Date: Thu, 26 Dec 2013 18:26:16 -0800 (PST)
From: Dave Krenshaw <davekrenshaw@yahoo.com>
Subject: Sessions With A Masseur Named Mikey:  Installment 3

	    Sessions With A Masseur Named Mikey:  Installment 3

		 by Dave Krenshaw:  davekrenshaw@yahoo.com


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This story is entirely a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and
incidents portrayed in such work are either the product of the author's
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being presented with the intent of condoning or promoting unsafe sexual
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I run out of the bathroom adjacent to the den.  Though still dripping a bit
from my late-morn shower, I am in truth more focused on the incessant ring
tone of my private cell phone which I had somehow misplaced the day before.

"Yes, Paul, no need to apologize whatsoever, I have room in my schedule for
9 AM.  I hope that works for you; and I hope you had a great Christmas, did
you?...Oh, I understand, glad to hear it in fact,... Well, who can blame
you?  Those day-after-Christmas sales are always tempting."

I am off the phone soon enough.  I have mainly mid-afternoon and evening
appointments scheduled for today.  The tips were just phenomenal yesterday,
I had been booked solid for almost 10 hours straight then.

The air in the condo has subtle hints of residuals of the aromas of
gingerbread cookies that I had baked Christmas eve; and thoughtfully handed
out to clients just before they departed as sweet gestures of appreciation
for their patronage.

I go into the master bedroom; and light the apricot-scented candles.


I slip on my raspberry-red silk bikini briefs.  Paul, I am recalling is a
gem, as clients go, except for the fact that his work schedule does not
permit him to book anything more frequent than monthly sessions.

I hear the doorbell; and peep out the window overlooking the parking lot as
a precaution before buzzing Paul in via the intercom-related device on my
level.

Paul, who is about forty-three, originally came to me about three years
back upon a referral of another client who booked me just once and whose
name I no longer even recall.  He is a flight attendant for a major
airline; and he was with the U.S. Marines for about six years.  He spends
most of his free time these days at the popular casinos in South Florida:
He tends to be a bit on the pale side complexion-wise, though occasionally
he has gotten one of those professional spray tans that have gained
popularity in recent years.

"I appreciate you taking me on such short notice.  I just got back from the
West Coast shortly after midnight," the lanky man coming towards me from
the stairwell relates; and huffingly when doing so, as if he just ran up
the stairs.


"That's all right, Paul, really.  You certainly have always been one of my
nicest clients.  Besides, I always love seeing you during the holiday
season."


Paul looks as if he is about to say something directly in response, but,
then, somewhat oddly, says nothing whatosever; and simply smiles.
Admittedly, I find that smile of his quite intriguing.


"Is there something you were about to say?  I hope all is all right."


"Actually, nothing, really.  As a matter of fact, ALL is VERY, VERY
...uhm...RIGHT."


I grin at Paul in response, I am, in truth, enjoying his company.


"Mikey, I am glad you don't mind. I have been under a great deal
of...uhm...tension, of late. I am quite certain you can help."


"Oh?, is that so?," I reply, smiling coyly.


Paul often comes to my residence dressed in dark-tone business slacks and a
button-down solid-colored or checkered sports shirt, but on his days off
from work, he usually comes dressed in shorts and a peach-colored tank top.
Today, he is wearing navy-blue sneakers with low-cut white cotton socks,
knee-length cotton shorts, and the above-mentioned tank top, which, by the
way, shows off his average-sized but firm pecs and slightly-hairy chest
quite nicely.


I haphazardly adjust the window blinds so that just the right amount of
sunlight peeks through.  I am feeling a bit keyed-up from my early-morn
java, as Paul removes the last item he has on, his beige boxer shorts; and
gets comfortable in the center of the bed.


I scoot onto the bed; and glide into a comfortable-enough and for me the
standard kneeling position between his masculine inner thighs.


I grab the bottle of massage lotion from the night-stand.  I pump out a
fairly huge wad of the lotion into my hands; and gently rub the same with
my fingertips primarily into the shoulders, neck, and middle of the back.
I give extra-gentle attention while massaging the same to the nape of
Rick's neck.


I work my way down to the waist and then then slide my palms back up to the
lower back and begin to rub a bit more of the lotion into the same with my
fingertips and the palms of my hands.  I am admiring Paul's smooth and
quite plump buttocks.  I pump out three tiny dabs of lotion on each of
them; and slowly massage the lotion all over them with my fingertips in a
relaxed counter-clockwise-motion and a nonchalant style.  I am very much
enjoying the intimacy of this; and I know very well by now that Paul is
enjoying everything in every sense thus far, especially since the part of
his cock that is visible looks close to its thickest than when I first
began the massage.


"Oh, yes, that feels just like heaven."



"I am glad you are enjoying all, Paul.  I do my utmost to please.," I reply
in a raspy and yet seducing voice.


There is this strangeness about what I just said and what Paul said
earlier, but I am making a conscious choice to put any focus on that out of
my mind as much as possible.  I become a bit tingly inside, as I gently
massage globs of the lotion into the upper back and also all along each
arm.  Then, I crouch down; and, in between the massaging, intentionally but
extremely casually alternately touch a part of Paul's upper back with each
of my soft but perky small nipples as well my firm pecs.


Paul moves his legs in as much as possible so that they press tightly
against my outer thighs.  I pause for a moment; and then gingerly caress
the underside of the head of his cock with my left index finger.


"It's fine to turn over now.  Just get into a comfortable positon once
again, staying as much as possible in the center of the bed and as usual."


Paul turns over so that he is lying on his back; and hurriedly grabs a
fluffed-up feather down pillow and slides the same across the brand-new
rose-colored satin sheets under his head for comfort.



I slowly begin to caress Paul's manly chest, making sure I give equal
attention to each of the pecs.  I also gently touch each of the nipples
with the tips of my fingertips.


"You must see a whole lot of ASS, Mikey?"


"Pardon?"


"DON'T play coy with me, is that the truth, Mikey?"


"All right, well, hell, YES, I do, indeed, at that: It's one of the PLUSES
of the job of sorts, one may definitely say."


"Well, speaking of ASS, I want YOURS."

Paul suddenly leaps up from his lying-on-his-back position and roughly
pulls down my bikini briefs; and, in a matter of sheer seconds, have the
same pulled off from my ankles and tossed onto the burgundy carpet.


Paul is, at this point, and to my amazement, already at full-mast, about
nine inches and cut as well as moderately thick; and extremely charged-up
and in a most frenetic way at that.


I consider for a moment fighting him off, but I know that if I end up
bruised and bloodied, I will lose all my biz for the coming days, something
I definitely cannot afford to do in this bitch of an economy.


"Now just wait a sec, Paul, I mean you DON'T...."


"Don't worry, you will still get your MONEY, just relax and enjoy
everything.  I won't hurt you if you just stay calm and act like you are
enjoying everything.," Paul comments.


"How MUCH money?"


"WHAT?"


"I said: HOW MUCH?"


"I have only $900.00 in cash on me, that's all, but, even so, it's ALL
yours if you simply go along with everything and keep that pretty mouth of
yours always shut AFTER.  Deal, Mikey?"



"All right, deal."



"Great, Mikey, that's just super, let me show you what I really enjoy
best."



I feel like I am being treated like the commonest whore.  THIS is not the
type of treatment I am used to.  Then, again, I think, nine hundred bucks
is still just that; and, certainly, I can use the cash, especially with the
upcoming cruise I was hoping to be able to take with my friends next
summer.


Paul pushes me down onto my back.  I know very well what I have just agreed
to, and, yet, even so, it feels from this moment forward like everything
that transpires is happening in slow-motion.  It is true that I really did
not foresee anything like this happening, especially with someone like
Paul, one of my tamest and most respectful of clients.


Paul slides a pillow under my rear, tosses my legs over his shoulders, and
presses the medium-sized mushroom head of his cock slick with and from a
bit of oozing precum against my admittedly non-virgin hole.


Paul thrusts the head of his cock into my love cavern, gives me about ten
seconds to adjust to its feeling of being inside me; and then begins to
thrust his entire shaft in and partly out of me over and over and as I in
response pant a bit and softly moan.  I feel enveloped in a cascading
waterfalls of pleasure and pain; and, to my relief, I find that the
pleasure outweighs any pain experienced as this man I obviously do not
really know very well at all is passionately taking what he believes to be
rightfully HIS.