Happy Ending
I had finished cutting some plywood with my new circular saw when I felt the telltale twinge in my back. With ice packs and heating pads I managed not to be completely laid up with a thrown back.
A few days later my back was feeling better - just some stiffness in the lower region. But as a result I had not been able to have sex with my wife for days and she just left town that morning abandoning me to my unrequited urges.
Perusing Doublist I saw the ad for a massage. That was just what I needed to relieve some stress and aching muscles. I scanned it quickly: some guy had a home massage set-up.
I checked out a few less sketchy adverts in the mainstream but the prices were more than double. My mind was made up for me when I called a place and the next appointment wasn't for three days.
So I sent another message to Brad, the home masseur. He would massage me anytime I wanted and he was even closer than the big chain places.
I arrived half an hour later not expecting anything extraordinary - boy was I wrong. You gotta read past the first events in the story to really understand.
He was an older guy and his place was decorated like my granny lived there: doilies on the arm of the couch, a Barbara Streisand book on the coffee table, and classic antique furniture. After my drive I needed to use the restroom in which I found the typical men's products: aftershave, Old Spice, and masculine designer soap. Well, except for a pink canister of depilatory like my wife uses when she waxes her legs.
He was sipping on a glass of Sangria so he offered me a drink and we chatted before the rub. He was a nice guy, and apparently gay, which I would not have guessed right away based on his manly forthright demeanor.
When it was time he suggested we go to his bedroom. Not a typical place for a massage but I'd already invested an hour of my time, so I thought, "In for a penny, in for a pound."
Ok, his bedroom was even more sketch, not a massage table in sight, but he hadn't even asked for money and the hint of a muscular twinge convinced me to follow through.
He had me lay down on his bedspread with my head at the foot of the bed while he went to warm up some oil. With no towel to wrap myself, when he returned I was naked and face down. "Sorry about the pecker tracks on your bed." I offered sheepishly.
He set me at ease, "No problem. It's bound to happen." Then added mysteriously, "And there'll be more."
When the warm oil was drizzled on my bare skin I put aside any nervous thoughts and surrendered doubts. My body melted.
His hands were skilled despite him apologizing for being an amateur. Knots evaporated. Stress left me. And I felt good.
He stood by my side rubbing from my shoulders to my ankles. Then he stood by my head, leaning over me when he slid his hands down my back, stopping at the base of my spine.
Back at my side again this strong gay man squeezed my thighs. When his fingers accidentally grazed my balls my only thought was that I was glad my dick was hidden. I mean, who's dick wouldn't respond embarrassingly?
Back at my head again his fingers pushed the tension out of my neck then ran along my spine to my ass. Did he touch my crack? I just ignored it.
He reached further, rubbing the back of my thighs. The effect was that his stomach pressed my face into the mattress. I'm sure the masseuse at the other place would not do that. But those fingers which next "accidentally" caressed my testicles made up for having my head trapped under his dad-belly. Is it too strange that I liked it?
Brad moved to the side again, "Do you like getting your legs done?"
"Oh yea, I'm surprised though. I thought I only needed my back done."
"You have nice legs Scotty. We'll do whatever needs doing." And saying that his fingers delved further around my thighs than they had before. A fingertip poked at my dick which had returned to its flaccid state and was pointing down toward my ankles. Thank goodness he hadn't done that before when it was hard. Surely, there was no way he knew it would be there. Wouldn't most guys lie with it pointing up?
I replied to his earlier statement, "You're the one giving the backrub. Whatever you say."
Then he was at my head again, reaching far to squeeze my glutes. His package brushed my forearm. When had he lost his pants? No matter, after all it was a little warm there in his bedroom. And he still had his underwear on. Sure it was unprofessional. But he had said he was an amateur. I found it amusing that as a gay masseuse he was apparently enamored by me. This was a first and I felt strangely complimented.
Brad kept working my buns and kept gesticulating his bulging package on my arm, then even on the back of my head. He had no shame but I was feeling no pain. I allowed the perverted assault as long as the backrub continued.
I could feel what was there better when it was on the back of my hand, and there was no mistaking that it was a set of balls and a penis: a naked set of hairy balls and a hard penis!
He thrust it under my hand and I was aware that my hand took hold of a firm tumescent cock. Brad fucked at my hand as I formed a tunnel with my fingers for the shaft which was rapidly becoming slick.
Suddenly, he barked, "Turn over."
The change from gentle masseuse to commanding molester shocked my sensibilities, yet I was powerless to resist.
On my back, his moist tool poked at the side of my head leaving more pecker tracks, this time in virgin territory. Brad massaged my nuts firmly and deftly smothering my face with his bare stomach.
When I had the chance I turned my head away from the protruding and leaking appendage only to have him switch sides too.
He jerked my stiff and thick six inch rod even as it betrayed me.
Giving up, I searched with my eyes hoping to see the pole that was spreading its wetness on my forehead. Brad humped frantically at my face all the more, certainly trying to discover my mouth. But like a young passion-filled man in the back seat at lovers' lane his uncoordinated grinding worked against him so he never found ingress.
I tilted my head back for my aggressor but it didn't work. Man, did my hanging sack feel fantastic under his oily-handed and skilled care.
This man I'd only just met leaned forward, awkwardly perched on me while taking the head of my throbbing traitor into his mouth, which, of course, placed his wet tube next to my upturned face.
His body weight pinned me down, and you know what? I didn't care.
Gray pubic hair grazed my nose. Loose balls fell on me as well. His taut dickhead slid up and down the side of my cheek coating it with juice. My penis was so happy in his mouth it never occured to me to turn my face away again.
The old guy jabbed without aiming, seemingly just as glad to massage my face with his glans as to find a reluctant hole.
