Hey folks, I'm Ben, if you have read my other first cracks at sharing some of my real-life stories, you'll know I'm 32, married to my beautiful wife Cara and have these occasional and increasing urges to muck about with dudes.
I've kept my rugby players body from high school days and workout at least five times a week to stay in shape. I'm covered in hair with a pelted chest and hairy thighs and ass, and speaking of ass, that's the thing that I am most uncomfortable about. It's big, not just perky or bubble, it's the thing that stops me being able to wear most shorts or pants because I split them as soon as I bend over or squat down to pick something up. Cara thinks this is hilarious and loves to rub my ass when I'm deep inside her, it's like she's holding on tight and pulling me in deeper.
My job as a commercial building engineer gives me plenty of travel, after the first year though, the novelty wears off. Airports, delays and airplane farts from the crap food quickly take the thrill out of it. Sometimes the hotels are awesome and sometimes the cities are even better. Next week I'm off to London for a project that I need to check in on for three days. I decide because of the long flight, I will leave early and have the weekend over there. I'm staying in the heart of London just off Oxford Street and know the area well.
I've always been a lover of massages, from women, men or anyone that can get into my muscles and make me feel like I'm floating. This love started way back in school when after a hard game of rugby, the coach would always make us get a rub down to get the lactic acid out of our muscles. I'd be lying if I told you I have never deliberately searched for a male masseuse in a faraway country and pre-booked ready for when I touched down. This time I started searching on the web for male massages in London, there were heaps, so many more than there are in Melbourne.
I stumbled across an ad that read "male massage workshop" which I clicked on. It went on to explain that each Saturday evening, there's a facilitated massage workshop where you will learn basic techniques through a hands-on approach. What does that even mean? Anyway, my chub in my shorts was already telling me to get involved so I messaged the site through their "contact us" link.
"Hi, my name's Ben, am travelling from Australia next weekend and am keen to know if you have any spots available in your next massage workshop?"
Next day, no reply.
The following day, here's what I got, "Thanks Ben, we've got a spot with your name on it. Thanks for getting in touch. We require a bank transfer of 220 pounds prior to attending which will secure your spot and please read the attached FAQs".
Shit, was this really going to happen? Then I re-read the thing about bank transfers and there was no way I was going to do that and put my name out there. I decide to try my luck, and reply with "thanks, appreciate the response, am in the middle of prepping for a work trip over there and can't do a transfer, you okay if I bring cash on the night?" Trying to sound casual about it.
I'm sitting here at my laptop in the study, just home from gym, wondering if I'll get a response. I notice how rank I am, a full day at work and then a 90-minute session at the gym. I stink, yet the half-chub in my shorts keeps telling me to lock this massage workshop in. I shout down to Cara that I'm jumping through the shower before dinner and head to our bathroom. I peel off my stinking gym shorts and red briefs, leaving them in a pile on the floor. As I turn the water on, waiting for it to get warm, I glance back at the pile of clothes on the floor. Instinctively I grab the sweat-soaked red briefs and bring them up to my nose. "Hmmmm, fuck they smell good". The effect was instant, my rock hard fat uncut dick straight out ready for action. Why does the smell of a day's worth of piss drips, sweat and pre-cum dribbles have this impact on me? With no time to nut a load out in the shower, I jump through, have a quick wash and throw on my grey track pants and grey sweater and head downstairs for dinner.
Cara leans in and give me a kiss while reaching behind and squeezing my ass saying, "you smell and feel great babe". She then gives my dick a squeeze through the track pants and comments "you never wear jocks under your track pants, babe that makes me wet". Dinner is already on the table so no time for a quick blow job, we sit down and compare notes on how our days were and what we have on tomorrow. I mention I've got to get a couple more things done before I head to bed. I clean up, fill the dishwasher and notice that Cara is already in front of the television.
I head back to the study check for emails and in my private discreet alternative account, I see I've got a reply from "Tim's Men's Massage Workshops".