Thanks a lot to Larry Lancaster again, for editing this story.
For some time, I had been a keen cyclist. But since I moved to a tropical country I didn't go on long rides. 20 miles was about the maximum. Too hot and too long in the burning sun with my pale skin... excuses enough. But slowly I started to long for a good bike ride again. And when I had to go to a meeting in the city more than 70 miles away, I decided to do it by bike.
I am now an old wise man, so I know that I have to be careful not to overestimate my capabilities. That is why I left 2 days before the meeting, so I could possibly sleep somewhere for a night along the way. And that turned out to be a good decision. The mountains that I had to cross in the first 28 miles were not just steep, but really precipitous. In some parts I had to walk and push my bike up. That took me a whopping 6 hours to cover the first 28 miles. And my ass was burning from sitting on the saddle for so long. So I was very happy to find a guesthouse on Maps that was close to the route. The room was simple, but with a comfortable bed and a nice shower. And there was an extensive menu. So after freshening up, I walked downstairs for a big, late lunch.
Jeff, the owner, ran the guesthouse by himself and was also the barista. He was a big man, not only tall, but also heavily built. Not fat, but a few pounds less would do him good. There were no other guests so he had time to chat during my lunch. He had just opened the guesthouse when the pandemic broke out and didn't earn anything for the first few years. But things started to go well a few months ago. Today happened to be a bit of a bad day. He was very impressed by my bike ride.
"I should do that too. I'm just 40 and can't even cycle 2 miles. How old are you anyway?"
I told him I was 68, after which his awe only grew.
"After such an effort, you might want to loosen up your muscles a bit. I am also a sports masseur at the local sport club. If you want, I can give you a relaxing massage."
"That's nice of you. Normally I'm not a fan of massages, but now that I can really feel my muscles, that's an offer I can't refuse."
He chuckled. "Most cyclists have pain in a different place, especially if they haven't been on the saddle for a while."
His answer confused me a bit. Was he hinting at something or was this an innocent remark? We agreed that he would come to my room an hour later. As I walked upstairs, his remark kept playing in my head. And as I later browsed through the photos I had taken on the way, I kept thinking about it. I tried to think of something I could use to seduce him in case I might want to do that during the massage.
Finally, I figured out how to do it. If I ultimately would want to add some fun to the massage. I started a slideshow on my laptop of images of myself photoshopped into all sorts of NSFW situations. Then I laid down on the bed to read. After fifteen minutes, the laptop screen automatically went into energy saving mode. But a light tap on the mouse, or a slightly stronger tap on the table, would wake the device up again. The idea that this could also happen accidentally already gave me butterflies in my stomach.
Half an hour later there was a knock on the door. I wrapped my lungi and opened it. Jeff had brought a special massage table, which he unfolded in the room. That was a disappointment, because now I could not "accidentally" activate my computer screen. I decided not to be distracted by it and to give myself completely to the massage instead.
It was obvious that Jeff had experience with sports massages. He knew exactly where to find the muscles that needed to be loosened and where the sore spots felt pleasant again with the warmth of his hands. He rubbed and kneaded my entire body but stayed away from the places where I secretly wanted him to go. After a while I even started to doze off a little. I woke up from the sounds he made as he washed his hands.
"Take it easy," he said, "when you're completely awake, come downstairs for coffee. I'll get the table later."
I lay there for a few more minutes and then got up. Only then did I realize that my lungi was no longer on me. I looked around and to my surprise saw that the slide show was playing on my laptop. Jeff had seen my very private photos. And apparently, he felt free to pull my lungi off. But alas, that was it and he had gone no further.
At least, that's what I thought.
Because when I got up and went to get my lungi, it was nowhere to be found. And not only that, the few clothes I had on and with me were all gone. I realized that Jeff's invitation to come downstairs for coffee had a special meaning. He could only have one intention: to get me naked for coffee with him.
The thought of having to walk naked through the guesthouse and sit in the bar immediately excited me, of course. But at the same time, it scared me. I had fantasized a lot about being forced to walk naked in places where you might encounter other people, but now that it seemed to be happening for real, I was not as brave as in my dreams. However, I did not have much choice. I could of course just sit and wait and hope that Jeff would eventually bring my clothes back. But how long would he keep me waiting? And would he actually come, or assume that I would get hungry at some point, or would have to continue my journey, and then have no other choice but to get my clothes? The conclusion was inescapable; I had to go to the guesthouse bare naked.
I took a few deep breaths, thought carefully, and then stepped into the gallery. The click of the door closing made me realize that I had left my key inside. If I regretted my action, or if a new guest had unexpectedly arrived and was on his way to his room, I could not go back. The street in front of the guesthouse was fortunately deserted, so I could walk unnoticed along the gallery to the stairwell. Well, unnoticed? There were CCTV cameras, and I could guess who was currently watching the images with a broad grin.
I walked down the two floors to the ground floor, looking around to see if anyone was coming. Luckily, that didn't happen. I went through the hall, past the reception, to the bar.
"Hey, there you are, you look great, man," Jeff laughed. "Come sit here at the bar and I'll make you a fresh mocha."
