I looked up at the man, then at the receptionist, who seemed flustered and ready to explain, and suddenly, a playful thought crossed my mind. "Sure, I'll be the one to serve you."

After the man went into the private room, I told the staff to clock out for the day, locked the door, and made my way to the treatment room.

By the time I walked in, the man had already stripped off his shirt and was lying face down on the bed, wearing nothing but disposable briefs, patiently waiting for me.

"I bet the boss has a special touch, huh?" he quipped, his voice laced with a hint of amusement as he heard my footsteps approach.

I didn't respond, mostly because I wasn't confident in my skills. I did go through two weeks of training when we opened the salon, but it had been so long since I last practiced that I was definitely rusty.

Trying to appear composed, I walked to the head of the bed, poured some massage oil onto his back, and began spreading it gently with my hands. This was the first time since my marriage that I had touched another man's body.

To my surprise, the man's muscles, though hard and intimidating, weren't as rough as I had imagined. As the cool oil and the warmth of my hands moved across his skin, his body became slick and smooth.

‘What a muscular guy,' I thought to myself.

But before I could process my thoughts, the man, without even lifting his head, suddenly reached out both hands—previously hanging at his sides—and grabbed my thighs.

I froze, my mind going blank, standing there completely paralyzed.

It wasn't the first time I'd encountered a creep, but someone this brazen, directly grabbing me like that, was a first.

‘Should I scream?' That was my first instinct.