Date: Tue, 30 Sep 2014 20:01:27 +1030
From: Robert A. Armstrong <rob.aa@hotmail.com>
Subject: Massage Tales - Chapter 1 - Massaging Adam

This, my second story, is a work of fiction, but based on reality. The
resemblance of my characters by action, name, location or description to
any real person should be taken as purely coincidental.

If relationships between men is not your scene, or if you're under age, or
if it is not legal for you to be reading this, then please leave, now,
before somebody finds out!

Otherwise, enjoy.



1 Massaging Adam

When anything exceeds your expectations, you remember it as special. This
is as valid for a personal rendezvous, (especially one which has been
incubated only online) as it is for customer service or product quality.

As a massage therapist I've worked on a great number of guys - gym junkies,
chunky footballers, frustrated husbands, stressed athletes and some just
plain ordinary people who, sometimes, beyond their sports injuries or
aching backs, would like a bit of `extra service'. I'm careful to
differentiate between `professional services' and `personal servicing'.

Without advertising, clientele can only result from personal
recommendations. However, on-line, dedicated sites can present additional
opportunities. So it was with Adam and me - one a writer for a `men's
literature' site; the other a reader.

In an exchange of emails we quickly confirmed our mutual appetite for the
genre of gay male prose (in many cases the rendering of our own fantasies)
as well as our preference for the wearing and watching of Speedos; or, to
be more specific, men in Speedos.

Adam and I had discussed our jobs without initially disclosing specifics,
also our residential locations (again avoiding exact details), discovering
that we lived in `reasonably' close proximity to one another - at least in
the same city.

With the current generational denigration of Speedos as `budgie smugglers'
that reveal `too much', I was both amused and delighted to receive a
waist-up pic from Adam (because I assumed it to be of him) of a guy
displaying a T-shirt bearing the text `Real men wear Speedos'. In return,
he received a neck-down photo of me `free-balling', as he put it, in a
super lightweight pair of grey tights, with the onset of a pending erection
in unmistakeable outline - more obvious than it would have been had I been
wearing dark or multi-coloured swimwear.

Amongst mutual-admiration messages, conversations turned, inevitably, to
the potential for giving and receiving of a massage, dependent upon us
finding an appropriate `time and place' - the universal impediment to
wishful liaisons. I've found that when somebody declares his inability to
`host', it is usually euphemistic for `family' (also known as `parents' or
`spouse), 'or `flatmates'. And so it was with us.

We `chatted' about the efficacy of massage and I shared my perception of a
man's universal dread of having an erection during the session, especially
if asked to `roll over' onto his back. The second, subsequent, fear is
whether `it' might be too small.

I had related to Adam what a Chinese masseuse once told me, that an
erection is merely a compliment to the skill of the massage therapist. His
reply, that he looked forward to paying me a compliment, was a positive
inspiration; it was a step up in our hypotheticals towards a potential
real-life hook up, and more than hinted at the anticipated result. A
tightening in the front of my pants was immediate, imagining seeing and
feeling the body of the hunky `Speedo guy' in his expanding nylon briefs
or, even better, out of them.

The emails, including `really looking forward to meeting you', prior to the
establishment of any proposed time and location, were of great
encouragement.

I wondered, without asking (thinking that it would be rude to do so), about
Adam's unspoken hesitancy to share a photo of himself in his beloved
Speedos. Was he too big? Too small? Too shy? Too identifiable? But, then,
many of us don't relish the thought of our face and `stuff' being spread
around on social media by sharing it, especially with someone whom we
haven't met.

I could not blame his caution. After all, I hadn't revealed my face to him
(as I thought he had done freely with me) primarily because I did not want
it to adversely influence the possibility of him agreeing to meet me. LOL.

I respected his integrity in not asking for my age or other `personal
details'. I reciprocated in kind, having decided that he was genuinely
interested in my skill, and then prolonging the time to `have a bit of fun'
- simply the sharing of mutual benefits rather than wanting to `get off'
over bodily measurements. I was confident that I was dealing with a young
gentleman, hoping that he had a similar impression, albeit with no concrete
clue to my age. In my mind he was one of a rare breed, or do I move in the
wrong circles?

The story that I had posted on-line, and which had prompted Adam to make
initial contact with me, was told from the perspective of a 21-year-old. Is
that what he assumed my real-life age to be?

In my mind there was now a definite dilemma. Would I be worthy of his
trust? Should I offer the information for which he had not asked? I did not
want to deceive him in any way but I really wanted to meet him. By all
accounts he was a fine young athlete - an ideal massage recipient who would
have good muscle definition, very little body fat and somebody who would
appreciate my experienced touch.

He had hinted, subject to his fitness, of his impending participation in
one of our premier fun runs in Brisbane - a half marathon event, by which I
could tell that he was serious about his health and his body! What
surprised me was his revelation that he had booked hotel accommodation in
close proximity to the start location where he advised that I could join
him for a short time the afternoon prior to the event.

Primary objective: a full body massage that would address any specific
muscular issues and to help prepare his body, generally, for the run.

Secondary objective: A `bit of fun', as his body `rose to the occasion' as
a compliment to my skill. He had joked that he hoped the fun would last
more than 5 minutes. I had to laugh at that. I could, and would, make it
last! He even asked me whether he might also be permitted some oil, to try
his hand at massaging my body. I instantly swelled at just the thought of
it! He was saying things that set him apart from others who had preferred
to just `blow and go'.

No pretence! Open and honest! It seemed that he actually wanted to touch me
as much as I did him. `So, he likes to touch as well as to be touched, does
he?' I thought. Nice!

We agreed to meet at 4:00 pm outside his hotel and he trusted me with his
mobile phone number to message him - a further indication of mutual
respect. I had already given him mine.

I timed my arrival almost perfectly, even resisting the flirty eye contact
from a blond guy, about 25, as we slowly passed each other, walking through
the nearby mall. My gaydar was pinging off the scale but my focus was
solely on meeting and satisfying Adam.

Being a few minutes early and seeing nobody resembling `Speedo guy', I
ambled past the main entrance and the top-hatted doorman. The adjoining
building housed three ground-floor shops with a colonnade frontage. I
stood, partially concealed so as not to appear too obvious on the
street. In retrospect, my `skulking' might have made my presence even more
suspicious to an alert observer.

I messaged Adam of my arrival, describing my distinctive body shirt, and I
waited, and watched.

And so it begins...

A couple of bodies emerge from the entrance and are ushered into queuing
taxis.

Then I see him. He walks confidently in my direction, according to the
information that I have given him.

It has to be Adam! However, I am having some difficulty reconciling the
person I am watching with the face of `Speedo guy'. Both are
good-looking. Both are young. However, I think, seeing Adam, the `Speedo
guy' could instantly be relegated to the classification of a big ox by
comparison.

Adam is devilishly and enticingly handsome. He is a little shorter than I
am, and trim! His eyes sparkle warmth. His smile extends friendliness. His
dark, neatly coiffed hair reveals pride in his appearance. His firm
handshake joins us together.

I scan his face for any trace of regret in discovering that I am not a guy
of his own age. I still wonder whether that is what he had been
anticipating. Is he hunting for a boyfriend, or even a life partner? Or is
he disappointed, now resigned to having a one-off massage and some
companionship then continuing his search elsewhere? I cannot imagine this
beauty ever being without a friend! He must have a boyfriend, or two!

Whatever we discuss on the way through the foyer and in the elevator up to
his floor and room is a blur. His eyes and his confident, mature and
sensual voice hold my attention captive. I don't even check out the front
of his pants, which is a most unusual oversight for me!

Smallish room. Tastefully furnished. Comfortably heated. Well-appointed
bathroom from what I see as we pass it. He pulls a chair from under the
small desk, turns it around and invites me to sit. He positions himself
directly opposite me on the edge of the generously-sized bed. Our knees are
not touching but we are close.

He reveals that his ankle has been professionally strapped to enable him to
run - the result of an earlier sprain. Now, almost fully recovered, he is
confident that it will not impede his effort. However, his physiotherapist
has advised against swimming, lest the strapping come loose. My thoughts of
him cruising up behind me, or me to him in the hotel pool, and Speedo
pressing against Speedo, disappear!

The up-side of that is that I can spend more time with him in total
privacy. Yes!

I'm not keen to rush, and I enjoy the getting-to-know-you conversation, and
the clarification of snippets shared in emails. He is showing no impatience
either. It's difficult to break his engaging eye contact. I'm feeling
extremely comfortable.

After some minutes of very compelling conversation, I focus on why I am
there, and I ask, "Are you ready for your massage?"

"Sure," he replies, standing. He removes all of his clothing except his
black-with-white-trim underpants. "Should I leave my undies on or take them
off?"" he asks, not wanting to presume anything, but offering both options
for my decision.

"Why don't you take them off?" I answer. "It will make it much easier." We
both grin. "How would you like me?" I ask. "The same?"

"Sure. Why not?" he replies with a smile, "but first, I just need to
relieve myself." Is he nervous or just `well hydrated'? Maybe, certain
anticipated fun will be difficult with anything but an empty bladder.

He walks away from me to the bathroom. His narrow hips and the trim,
defined muscles of his back and his runner's legs are all complemented by
his boy-sized undies with the firm, athletic butt cheeks that they enclose.

I remove my slim-line striped jeans, my shirt and my boots and socks. I
want him to glimpse me at my best, so I leave my body-flattering Skins top
in place and position them so as to highlight the budgie in my
Speedos. Only when he returns do I begin removing both, commenting to him,
as he checks me out, that I did come already prepared to take a dip.

Facing me, and without any showiness or reticence, he removes his underwear
to reveal an extra piece of flesh - flawless and uncircumcised - not limp,
not stiff, but projecting somewhat out from his body. Not big. Not
small. Not misshapen. His whole body is just perfectly proportioned. His
neatly trimmed patch of pubic hair is intended for more than personal
comfort! It's an attraction for whoever is fortunate enough to see it. I
fleetingly think, `Who else? How many?' What a boyish beauty of a man this
is! Michelangelo must have used someone just like Adam as a model when
painting his naked men and cherubs. His eyes meet mine and he smiles.

To call him `cute' would demean him. Attractive? Yes! Appealing?
Definitely!

He puts on some music then spreads a towel across the end of the bed and
makes to lie on it with his feet dangling over the edge. I suggest the
reverse - head at the edge so that I have easy access to his neck,
shoulders and upper back. While he adjusts his position I retrieve my
bottle of oil to which I have added two drops of an aromatic natural
antiseptic - an eucalyptus-like preparation - kunzea oil.

As I pump an appropriate amount onto one cupped hand, and then warm it by
rubbing both of my hands together, I gaze upon the beautiful form before me
- relaxed and waiting. His tan line, almost half-way up his glutes is
testimony to a man who likes sunshine in the skimpiest of Speedos or
underwear. Is that his heart that I hear beating? Or mine?

I spread the oil from his shoulders to his backside, delighting in my first
touch of his firm cheeks. His body absorbs most of the oil. A second,
more-generous, application extends the oiliness down his thighs and
calves. I run my hands back up and relish the feeling as they slowly and
deliberately surmount his tight, muscular orbs. More long strokes - down
and back up.

I concentrate on his upper back, pressing from the spine laterally. I move
from standing on the floor to kneeling on the bed, in order to better
massage the other side. Leaning my knees against his torso, I can feel his
body heat, absorb and relish it.

I return to the original side and raise his right hand, palm upwards, onto
the small of his back. This elevates his shoulder blade and I am able to
work more deeply around the scapula.

To relieve any strain for him to hold his arm in that position, I place my
own left palm flat onto his right one to hold it in place. His immediate
response is to interlock his fingers firmly with mine. He is actually
holding my hand, and I, his! I therefore spend much more time utilising my
free right hand on his upper back than I normally would. LOL. I give his
clasped hand an occasional squeeze, which he reciprocates
immediately. Nice!

I release his hand, suggest that he relax that arm back to its original
position near his head, and I swap sides, again. (We massage therapists do
that a lot.) I kneel next to him on the bed and it seems as though he
relaxes his body into me, his left hand, palm upwards, is held in place by
my right. Again, his fingers take the initiative and I feel myself being
more focussed on holding his hand than ministering to his back. His hand is
slightly smaller than mine, but they fit together perfectly.

I squeeze his hand. He squeezes back. This is not just a one-way feeling,
surely! It seems to be really mutual. Nobody has ever responded this way
previously. This not only feels good. It feels totally `natural'! What is
happening here? Again I force myself to release his tender grip and I move
to stand at his head.

I love doing this next bit! I press downwards on each side of his spine,
leaning forward. I wonder if he, being on the lowered bed, is aware of
where my cock and balls are - hovering directly above his head! When my
hands reach his butt, I grasp one cheek with each hand and then draw them
upwards, forcing them to part slightly. Then I run my hands up the sides of
his back, across his shoulders and push firmly down his upper arms as far
as I can reach. I know from experience that this feels good!

I repeat this twice. A quiet, exhaling `hmm' of pleasure from Adam invites
more. I stand to one side of his head this time, enabling me to reach
farther down this side of his body. From here I can stretch to his upper
thigh and, as I draw my extremities back, my hand closest to his centre
line drops to gently initiate touch with a testicle, then runs up his
perineum, dipping slightly as it crosses his hole, then continues
upwards. My intention is to repeat this twice more, when he does something
which I had not anticipated nor had experienced previously. He leans his
head against my thigh! Not just touching - leaning! Why? Comfort?
Recognition of pleasure? Affection? Face down, he cannot see my cock
stiffen at his simple touch.

I repeat my actions but with more deliberate feeling of his eggs and his
hole. Nothing is said, but he continues leaning onto me and, if anything,
increasing the pressure. Is it all accidental and is my mind creating an
intent that isn't actually there? I determine to find out. I swap
sides. Same motions from me. Same leaning from him to the other side,
perhaps even more firmly and obvious. Then he nudges his face gently up and
down against me, much as my appreciative beloved Labrador might do.

Moving to a new position, I stretch his thigh and calf muscles downwards,
and give them a gentle pounding (and, yes, I know that it's called
`tapotement'!). Following this, I kneel on the bed, between his legs and
massage them in the opposite direction. For each thigh, I grasp the sides
and run my hands upwards, continuing with the hand between his legs to cup
his relaxed and flattened eggs, then press under his body, through the
crease between his thigh and abdomen. Maybe I will encounter a certain
firmness. Not discernible. I do the other side and repeat everything. Where
is it?

I move to be by his hip and spend considerable time massaging his glutes,
separating them and feeling between them. My middle finger locates his hole
and I work some oil onto it, pressing gently. It yields slowly and I am
able to penetrate to my first knuckle. "Are you OK with this?" I ask him. I
really don't want to do anything to hurt or offend him. Maybe he likes it;
I don't know!

"Yes," is all that he says. He turns his head to look at me or, more
precisely, I think, to look at my groin. He relaxes again. Other side! Same
scenario. Same penetration. Same acceptance. Same looking.

At this point, I would love to coat his whole back with oil and lower my
body onto his, and slide on him!

Instead, I invite him to turn over. He does so without reluctance, knowing,
then displaying, that he has paid me my compliment. The head has escaped
his foreskin. Wow.

Now, this way up, he can see me as well as I him. I've massaged a number of
naked bodies previously, but none has looked this good, this perfect. I
retrieve my oil and spread it from his chest to his feet, avoiding his
genitals, which is a bit of a deliberate tease, really.

I massage his chest, abdomen and his legs, but what is in the middle is too
damn inviting to ignore any longer! I am about to envelop his whole package
when he reaches out and touches mine. Not tentatively, but with gentle
purpose. He fondles my balls, holds my plumped cock, rubs my inner thigh
and I pause to savour his touch. He is unrushed and very sensual. I squeeze
some oil onto his left hand which immediately moves to complete my
stiffness. I look at his face. He smiles at me and I grin back. No words,
but meaningful communication.

I let him continue and I also do that which I intended. I fondle his balls,
now liberated from beneath his body. I slide my hand up and down his rod. I
reach down and play with his hole. He has full freedom with my body too -
doing whatever he likes, within his reach - my back, my butt, between my
legs. I'm loving this! I relish his confidence and spontaneous little
initiatives!

"Are you right or left handed?" I ask, intending to ensure that I am on his
`preferred' side, for his convenience and pleasure.

"Left, but I wank with my right," he replies with stunning openness and
self assurance, as though I had merely asked him the time. Left? There is
no need for me to move. I reply that I'm the opposite - right handed but
like to use my left for that purpose. I tell him that it feels more like
somebody else is doing it.

"Yesss," he growls in agreement.

"So, do you live with your parents?" I ask to clarify a previous email
comment.

"Yeh!" he replies. "Definitely not sexy, but it helps me to save for my own
place." I don't say what I am thinking - `living with family definitely
limits opportunities for sexual fun'. There is a pause. "You?" he asks.

Now, my same, recurrent dilemma! This time, put to me directly. My brain
doesn't even consider the options to lie - single, separated, divorced. I
already respect and enjoy Adam's company too much to tell him anything but
the truth! "Would it surprise you to know that I'm married?" I ask, with
hoped-for confidence to match his own.

"No," he replies, seemingly accepting of my `situation'. "That's OK."

It's probably not the most ideal time to go into details of our
long-standing separate sleeping arrangements at home, so I just add, "I
didn't realise until later that I really prefer guys."

"It's more common than people realise," he encourages without any hint of
condemnation of my being here with him or any apparent thought that I'd
intentionally set out to deceive him. He adds with a smile, "I think
everyone needs somebody to come home to, not for the sex, but for
companionship, even if it is `parents'".

I feared that I might hear some apprehensive "Oh, no!" which would signal
the end of any hope of getting to know him better with some future fun as
well. Instead, he squeezes my cock again. I take this as a positive sign,
make some appreciative noises and move to his feet.

While we are being open and honest with each other, I ask, "Do you have a
boyfriend?"

True to the form that I have been seeing, there is no hedging. He answers
directly, "Not at the moment."

I don't want him to think that I'm `popping the question' or `applying for
the position', so I add, "I'll bet you have a lot of guys chasing you!"
while I smile into his movie-star eyes.

"Yeh, when I'm not chasing them!" he smirks back at me, elevating his head
off the bed. So, Adam has a sense of humour as well! I was right - he is
`Mr Popular'. I'm beginning to understand why.

I massage right and left foot in turn, lifting each and placing it flat on
my chest while I work on his calf. His feet are cold. That means he can
feel the warmth of my body. I hope he's enjoying it; enjoying what I can
give to him.

I kneel on the bed, between his legs, and work up his thighs. His hairless
balls are inviting. I lean down to lick them, and then continue up his
shaft to spend time on his frenulum, then down again. I take his right
testicle tentatively into my mouth and suck gently. I release it and
concentrate on his firmness - licking it and then enveloping the head
completely with my mouth. I make no attempt to swallow his whole
length. Maybe later! This is just an indication for him of my willingness
to please him. Releasing him, I lick up his body - navel, abdomen, nipples
- then kiss the side of his neck and nibble on his ear. No gasps. No hints
positive or negative. I move on.

His arms are in the `hands up!' position, palms upwards beside his head. I
rest my own palms on his. He intertwines his fingers with mine and closes
them tightly. It says, `stay!'

I lower my body onto his and our swords cross. He moves his hips from side
to side beneath me until our firmnesses are poking each other's stomach. We
push and squirm. He reaches down and I feel him grasp both of our cocks
together. I raise my hips just sufficiently to allow him better access. He
squeezes and rubs both. OMG. I love the `togetherness'.

I roll over and take him with me. The gentle, sensual frotting continues
with him, now on top, taking the initiative. He rests his head on my chest
and shoulder. I grasp his arse cheeks and enjoy their contractions for many
minutes.

"Let me turn face down," I whisper.  While I move, he reaches for the oil
and lubricates both my back and his front (or a particular part of it). He
slides himself onto me, places his hands over mine, palm down, and grips
them. For me, this connection, again, has the feeling of uniting us.

He pushes himself, sliding easily up and down my body. His cock gets stuck
near my hole. I wiggle at him. He liberates it and slides up between my
cheeks to my lower back, then retreats way downwards until his cock is
between my thighs. He thrusts and withdraws, gradually moving upwards. Oh,
what a simulation! I relish the feel of his abdomen and hips against my
cheeks when he reaches that point.

With him on my back, I enjoy the feeling of that stiffness returning
frequently to my back door. An unscrupulous person on top could take full
advantage, and one serious thrust, forceful or gentle, would gain entry to
my most private of parts. But he doesn't. Even when his body ceases its
sliding and rests, the occasional, unmistakeable pulsing throb of his
firmness betrays his pleasure and heightens mine.

He comments, "You know, I really like the feel of a person's weight on me."
It's a subtle way of asking for him to be on the bottom. Uncertain of what
I've just heard, I ask him to repeat it. I heard correctly!

When we swap places I respect him in the same way that he did me. He
manoeuvres and jiggles his arse tantalisingly close to being
penetrated. Feeling him actually line up his hole with the end of my
rigidity and just playing with me is far more stimulating than me just
`going for it'. I hope my playfulness in backing off a little, then
returning, convinces him that I'm not here to take advantage of his body,
but to pleasure it.

We show each other a large degree of mutual respect. At the same time,
there is a hint of willingness, should there ever be another occasion,
having time and adequate protection, to do more. With Adam's consent, I'm
happy to take the initiative, top or bottom, if he doesn't.

The mere thought of it pushes my body further than I had intended right
now, and I sense the unmistakeable beginning of the end. I roll off him to
reduce the stimulation and take rapid breaths in an attempt to forestall
the inevitable. I lose the battle and spurt copiously against my raised
hand to prevent it from shooting too far. I feel embarrassed that I
couldn't last a bit longer.

"All good," he says softly and encouragingly. I lie on my back. He begins
to smear my wetness across my abdomen, like a cook icing a cake. He puts
one leg over me and I assist him up to rest on me fully, and then delight
in the feel of him frotting himself to finality in my enhanced
slipperiness.

"I'm going to cum," he says. Then, "I'm cumming".

"Go for it," I encourage him, putting one arm affectionately around his
neck and shoulders and the other on one of his contracting butt cheeks. He
continues his motion, increasing in tempo and very soon ejaculating between
our two bodies. Feeling his pleasure is sheer bliss for me.

He relaxes onto me, searching for one of my hands to grip, and we bask in
some silent post-orgasmic euphoria. he rests his head on my shoulder and I
lean mine onto his.

The predominance of the communication over the ensuing ten minutes is
non-verbal - sometimes rubbing each other's body, sometimes tenderly
cupping the other's balls. He mixes both lots of cream together and
continues to `ice the cake'. He plays with my pecs and nipples. His touch
is tender yet not tentative at all. I love it. Sometimes we just hold the
other's semi-flaccid cock appreciatively. Very sensual. Very
comfortable. Very repeatable!

OMG. This wasn't having sex. It was making love, even without the unspoken
`ultimate compliment'. I have never experienced this same feeling before
today. So this is what it is supposed to be like! Not `in love', but loving
each other, nevertheless. I could die very happy and fulfilled right now!

Prior to us meeting, Adam had declined my offer of having dinner, citing a
previous arrangement with friends. This could also have been a `safety
mechanism' for him in meeting with a complete stranger, knowing that at
7:00 he had the security that his friends would come to pick him up. But,
hey, I respect that.

My in-built body clock tells me that we have spent a lot of time
together. I certainly don't want him to be late, although, with more time,
I could easily continue to pleasure him. Not for my benefit I ask, "How's
the time?"

He checks the digital alarm clock. It's already after 6:30! Time to make a
(reluctant) move.

"I think I need a shower," I tell him, laughing.

"Me too," he replies, in the same jovial mood.

"You want to shower with me?" I ask, hopefully.

From anyone else I might have expected a blunt `OK' but Adam doesn't
disappoint me. "Yeh! Of course I'd like to shower with you," he says. Ever
positive and encouraging! "But, first, I need to pee again."

I allow him that privacy.

There is a darkened glass panel between the bedroom and the
bathroom. Through it, and in the reflection of the glass shower enclosure,
I can see him standing at the bowl. I'm mesmerised by his beautiful
backside. It looks even better with him vertical than when he was
horizontal!

I drink in the slimness of his hips, the firmness of his cheeks and his
defined musculature. He flushes and brings me a towel. The perfect `V' of
his lower abdomen is accentuated by the shape of his trimmed pubes, all
pointing to that cluster of pleasure objects below. His foreskin has again
claimed dominion over his head. Still semi-erect. Nothing masks his smooth
balls. Oh! If only there was more time!

He sets the water temperature and we step in. He is not slow at soaping up
his hands and removing all trace of our combined DNA from my chest and
abdomen (de-icing the cake). He does my back and arse with his sensual
touch. I take some soap to his body, as well, attempting to rub back and
front at the same time, `feeling him up' for almost the last time. I hug
his body to mine and our cocks wiggle their farewells to each other. I kiss
his neck. Still no reaction. I turn him around and press against his
flawless back while reaching around and rubbing his pecs and nipples. I
can't resist cupping his whole package.

I no sooner comment about the need to shampoo my hair than he has the
container in my hand. He steps back, allowing me to rinse off while he
continues to rub his hands up and down my chest and abdomen.

I ask if there's any conditioner. It appears. I squeeze myself a handful
then smirk at him when I say, "I've found a new use for this stuff in the
shower. Best thing for wanking I've ever tried." Then I take his cock in my
hand. He jumps and emits a stifled squeal. I'm not sure whether it the
surprise of it, or if he's sensitive. He giggles and I desist.

I rinse my body a final time, step out and I leave him to remove any
remaining traces of oil, both bottled and `fresh'. He soon steps out as
well. I use the towel to dry myself then dress. He wraps himself in a towel
saying that he will return to the shower briefly in a minute.

He fetches me a hair dryer from the wardrobe and I'm soon ready to go -
almost.

I check that I have everything and we head to the doorway together. I reach
for a hug. He needs no additional prompting. Thanks are exchanged. Should I
kiss him? He moves as if to kiss me. Our heads both bob to the left and
right at the same time and our lips never meet. In the end, I give him a
peck on the cheek, shake his hand appreciatively and head for the
elevator. I will email him tonight or tomorrow.

My senses are replete but my heart has a sense of `unfinished business'. My
body was primed and could easily have spent another two hours (at least)
stimulating him and having him work his magic on me. I wonder whether he is
very experienced at what he does, or is he just `a natural'. Does it
matter? No!

I reflect, while travelling, that I could kick myself for not asking
whether I could take some pics of him - face, body and arse. But, as I had
thought at the time, that would have been very tacky, and destroyed the
sense of respect and appreciation that had so easily been established with
Adam. I reflect on the derivation of `Adam'. It means `the man', and that
he is!

So, I have nothing to remember him by, except his emails, a photo of
`Speedo guy' and a couple of hours of amazing memories. Memories have a
tendency to fade. I have to ask for a photo. After all, he did promise me
one, and I have no doubt that he will honour his promise.

What did he think of me? Time will tell. I will live in expectant hope that
I will see him, to pleasure him, again and further.

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If you like the story, please take a couple of minutes to email me and let
me know. I try to reply to everyone.

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If you enjoy something a little longer, please take the time to check out
the posted chapters of my original story (still in composition),
"Schoolie", about a young teacher appointed to an out-of-the way town, and
what he discovers about himself, and others.

http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/schoolie/

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