Massaging gay story of fun with Magic Hands: 1
Massaging gay story: The young man from the reception led me down the passageway and opening a door ushered me in…
“Please take off your clothes and lie down, the masseur will be with you in a moment,” he smiled pointing towards the far corner before leaving, closing the door behind him.
‘Magic Hands’, that was the name of the place — a male-to-male massage joint, proudly proclaiming that they could take away all your worries and leave you totally rejuvenated! — and the name had instantly grabbed my eyeballs, making me take the plunge, call them and book a spot.
I looked around as I wondered if I had made the right choice, or, was this another of those misplaced assumption… another futile pursuit of an unattainable fantasy?
It was a small room, about 6-by-8, neat and clean, the light mellow… a massage table in the centre with a disposable brief on it… a couple clothes hook in the corner the man had pointed towards, and a small wall-shelf with a couple folded towels and a few bottles.
I took off my shirt and jeans, but decided on keeping my trunks, reluctant to put on the disposable they had provided, and then climbing in lay face down on the table.
Yup, you got it right, um, almost right — I’m a closet bi-curious, have always been, since high school. But I’m also very passive by nature, especially when it comes to matters of the intimate kind.
Not just incapable of initiating, but also totally unable to respond to, or encourage, the subtle hints and gestures of the other person… frustratingly unresponsive to all the insidious urgings as I inexplicably freeze!
So, already pushing 40s, I’m still a ‘virgin’ when it comes to man-man action…
Yes, I’ve done all those early-days online chatroom scene in the late nineties, and the post smartphone era dating/hook-up apps.
But as already mentioned, all that explicit and detailed negotiations before the meetup… of what’s expected, and what’s on offer, leaving nothing to the imagination, was kinda off-putting.
I did venture out, met a few guys… each encounter fraught with stuttering small-talk and awkward silence, before an abrupt and flurried retreat!
Also, on my regular travels on work, I’ve pored over those carefully worded personal column male-on-male massage ads, even visiting a few…
But when the discussion on services (type of massage) and rates invariably ended with the assurance of a ‘happy ending’, it simply killed the expectant anticipation.
And no matter how intimate the touch, how suggestive the seemingly innocuous banter, or however encouraging the overtures, I simply lie there on the table, unresponsive like a log — I don’t moan.
I don’t wiggle my ass, and I don’t grope even if he rubs his package against my hands, arms or shoulders — leaving a very confused and dejected masseur to announce the end of our session!
You may be wondering… but let me ask you – have you ever considered the difference between street walkers and the discreet escorts adorning upscale pubs and bars?
Both are hookers… prostitutes… but with the street walkers everything is obvious — you know why they’re there, and they know what you’re doing driving up and down the street.
Whereas with those attractive young men and women nursing their lonesome drink, you can only speculate — they could be a hooker, or just someone catching a break after a hard day’s work before rushing home.
There is that element of the unknown about them… the incertitude of your assumptions — Is he? Could she be? The guessing… the uncertainty… the thrill of not knowing, and the eroticism of expectation.
Those teasing glance of seduction… the belly tingling anticipation… the whole shebang of the mating dance ritual…
And THAT is the allurement of the whole exercise of a meaningful hook-up!
Where’s the fun in picking up a hustler off the street, or a ‘date’ off some app? Or have a masseur swirl his fingers across your buttocks while whispering if you needed any ‘extra service’?!
Guess what I need is someone simply taking charge… no detailed discourse. no suggestive persiflage, and no beating-around-the-bush… just take over and do it!
Oh, a shrink would have a fields day with me on her couch!
“Hello, sir…” the greeting jerked me out of my idle reverie and brought me back to the present, “I’m Shahbaz, you masseur!”
I blinked my eyes open, but since I was facing away from the door, I saw no one… and then felt a warm hand on my left ankle… the fingers lightly fluttering up my leg…
“You’ve taken a massage before?” he asked gently rubbing the inner thigh just above the knee.
“No…” I replied softly – a barefaced lie!
“Hmm, you haven’t changed? Still in your trunks…” he said as he reached my hip, his hand lightly grazing over the stretch fabric, moving up… flitting and darting his way to my shoulder…
I sensed him move to the head of the table, ready to cross over to the other side… pausing for a moment as his fingers worked the nape of my neck, and between the shoulder blades…
Suddenly curious, terribly tempted, I lifted my head slightly and looked…
The first thing that greeted my eyes was his stretch-cotton encased crotch front… right there in front of my face, at eye level — one of those snug, black boxer-briefs — the pouch numbingly full, the bulge unabashedly blatant!
I gulped, for the sight was enough to set my blood pumping, my heart on overdrive, and my pulse racing… an unbearable tingle suddenly engulfing the entire lower abdomen region, and my genitals… and as I raised my gaze higher I saw the rest of him…
Shahbaz was young, barely out of his teens (or maybe not), awesome built — nah, nothing like those ‘roid addled, whey-protein sozzled, muscle sprouting gym rats — but rather a well defined, nicely toned young man with just the right amount of swell, and the right measure of flex…
And a very pleasant face… smooth, and without a trace of peach fuzz.
He had on a slinky red singlet, the fabric melded to his sculpted frame… and a dazzling smile. His eyes watching me, and I saw the lips curl as our eyes met.
Then he was gone… on to the other side of the table, his fingers fluttering down my torso and right leg till he was holding both my ankles, spreading my legs apart, wide …
He began the massage, his hands gentle as he kneaded my left lower leg… the fingers toying and teasing the heel and calf muscles… up and down…
Slowly moving higher up the leg… inner and outer thigh… skipping the buttocks as he started on my back… up to the shoulder…
He wasn’t using anything, it was just a dry rub-down, and yet his hands glided over my naturally smooth skin without friction… the fluttering fingers arousing an amazing sensation, making the skin break out in goosebumps… the muscles and tendons seeming to wake up with the stimulus.
“Very tensed, sir…” he commented in a hushed tone once more standing at the head of the table, working my shoulders and the nape of my neck… before slowly moving down along my spine, the fingers making small, circular motions…
And even before I realized it, his fingers were already slipping past the waistband of my trunks, reaching right in… to the beginning of the ass crack between the mounds, massaging the tailbone… and as he leaned I felt something soft and warm press against the top of my head – something spongy, and yet, somehow firm!
The unexpected, the unanticipated double contact — of fingers so dangerously close to my most private spot, and a male organ pressing down on my head — set all sorts of turbulence raging through my body and being…
Forcing me to summon up all my strength, every ounce of my self control, to stop my ass from thrusting up to meet his hands… stop the moan that bubbled up from the pit of my soul, threatening to burst forth and shatter the silence of the room.
When I thought that I’d fail, Shahbaz’s hands drew back, slowly working his way up the spine… to the shoulders and the nape of my neck, gently stroking… and then he was once more leaning in, his hands once again slipping past the waist band… fingers coaxing my coccyx…
His capacious bulge once more pressed against the top of my head, more forceful this time!
I don’t know if it was real, or just my imagination, but he seemed to hold his position for a bit longer than the last time…
His thumbs knead the base of my spine as he wiggled his pelvis, literally rubbing his man-parts against my head!
Then he pulled back and moved to the other side… once more working down, back to my feet…
“What you’d prefer sir. oil or cream?” I heard him ask.
“Cream…” I mumbled, my throat bone dry, the word, a raspy croak.
He was gone for a moment, probably selecting a bottle from the shelf, and then was back, his hand gently rubbing the small of my back…
Massaging gay story of a horny young man’s first time
“Let’s loosen you up sir, and get you relaxed…” I heard him say, “but first, let’s get this out of the way before the cream stains it!” and even before it registered, before I could understand, he had his fingers hooked in the waistband and was pulling my trunks down.
By the time it sank in Shahbaz had already tugged the piece of garment all the way down, and off, leaving me bare-assed and stark naked on the table!
Caught off-guard… utterly embarrassed and completely disconcerted, I just lay still… my heart slamming away… my vital organ suddenly very awake, already hardening in spite of the situation.
And then began the actual massage…
To be continued…
