I'm really lucky...I have hippy parents who had good business sense. We grew up comfortable, on the fringes. I got a great education, decided on some business classes and finally earned my massage and physical therapy degrees. My parents semi-retired from the Chinese supplement import business. I took over and maintained my practice on evening and weekends: I could afford to see only the clients I wanted.
I'm easy going about my sexuality. I've had a couple of steady gal friends; we've had both exclusive and open relationships. I don't go out of my way for sex with guys, but occasionally a stud catches my fancy. Usually just blow buddies or three ways with a gal.
I get to the office and work, get to the gym daily. Get to travel a lot. Like I said I'm lucky.
One of my regular massage clients, Mr. Dean emailed me; he had an employee who got stuck with a shitty job: working under the crawl spaces of 50 houses that weren't up to code. Sam Bender had to spend his days on his knees or back tearing out ducting and replacing barriers and ducts. He had complained it was destroying his back. As a bonus Mr. Dean was paying for a massage weekly, if Bender showed up.
He was CC'ed on the email. I invited Sam to contact me to schedule a massage. In a private message follow-up Mr. Dean told me he was covering for $200 sessions, four a month. That was way above my usual rate, but I would just work longer on Sam. He didn't reply to the email. I wrote it off.
A week later I saw Mr. Dean for a PT session. He was livid when he heard that Sam hadn't contacted me. He got Sam on his phone right away. Sam said he'd schedule tomorrow for next week. He did, for late in evening. I put it out of my mind.
Late Thursday afternoon I was at the gym squeezing in a cardio; I was pumped. Some dickhead chained their bike, blocking in mine. I was gonna be late for Sam's appointment. I texted him; I spent 25 minutes finding the dork who owned the bike. He was a roid-head and ugly to interact with. As if I put him out interrupting his grunting workout to get to my bike. I dashed to the office.
I saw a pickup with Mr. Dean's logo in front of my studio. A cap and wild blond curls, sun burnt neck was all I could see. I rode up from behind. I saw Sam had earphones on. As I came up from behind, he didn't see me, he was watching something on his phone. I caught a glimpse: porn! A blond gal was getting face-fucked by a huge cock. Not my scene, but still kind of thrill to catch a dude watching porn.
Sam jumped and glared at me until I apologized and introduced myself. As he got out of the truck his ragged Carharts were tented from watching porn. It didn't bother me, really. Sam was cold to talk to, monosyllables and nods. It turned out he had only planned on an hour tonight.
We went thru the usual Q&A, and formalities. I left him to undress and when I came back realized he had pretty strong foot and body odor.
"Come straight from work?"
"Yup! My life sucks right now. My back is killing me. Going to work all weekend too."
It was the most he'd said in a sentence.
"Since you're only getting an hour today, come in this weekend for another...and you can use my shower first next time ok?"
"Whatever."
He was one of the stiffest and most unresponsive clients I'd ever had. I don't think he relaxed at all. After about 50 minutes, I checked in with him.
"Sam, you're not really enjoying this are you?"
"Dunno. Never had a massage before. Can't stop thinking about the hell I'm going thru tomorrow at work."
"You're pretty fit...you work out? Let's change things up and meet at my gym first. Burn off steam then come here."
"No. Don't have time."
I left it alone. He did schedule for Sunday evening.
I was in the loft office when I saw him pull up 20 minutes early on Sunday. He sat in his truck. I could just lean out the terrace and spy...he was watching porn again, by the way he was groping his package. My switch flipped 'on'.
I texted him that I was in office, he could come early. I saw him pause the video and respond. He stretched hard on his way out of the truck. I opened the door for him. The sun was just going down. I had no lights on yet. I tossed him a towel and said, "Shower first, you stinky bastard."
His eyes flashed and a sideways grin split his stony face.
While he was showering I thought it thru: my parents had raised me to be kind and loving. Everything about Sam crystallized into the thought, he thinks I'm weak. I heard the shower door close and the side door to the treatment room open and close. I knocked and opened it to see Sam leaning on the table, looking at his phone wrapped in a towel.
I patted the massage table and held up a sheet. He maneuvered under it and dropped the damp towel.
As I adjusted the sheet low on his back and folded it up over his knees his phone beeped. I handed it to him. He texted quick and turned it off.
I saw an opening, "Hot date texting ya?"
He looked back at me, "Yeah, some bitch I bang sometimes...can't get to her for a week yet..."
"That's a long stretch...guess that's what porn is for, huh, buddy?"
"Fuck yes it is..."
I felt his shoulders soften just a tad under my grip. I kept up the banter. I felt him breath easier under my hands as I worked his ribs and oblique's.
"How about you...who are you tapping?" That was the first spontaneous question he'd asked of me.
"I got a couple gals; I can hit 'em whenever I want..." I got under his pec to work shoulders and traps..."Haven't hooked up yet in a few days...actually took a porn break at lunch today...edged for a while upstairs in the office."
"Niiiice." He flattened when I released his arm. I was getting him to relax. The hour was up. He hadn't turned over.
When I commented he said it wasn't a problem, he felt he was getting the hang of this. I told him to take his time, I was gonna do paperwork upstairs. Something told me he was at least semi hard under his belly. I made a show of putting hand lotion on as we touched base about his next appointment. Wednesday, he said, for 90 minutes that time.
I stepped out and went upstairs to the loft office. I could lean back and see the door. I turned off the ceiling fan. Sure enough the wet sounds of Sam jacking off were clear.
One grunt was all he let slip. I knew then I'd get him...
Wednesday I worked out just before our 8:00 appointment. I wore only a wife beater and track pants as I met him in the parking lot. He went right to the shower.
This was different. He was talking foul, bitch this, cunt that. I kept up with him. When 45 minutes had passed I had him flip over for the first time. Not obviously hard, but full and lengthy his cock made a nice silhouette under the sheet. He only moved a little when my dick rubbed his bicep.
I got to work up his knees and lower thighs. He asked, "You screw your gal this week yet?"
"Naw..."
