A Therapist Helps a Runner

Dear Readers, this is the first part of a story which explores some of the byways of male homoeroticism, a theme I previously visited in "Nikki's Massage Therapy". The original idea for this story was born from a series of e-exchanges with another reader of Literotica stories

,

in which we shared our interests and leanings. Thanks to his openness about himself and his leanings, I was able to construct a picture of his inner character which I have used for the key participant in a story. He generously affirmed his willingness

for the story to be posted on Literotica for the enjoyment of both the readers and author, and to be identified in it. My deepest thanks to my friend, known on this sit as

MatureSensualBottom

.

I have tried to weed out errors in spelling and grammar. Apologies for those I missed.

The characters in the story are demonstrably over 18.

Warning. Readers should be aware that the story includes certain topics that perhaps do not appeal to all tastes, most notably bodily functions and bathroom activities.

. . . . . . . . . . .

Mid-May is always my favourite time for me. Before I retired from regular paid employment, I typically took a couple of weeks holiday at that time. It wasn't too hot, the evenings were light, and it avoided the school holiday. It was especially ideal for the enthusiastic long distance runner that I used to be, as the wild flowers were out in the meadows to provide a delightful setting, and the paths were generally no longer wet from the winter rain while vegetation alongside the paths was not yet overgrown. Now I was retired and I had become a hiker instead of a runner, I still followed the same pattern. Traversing the course on foot now needed most of the day instead of half a morning, but it was no less satisfying. And I had to admit that, in many ways, a lot more enjoyable as I was no longer obsessed with getting in those extra few miles in search of being able to beat my personal best for a marathon or a ten miler.

I had parked my little Honda Jazz a little after nine o'clock this morning in the car park at the top of Belstone Hill, aiming to complete the undulating twelve-mile circuit some time between three and four in the afternoon. A leisurely six hours, including stops, as befits a retiree like myself. The path was good, but a bit too hilly for most bikers and young children. At that time of year, I was expecting it to be fairly quiet, perfect for enjoying nature. It was a fine day, forecast dry.

Equipped with light outdoor clothes, good hiking shoes, sandwiches and water, I set off to enjoy the surroundings, the fresh air, and the comfortable pace. I had stopped for lunch at viewpoint about half-way and was starting to get back into a steady rhythm, when I heard from behind the sound of approaching footfall, and the heavy breathing that advertised a runner. The cadence suggested someone quite proficient, and I instinctively veered to the right-hand edge of the path to allow the runner to pass easily. I was rewarded by the single word, "Thanks", as he passed. My hunch was correct, he was going a decent pace for such a path despite there being no settlement nearby. He would have at least another three miles before reaching the nearest village. The path was fairly straight for some distance ahead, which afforded me a good view as he receded away: the fluent and even stride, the relaxed arm carriage, the upright posture. I admired and envied the obvious athleticism. He wasn't very tall, maybe an inch or two less than my rather average 5'10", and slim build. There wasn't much sign of fat and his legs had the leanness that comes from hundreds of hours training. He wasn't a young man, mid-fifties perhaps. He was slim enough to wear small sized shorts which showed of the musculature of his hams, and I took pleasure at seeing the way the thin, smooth red microfibre material displayed the outline of his nicely rounded buttocks and the hint of his dark crease in between. I hoped I might have looked as good as him at one time, but I probably never did. My only regret was that I couldn't go fast enough to prolong the view for longer than the minute it took him to reach the next bend. Nevertheless, the sight refreshed my mind and sense. The next few miles slipped by with me mentally lost in reminiscences and almost before I knew it, I reached the signpost which read "Belstone Hill Car Park, 1 mile".

It was quite a surprise to me, not long after, to see the mystery runner again a short way ahead. But this time he was no longer running, instead he was walking slowly and painfully, clutching his leg high up on the inside. I wondered if he had stumbled and fallen awkwardly.

I instinctively hurried up, and called out as I approached, "Hey man, are you OK?" A silly question, as he obviously wasn't. I continued, "Can you do with some help?"

He stopped and looked round. "Pulled something badly, high up in the leg. I felt it go as I was coming to the top of the hill just back there. Real trouble, I've got another four miles and I don't know how I'll make it ..... Thanks, I could use some help."

I guess he must have been struggling on in that state for at least an hour, in quite a bit of pain. He needed help.

"It will be OK. If you can get to the car park, I can take you to where you need to get to. It cannot be much more than half a mile. I can help you get far. Can you use some water?"

By this time, he must be getting dehydrated and I gave him a whole bottle, which he chugged down over the next few minutes - fortunately I always make sure to carry more than enough.

We walked on slowly together, as I told him press his left hand down on my shoulder to relieve some the weight on his left leg, which was causing him all the trouble. I said I had no rush to get home, so we could take it gently. As we slowly made our way we got into a conversation, and it didn't seem too long before the car park came into sight. We introduced each other, myself as Edward Dover - I told him to call me Edward - and himself as Ken Norfolk and I should call him Ken. He told me and was more or less a full-time amateur runner, having been offered generous redundancy terms when the communications industry was undergoing restructuring and his organisation received a grant from the government to slim down. I told him I used to do a lot of running, and that I admired how well he ran. It was the truth, though I omitted to mention how much I had enjoyed looking at his butt enclosed in those thin, snug fitting shorts.

I was sensing he was feeling a bit awkward "Sorry, I must apologise for putting you to all this trouble spoiling your day's hiking."

"Not at all. I'm enjoying the company, especially another running enthusiast. Honestly, it's my pleasure, in fact it's making my day much more enjoyable."

"Thanks, but I'm sure I'm putting a lot of weight on your shoulder. Aren't you uncomfortable?"

"No problem. I don't run any more but I do quite a lot of gym. I can handle a fair bit of weight."

We soon reached the car and I sorted us out, making good space for Ken to ease into the passenger seat. I asked where he lived, which he said was an hour by bus plus a few minutes' walk from where he meant to finish his run. Again, I sensed he was uncomfortable about something, suspecting he might find it difficult to manage.

"Is there anyone to there for you at home?"

I got him to admit to me that his family were away and he was on his own for a week.

"OK, it's not a problem for me if you come to my place. There isn't anybody there either. I am a retired physio and still work at it part time. Someone should look at your leg to see how bad it is and what should be done. It might as well be me does that. As a first guess I'd say you pulled an adductor muscle."

"That's what I thought it was too. Are you sure you don't mind? It would really be putting you out."

"It's fine. It's part of what in me, when someone is hurt, I try to do what I can. Especially for a fellow runner. Honestly, it's a pleasure."

Again, I didn't say that part of the pleasure would be looking, feeling and handling a part of his delightful body.

I drove the thirteen miles to my house; despite the light traffic I took my time to make the journey as smooth as possible and parking in the driveway rather than the garage to make it easy for Ken to get inside. First thing was to ask if he need the toilet, I had one just inside from the front door, and he accepted eagerly. As I thought, the water he had drunk had worked its way through by now and his bladder was getting full.

I took his hand and guided him into the main room, where had him sit on the couch. He was still clad in just the T-shirt and shorts. They didn't do a very good job of hiding what was inside, and I noticed with interest the obvious bulge. I went and switched the heating up and got a blanket to put over him and keep him warm until the place was at warm enough for someone mostly unclothed.

"Please wait a few minutes here. I'm a bit mucky from the hiking so I'll shower and change out of my outdoor gear, get my things to prove I really am a physio." That was true, but included massage treatments of several different types to address the wide range of issues that I had found my clients. However, most of the time I'm doing straightforward physio and wellness massage. As well as that, I provide counselling which is often combined with one or other of the massage therapies. As I left the room, I told Ken, "You need not wash or shower yourself, best you sit and try to get comfortable."

I needed to use the toilet as well, pissing and pooping copiously, then took a shower, taking enough the time to also thoroughly clean myself back there as well. I slipped into my thin, pale blue cotton scrubs, a loose-fitting one-piece outfit that is easy to step into and zip at the front. When I worked for the Centre, I wore it over my vest and generously cut boxers, but working privately I would often dispense with such inconveniences, except on occasion when I thought appropriate modesty might be necessary. I didn't think this was one of those occasions. Just thinking about Ken's lovely body was causing me to harden, so it was as well the outfit was loose fitting. My state might well become apparent anyway. I confess to not always donning a freshly washed outfit for each session, existing clients don't generally mind if there are a few stains, but for new clients I always wear a fresh one.

I returned with my bag containing support bandages and strappings, oils, creams, ultrasound device, and other tools of the trade. "I don't have a regular exam table, but the couch will do," I told him, "If needed, it folds out to work as an exam table, and can be height-adjusted to serve as a massage table if that is required."

I noticed the room had warmed up so I removed the blanket and helped him off with his shoes and T-shirt. I noticed an almost complete absence of body hair. With his smallish and lean frame, he looked almost boyish. His was a most attractive body. I asked him to show me where it hurt and what felt like.

He shifted around so he could spread and turn his legs to let me have a close look, and I knelt down on the carpeted floor and leaned in.

"OK Ken, put your hands to show right on you where it hurts worst."

He looked at me rather sheepishly, I thought, then eased the fabric of his shorts away on the left side and pulled up to expose most of his pelvis on that side. His shorts were the kind which had a closely fitting inner brief of soft Viloft material to hold his cock and scrotal sac secure and comfortable. I had worn ones like that myself and could testify to the sensuous feel they provided. The way he was holding the garment tight against his genitals meant that their contours were clearly visible through the thin material. With the other had he indicated the area that was hurting. I smiled inwardly at noticing the beginnings of his erection, not having expected him to reveal quite so close. However, that was a normal biological response, it didn't men any more.

"Right here right at the top and down to here." He had delineated an area several inches across and down, at the inner top of his thigh, starting where the adductor muscle joins the tendon that connects to the pelvic bone.

"Thank you, Ken. Please excuse that I asked you to reveal yourself like that, but the hurt area is very close to your private parts. Do you mind if I feel you there? I'll be very gentle."

"No, that's OK Edward. You can touch me wherever you need to, as long as you don't press hard."

"No, I only need a gentle touch to determine if anything might be torn. Please keep the area uncovered."

I uncrewed a jar of moisturising cream and smeared some on my fingers to make it more comfortable for him as I stroked and felt for any indications of damage. As this wasn't a massage as such, it was better to use a water-based cream rather than oil-based. With my fingertips I traced very lightly around the area, then up and down, across, and in circles spiralling in. I couldn't find anything that I thought was damaged, there were no tell-tale lumps or unevenness, but I thought I detected a band of muscle running down through the centre of the area, slightly different from the surrounding muscle. I didn't think that should be a reason for the problem. I pressed it gently, needing to check if there was any tenderness.

"Does it hurt when I press? Any pain on that spot?" I asked.

"No. not really, but a sort of tenderness."

"OK, I want to do the same check on the other side. Please shift so I can feel there."

As he manoeuvred, the inner brief of his short pulled away a bit more. His cock seemed to be more tightly confined and more erect with the tip pressed against the fabric, and I was sure I wasn't mistaken when I saw a wet patch where some precum had seeped out and was soaking into it.

I repeated the tactile exam on his right side. As expected, everything was fine and I didn't notice any ridge of muscle on that side. I felt carefully at that place, and the muscle was soft.

"Do you have any pain when I touch you here?"

"No pain there"

"Or when I do this?" I pressed slightly firmer.

"No, I can feel the pressing, but no pain."

"OK, Ken. You don't have to do this, but it would help me if you take off your shorts, so I can feel both sides at the same time. Are you OK with that? It means a rather intimate inspection, so I apologise to be invading your modesty."

"No, Edward, I'm fine with that. Please be as intimate as you ..... like."

I wondered at the wording, I expected him to finish ".... as you need."

At that, he unceremoniously removed his shorts, making no attempt to protect his modesty, as if he considered the unashamed display to someone who was almost a stranger as completely normal. I also noticed how he placed his shorts next to him on the couch, presenting them in clear sight with the inside facing up, making it impossible for me to avoid noticing the glistening wet patch and the heavily skidmarked gusset. I was pleased but not altogether surprised to see his beautiful, circumcised cock standing out firm and proud. He has become noticeably more erect while I examined him so far. He was a good average in length and girth, and looked most inviting. I realised with wry amusement that, despite Ken's small stature, his cock was as big as mine, or more likely a bit bigger. It was beautiful too, and I started to think about it would feel to have it feel inside me.

Apart from admiring his lovely cock, I was fascinated to see his pubic triangle was shaven smooth. While I appreciated that it would make a later part of the exam much easier to perform, it seemed to me somewhat out of the ordinary for a man, except for porn actors and others who frequently participate in casual sex. It set my mind working, and I felt compelled to remark, "Unusual to see man shaven like that. Is there any special reason?"

He pondered for a long moment, as if unsure how to answer. He took a deep breath, and replied, "This is rather awkward, and I am worried about what you will think and how you will feel about helping me. You have been wonderful to me, literally a saviour, and I would hate that to end, or to cause you any offence. I could simply give an easy answer is that I think it is more hygienic, and also that it feels nice." Then a pause, "Well, it does feel nice and I am sure it is more hygienic. At least, more hygienic for what I do, which is have sex with multiple male partners and they all like me like this." Then another pause, "The like to see me looking effeminate and vulnerable, so they feel they can use me how they want. And I like to please them and give them what they want. I like them to use me, abuse me, do nasty things to me, hurt me. and make me do nasty things. I hope I haven't put you off completely. I hope you won't stop helping me." Another pause, then, "Perhaps I shouldn't have told you."

Ken's face went completely red and I could tell he was fearing the worst. There followed, to say the least, an uncomfortable silence while I tried to digest this revelation. I confess that I was uncomfortable myself. It wasn't just what he said, it wasn't fundamentally worse than some of what my clients in counselling sessions. What made me uncomfortable was that I was excited by his words. I'd felt attracted to him from the beginning, and more so at the start of my exam. The thought of sexual liaison had lingered the back of my mind, but I treated as pure fantasy, not something I would ever pursue. It complicated the task of continuing to examine and treat him. Now he was being pulling it to the front of my mind, effectively offering himself to me.

Far from being offended, I was actually very touched by his openness. He could have passed my question off with an anodyne half-truth. I decided I should continue, his exam, treatment, and hospitality. But I couldn't afford to let thoughts of satisfying my own lusts that impact what I was doing to help. Part of my dilemma was that I have dark fantasies and fetishes of my own, which I exercised in private and the rare occasions when it was "safe" to do in company. I had to stay detached from all in my physio and counselling work. On the other hand, Ken's revelation removed the awkwardness of some of the examination and treatment. I was now able to proceed with less inhibition.

Indeed, have to admit that I always like to see a man's genital area without hair, reminiscent of a prepubescent boy's youthful charm, yet amusingly contrasting with a full-grown male member alongside. Also, it would be much easier to continue the exam.

All these thoughts went through my mind in less time than it would take to read, and led me to the decision to continue, yet keeping my other agenda under control. Some contact of an intimate nature was unavoidable but I would, for the time being anyway, attempt to avoid giving any sign. I didn't know if I'd be able to control how long that could last. Afterwards, I had plans to fulfil some of my dark fantasies and with him. The prospect was enticing.

I told him, "Thank you Ken, for your openness. Excuse that I took a few moments to regather my thoughts. I can tell you I am pleased to continue with the exam and treatment, and of course for you to be here. I'll begin now with an examination of your shaven pubic area." In fact, what you told me is helpful in removing some of the awkwardness I was worried you would feel. I no longer need to worry."

I used my fingertips to feel him as before, but both sides at the same time and making the strokes completely symmetric to try and gauge any difference. I allowed my fingers to lightly touch his sac as I examined so close to the edge.