I now understand that my subconscious was miles ahead of my "surface" brain on knowing what I wanted. Male models apparently are as justly characterized as thick brained as female models are reputed to be. There was no blame to cast; I'd seen the Egyptian doctor (if he really was a doctor) work the young men on the gym floor and in the shower room. There was no reason my surface brain wouldn't know he was a sexual predator. In the end, I'm really glad it happened, though.
The Egyptian was a magician really—and I was the world's worst dummy. The first encounter happened without me having a clue about what had happened even when it was over. I was a few years older than those the Egyptian was targeting at the gym—and he was a good twenty years older than I was. He touched me in the sauna, and my cock burbled out juice without warning and certainly without my really realizing we were having any form of sex. He had a mesmerizing voice, and I got horny without the usual arousal mechanisms—no warning really. He was doing this monologue about being circumcised or not in those doctor words of his, as if we were having an academic discussion or a medical consultation, and he had his long, thin fingers on my cock head before I really knew what he was doing. I was so surprised that I shot right off. I was greatly embarrassed, thinking I had probably misjudged his intent and now he'd think I was queer. I left the sauna in a highly confused state.
For his part, he probably just thought I was performing a hard-to-get mating dance. I hadn't clocked him when he got hold of my cock. I'd just sat there and stared dumbly.
I stewed about the encounter for a week, and although I didn't think I was attracted to Egyptians, this one was quite handsome and distinguished and sensual looking. The next time we were in the sauna alone, I more or less set myself up for the pass, thinking he probably wouldn't even make one and I could put my confusion to rest. I stretched out on my back, towel loosely around my waist and stretching down to my knees. He came in and sat on the bench below me and in back of me. In somewhat of a trembling condition, I spread my thighs so that from where he was sitting, he could see up under my towel and check out the goods (if he wanted to). He obviously wanted to and liked what he saw.
An electric jolt went through me and I suddenly knew we were "doing something," when I felt his strong, long fingers on my foot and he was massaging it—the sole and the toes—and slowly pulling on toes in a sensual way. I went hard. He slowly worked his hand up my calf and knee and under the hem of the towel. That's when he started murmuring to me how nice my body was—and I was narcissistic enough to melt to his seduction. He'd seen me work out on the gym floor, he said, and he knew I was in TV commercials. His hand slowly went up the inside of my thigh and he was lightly stroking my cock. I shoot off almost immediately again. And, thick lunkhead that I was, I apologized for early ejaculation. This hadn't happened to me with women. Obviously the new experience with men was just that much more arousing.
Still holding my cock, he said he could teach me some techniques that would help with that problem—he was talking like a doctor and like it would be something I could use with the women I was with. I weakly said I didn't have a problem with women, but I was talking pretty weakly because my attention was riveted to what he was doing with his hand. He was palming my cock and stroking the pisshole with a thumb, rubbing my ejaculated cum around the head. He was still talking clinically enough that I was fooling myself a bit about what was going on. I said I'd think about it.
The next week, he overheard me being told that my regular masseur wouldn't be there that afternoon—I always worked out, showered, and then was rubbed down. The Egyptian then asked me while we were still out on the floor exercising whether I'd like to come back to his apartment after we worked out and he'd give me the massage I was missing. I was all aflutter, still not positive where this was leading, when we got to his place. He did have a massage room with a padded table and all. And he massaged my back and legs and arms with oil—doing a better job than my regular masseur did. He told me to roll over on my back, and when I did so, I saw that he now was naked. He was tall and lithe, but very well muscled, and he had a thin but very long dong. It wasn't hard at all, so I rationalized that I was pretty safe.
He was massaging my front with oil and my cock was standing up straight—and I was very embarrassed, not being able to control it and still figuring there was an outside chance he wasn't trying to do me, that this was all a misunderstanding on my part. When he got to my pelvis, he slowly jerked me off. I made some embarrassed comments about being sorry I'd gotten hard, and he could just try to ignore that, but he was soothing me with words to the effect that the Egyptian massage method included an "evacuation of the pent-up essences" and it was all very normal in the Egyptian context. But even then he was starting to teach me control. He'd pump me up and then hold off until I cooled. My cock and his hands were so oiled that there was little friction at all in what he was doing. At last he let me ejaculate and cleaned it up with a towel. He then massaged all of the muscles on my front side real well again and I got drowsy.
He came around to above my head and he was massaging my temples and really putting me to sleep. He put his hands on my upper sides and pulled me up on the table until my head dropped off the end of the table and he was still working my temples. Then I felt his cock at my lips and he was pushing in, suddenly very hard. I was shocked because he had hardened up almost instantaneously (something I later learned was in his bag of tricks). He didn't push far in, but I sort of spit it out and told him, rather frightened, that I'd never sucked a man before—that, in fact, I'd never had any form of sex with a man until now.
He went all impressed and joyful at the news that he had a virgin on his hands. While I had been wondering what was going on, he had just thought I was into a foreplay game. He asked me if I'd let him initiate me. He begged me to let him prepare me for future encounters. He entreated me that I'd never have anyone as gentle and skilled as him if I had any inkling I wanted to be with men. He flattered me by wondering how anyone who looked like me could have gotten this far without going bi. He showed me a picture of his wife (really was his wife, I found out later) and assured me that many men took pleasure both ways. Something inside me told me I didn't want to deny myself any opportunities to full sensuality, and I gulped and asked him if he really would be gentle. (I didn't think to ask him why I wasn't going to be fucking him instead, if I was all that hot.) To prove he would be gentle and careful, his cock did go back into my mouth, but only a little ways, and rotated around. He said we wouldn't have to get much into that for now. (My guess is that he wanted to get his dick up my ass before I thought better of the situation.)
