You were a massage therapist in your hometown, but after a year of dating, Jonathan begged you to try and get a job within the company so you could be together all the time.
You didn't know what you'd do, since your voice was small, you had stage fright, and you weren't a doctor. Jonathan had insisted you be the rosters' personal massage therapist, making sure kinks were rubbed out of the superstars' muscles so they could put on your best performance.
Jonathan had run his idea past Vince McMahon, who was all for it. He insisted you start immediately, to which called and quit your other job over the phone, which was WAY unprofessional.
Luckily, Jonathan would be your first client. He'd been begging you for a full-blown massage ever since you gave him a taste of your magic, but you never could see each other.
"C'mon, babe. Don't you need some practice?" Jonathan begged the night you got the job.
"I've had 6 years of practice, Jonathan," you laughed before he groaned, laying face down in the bed. He gave in, moving to straddle him, using his bubble-butt as a seat as you went to work on his muscles, making him one very happy man at the end.
