tired right foot, applying just the right amount of pressure to the sole and upping this a notch or two to relieve her leg without leaving a worn-out sensation.
Sa'n mo natutunan 'yan?
Wala. Ginagawa ko lang kung ano sa tingin kong masarap para sa'kin.
Despite a mentally exhausting day spent writing, followed by a limb-punishing five-kilometer run, her sighs of relief were enough to drive both his hands to continue. She's enjoying every minute of it, needless to say, closing her eyes every so often to fully suck in the ecstasy brought about by his fingers' smooth strokes on, this time, her left foot's bare skin.
The massage is incessant--until it's no longer. His fingertips almost tickle, his knuckles no longer violent, his grip still there but lifeless, like a sleepyhead embracing his fluffy pillow.
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