Monday, Sept. 23, 2002 - 10:49 p.m.
Stiff and Sore

I was incredibly achey yesterday. Maybe I'm overdoing it with all these laps I'm swimming, plus the 45 sit-ups each morning? I could barely move my neck.

So, despite being broke, I needed a massage and I needed it now!

Oh yeah, and did I mention that I was extremely horny? I was lying on the couch much of the afternoon and it was wild: I could feel my balls' blueness. They felt heavy and sore. This despite having jerked off both Friday and Saturday evening. Something was definitely, um, up.

Several months back, walking through a nearby market, I noticed this older, handsome Asian masseur manning a booth all by himself. He was offering free five-minute chair massages. I didn't take advantage of the freebie, but I certainly noted the way he cruised me. His face was intense, those eyes smoldering urgently.

When it comes to sex pigs, it takes one to know one, eh?

Let's just say he's been on my short-list of new masseurs to try ever since.

So yesterday I called him up (I had picked up a brochure last week for his, um, parlor—but just to be clear, his services are not advertised as being explicitly naughty) and booked an hour-long rub. And none of this chair-massage crap, either.

Fifteen minutes later, I showed up at his studio. But wait, something interesting happened minutes before I arrived there. I used the public washroom at the market, and holy smokes was it hopping! I haven't seen such a cruisey men's room in a long time. When I entered, a tall thirty-ish brunette jock was standing at one of the two urinals, looking alert and horny. It took me approximately three seconds to decide not to occupy the other urinal; I definitely wouldn't have been able to pee beside him, and I really needed to. (There's nothing worse than having a full bladder during a massage.)

As I veered into one of the stalls, another humpy guy walked in—muscular, with an army buzz cut—and sidled up to the vacant urinal. I sat down on the toilet, not only to do my business but also so as to see through the door slit. And sure enough, I could soon see Buzz Cut checking Brunette Jock out. The energy in that small washroom got very intense all of a sudden. This was distracting me, so I closed my eyes and managed to accomplish my mission.

I exited the stall, washed my hands, and took advantage of the mirror's reflection; heavens, what a chubby cock Buzz Cut held in his hands! He wasn't too worried about hiding it from me. I left he and Brunette Jock to their own devices, and headed over for my massage.

Let's call the masseur Sam. He's maybe 35-40, somewhere in there. Impressively well-preserved. Wearing tight black dress slacks, and—oh!—what an ass! He was quiet and formal in greeting me as he led me into his studio. Told me to sit down in the chair and take off my shoes and socks. He had an electric foot-bath thingey rigged up and told me he would start by washing my feet. Just before I put my bare feet in, he said "Wait, maybe you should remove your pants too. It would be simpler."

This sounded just fine to me. I stepped out of my jeans, sat down, and plunked my feet into the bubbling hot water. It felt great, actually. Sam left for a minute, and returned wearing track pants and a sweat shirt. Then he was busy microwaving wet towels and bustling around this way and that. I felt my dick hardening as I watched him.

After a minute, he came over, knelt down, and wrapped first one foot and then the other in a towel, dried me off real good.

Then he said, "Take your clothes off and lie down please." A big comfy-looking massage table was in the middle of the room. Sam turned the dimmer switch—what a nice touch, eh?—down lower as I disrobed. I stepped toward the table, and noticed there were several layers of white towels laid out there.

"Um," I said, "Do I lie under some of these towels, or…?"

"No," he said, "Just lie on top."

I did as I was told.

Sam began rubbing me. I started groaning instantly. Man, did I need that massage! But, to be honest, it wasn't the best rub I've had. Just okay. Nonetheless, I started feeling better instantly.

Nothing uneventful happened at first; sure, Sam paid quite a bit of attention to my buttocks, and I was aroused by that. I had little doubt but that this massage would turn naughty, but still, there's always an extra element of excitement when I try out a new masseur who hasn't explicitly marketed himself thus. So I was both relaxing and keying up at the same time.

At the appropriate time, Sam told me to roll over. I did. At first he covered me from head to toe with three towels. I wasn't sure what was going on. He walked around behind my head, stood there silently for a moment, then bared my chest to rub me there. Woof, he was rough with my pecs, I must say, and I'm not saying that like it's a bad thing. The last straw was when he lightly pinched both nipples; I was rock hard.

Good timing, too; it was at that point that Sam yanked away all the towels, as, leaning over my head, his hands yearned down my treasure trail. The suspense was soon over, and he moved around beside and encircled my wares with oily, clenching fingers. My freshly-shaved wares, I might add. So they were delightfully sensitive to his touch, especially when he began squeezing my balls.

But then Sam did something weird. He walked over to his counter, reached into a cardboard box and pulled out latex gloves! At first, this aroused me; I imagined that some sort of anal rending might be in the offing.

But no. He donned the gloves and returned to me with a large paper towel which he laid out on my belly—tucking it in under my throbbing dick—like a placemat. Then and only then did he set about jerking me off.

Oh dear, this didn't work for me at all. While I didn't lose my hard-on or anything, I found this scenario incredibly antiseptic. Boring.

So what did I do? I tippy-fingered my hand over and down a few inches, brushed up against his crotch. Sam did not flinch. I grabbed hold. Yup, he was rock-hard. I pawwed at him some more.

He pulled away. I didn't know what might happen next. Wordlessly, he stepped out of his trackpants and peeled off his sweatshirt. He looked yummy naked. He stepped closer again, and reached for my dick. I returned the favor. He felt nice in my hands but I wasn't satisfied. I felt naughtier still. I began pulling him towards me by his dick. He allowed himself to be thus moved. Soon I was sucking him and fondling his very pert ass.

And then before I could even register what was happening, Sam hopped up on the table, straddling my crotch. I sat part-way up, licked his hairless chest, lifted one arm and buried my tongue in his armpit.

Yum.

Instantly, I was frenzied. I pulled him down on top of me; he ground his crotch into mine. I spanked his butt. Hard. Over and over again. He moaned.

Oh my god it was so hot.

I spanked him and chewed on his pecs and licked his armpits and prodded his warm asshole. I wanted him. Oomph!

This went on for maybe four or five minutes. Pure heaven. I was all set to leap off the table myself and bury my tongue in his sweet butt but at that moment he sat back up and planted himself on my thighs. The gloved handjob resumed.

By now I had enough sensations churning through my body that it was only a minute or two later that I shot my load.

Wordlessly, he hopped off the table, stepped back into his clothes, and wiped me off. The hour was already up, but he wasn't done. I did not object as he covered my chest and crotch up with towels again and then rubbed my legs. Then he sat down at the end of the table and worked on my feet for about fifteen minutes.

It's the sign of a true professional, not counting the play-time as part of the paid hour, eh?

Sam left me alone to dress. When I exited the massage room, he smiled at me and asked how the massage had been. "Terrific," I said. "I really needed that, eh?"

He nodded. I dug $60 out of my wallet. Our conversation was effortless and pleasant. I liked the way he smiled at me.

Sam led me out the very narrow corridor toward the locked front door to his studio. He opened his arms as he moved toward me; without even thinking about it I opened mine, then thought No, he's not intending to hug me, he's only reaching to unlock the door! so I snapped my arms back. Sam looked at me, confused, and I said, "Oh, sorry, at first I thought you were giving me a hug but then I wasn't sure."

He smiled again, a wise, sexy smile, and opened his arms wider. I embraced him and thanked him and walked out into the night.

Couldn't help but notice the bounce in my step on the short walk home. I had rejoined the human race. I felt lighter.

Especially my balls.