Date: Fri, 21 Jul 2006 11:44:06 EDT
From: Chetnadelphi22@aol.com
Subject: The Massage

                         Massage

                    By Indigo Indian

               The usual disclaimers apply


'I'm not gay!' He had told me this many times. I knew of
his incipient heterosexuality without his words for I'd
seen the natural way his eyes followed a pretty girl and
yet his oft-repeated statements sounded to me as though
he was trying to convince himself. For me, his own eyes
were invariably far superior, with their long lashes and
soft brown lenses, to any of the girls he ogled. His skin
was softer, a lighter brown and his full, inviting lips
were a lush red, surpassing in every way their crimson
slashes.

That he loved me was undoubted, not just the love for a
middle-aged uncle but much more. We slept together
always, wrapped in each other's arms in the way that
lovers do. I would often awaken to know his erection
pressed into my side or against my belly and sometimes
lie awake with his leg slung across my body, lying on my
throbbing tool. That I loved him with my whole heart and
with every cell of my body was clear to him. With his
fourteenth birthday only weeks away, I would have to
think of some present to demonstrate that love.

The sleeping together was natural in the culture in which
we lived. Bangalore! An Indian city filled with thousands
of beautiful, brown-skinned boys. He knew though, that I
had eyes only for him and he was fully aware of my desire
to be lovers in body as well as in spirit. I had been
open with him right from the start and while sex was a
naughty no-no, he would allow me certain pleasures, gifts
issued from time to time: like seeing his naked penis,
erect and throbbing or having me examine his testicles
for cancer of which he was very afraid following a visit
to the Doctor two years before when his balls were
aching: probably the action of cycling.

My massaging of him, however, was not one of those gifts
but was a pleasure we both shared each night before
falling asleep; noses touching, soft breath on soft
breath, or as spoons with my right hand curled around his
slender torso, holding him tightly, my palm flat against
his flat tummy, the cutting edge of my hand scant,
teasing centimetres from his proud cock. Many were the
nights I could not sleep because of that metric gap.

Oh, I could touch him when we played snatch 'n grab and
he felt free to grab my parts at any time - mostly in
public where my shock would be most keenly felt. I had
often held that erection but always only momentarily and
at play rather than at sex.

That particular day and night had started like any other.
It was only when we were ready for bed that my life
changed for ever. He had undressed and then dressed in
the soft poly-cotton shorts I had brought from England.
With nothing beneath, all was always revealed; eye candy
to beat all eye candy. I was wearing my own soft shorts
but with Y-fronts beneath for he objected to my pre-come
which poured out at every opportunity, at every cancer
check and every massage, soaking through if I wore shorts
alone. His own pre-come, if he had any at all, was well
and truly contained, concealed within his ample foreskin.

As he lay splayed upon the bed, face down, he issued his
imperious command, 'Massage!'

I was only too happy to oblige, for my hands would then
have freedom to roam his body, front and back except for
that forbidden zone. Even his fantastic bottom was mine
for I was allowed to pull down the back of his shorts in
order to lay my hands there and caress those golden
globes. With him lying on his back, and his thighs under
my hands, I would sometimes find an excuse to brush his
balls but not too overtly and never enough to invoke
rebuke.

'Full or half', I asked, for we had this arrangement
whereby sometimes his tiredness would require a 'quickie'
with only his upper body being massaged. 'Full, and make
it a really good one, my body is aching tonight'. I knew
already that he had been engaged in sports at school
today.

I started as I always did with a kiss to the nape of his
neck. Then, in the darkened bedroom, sitting up at his
left side, my hands started to work their magic upon the
magic of his soft, brown, muscled back. I put my hand to
the waistband of his shorts asking, 'Down?' He did not
reply but his head nodded agreement. I pulled the elastic
down towards his feet so that the two beautiful globes,
lighter in colour and looking white in the darkness,
gazed back at me, the material of his shorts bunched
across his upper thighs. Then, starting at his shoulder,
my hands, one on top of the other, pulled down along the
muscles above his kidneys, fingers splayed, to tease the
fibrous interior into relaxing. My action stopped at the
lowered waistband on each stroke. I repeated this across
the whole of his back and then switched to a soft, rapid
chopping with the edge of each hand 'a la Bruce Lee.

Other strokes and actions followed; some of them teasing,
some caressing and some pummelling. I then moved down to
his legs and thighs working my skills on his toes,
ankles, calves and then his thighs, especially his upper
thighs. My actions there, upon the latter area, were
invariably softer, more caressing than with the other
parts.

After some fifteen minutes of this I told him to turn
over. He did so with the slickness and smoothness of the
boy he was. He was erect as always. In the dim light, it
was trying to poke out of the top of the waistband and
failing, merely pushing up the material, stretching it so
that his balls also were individually highlighted. He
knew I could see but didn't care. In the early days of
knowing one another, he had demanded to see the naked
body of this 'white, English Uncle' and in return, I had
demands of my own and had gazed upon his pubescent, 10-
year old erection without any concerns from him.

Again my hands pummelled and caressed, teased his flesh,
stimulated his muscles and soft skin and chopped at my
whim. I moved to his flat, soft belly; no chopping here,
simply a round and round action with my palms and
fingers, those fingers occasionally slipping beneath the
elastic of his shorts to caress his loins, taking care to
avoid the rigid member, but desperately wanting to hold
and stroke him there; to kiss and lick and suck him
there.

Perhaps because of his erection increasing the material's
tension, each time my fingers tried to gain entry, they
stuck momentarily, caught in the elastic. He stopped me,
obviously slightly annoyed and said, 'More on my back
please', even as he turned over. His buns were still
naked and so I started a circular action on each of these
using opposite rotation so that his crack was opened and
closed, opened and closed. Although in that half-light I
could not see the pinkish bud there, I could imagine it
for I had seen it many times when massaging him in
lighter conditions or when we showered together and I
cleaned him there.

As I moved up his body, he lifted his bottom into the air
and I caught the action of his hands as he slipped the
elastic of his shorts over his cock and pushed them down.
'Tight', was his monosyllabic excuse as he again settled
onto the mattress.

A further ten minutes of working his back and lower legs
and I thought he was drifting into sleep. I let my hands
creep up his thighs but the gathered blue material of his
shorts were in the way now that they had been pulled down
equally at back and front. His voice startled me as he
said, 'Take them off!'  I had really thought him to be
sleeping. I didn't ask for clarification but grabbed my
chance and slid the shorts down to his feet and then off.
He was unabashed, for nakedness wasn't an issue between
us. Nevertheless, my memory tried and failed to recall a
time when I had been favoured with massaging his totally
naked body.

I looked down upon his beautiful form. His shoulders and
back, adolescent, still held the promise of an athlete's
body. His narrow waist, softened by the merest hint of
puppy fat, would be the delight of many a woman while his
long, long, colt's legs were an open invitation to run my
hands up into the treasures at their apex. It was all
revealed to me once again, and I performed the massage as
though I was starting, just then, for the first time.
Throughout the process he 'mmhh-d', and 'ahh-ed', ,
letting me know that I was doing a fine job, occasional
grunts telling me I had hit a part of him aching from the
sports.

Finally, finishing with caresses of his pert buttocks and
upper thighs and long, slow, double-handed slides from
thighs to neck, I asked him if he had had enough, if he
was ready for sleep. 'Other side now', he replied and
started to turn over.

My cock, which had been stiff and leaking from the start,
now went into overdrive at the idea of him lying face-up
and naked beneath my eyes and my hands. Pulsing and
dripping, I was worried about the stuff leaking out onto
the front of my shorts and him finding out. However, the
sight before me as he lay back once again, put my anxiety
on the back burner. He was truly a wonderful sight, lying
there with his balls tight in to his body and his cock
standing up at a 30 degree angle, rocking and cocking
with his heartbeat, looking outsize against his slender
adolescent body and making of him a priapic satyr. As I
looked I saw his eyes open for a moment and gaze into
mine as he moved his hands beneath his head. His naked
body open to me, he was vulnerability personified.

'You can massage all of me if you like', he said quietly
and calmly, without batting an eyelid; this boy who had
refused me my desires for more than four years.  'All of
you?' I asked, wanting to be sure if my dreams had come
true or if they were just the stuff of my fantasies.
'Mmmm, all of me; every centimetre', he replied.

Good God, I thought, what have I done to deserve this?
I've been longing to do this for so long and now here was
my chance, and I was frightened. I spoke again; to cover
my fear and to make sure I was getting the right message.
'Even here', I said as I stroked a single finger from his
balls to his puckered tip, right along his bulging
urethra.

'Mmmm, especially there, in fact, only there', he said,
his voice catching in the way that fourteen year old male
voices do. Perhaps it was catching also with excitement,
for, as he spoke, his dick cocked and swelled in a way
not driven by the natural pumping of his heart.

I, who had waited four years for this, needed no further
urging, but wanted a prime ring-side seat at the show and
so slipped down the bed until my eyes were on a level
with his genitals. I then, for the first time in a sexual
sense, took hold of his penis. I was shocked by the heat
and by the strong swelling within my clenched hand as he
pulsed strongly two or three times. I slid my hand down
towards his balls, looking as his cock-head was revealed,
pleased to see his pre-come glistening and the head
slicked with it. I turned his dick within my hand so that
I could see the underside of its head, bared for the
first time to my eyes. My hand then started to caress and
stroke, lightly and carefully, across the full width and
length of his maleness. I was desperate to use my mouth
but was afraid to speak in case it was going beyond his
limits. I was afraid he would reject the idea and, in
rejecting, turn over and demand that we sleep. How little
I understood how my boy had changed overnight.

'Kiss me', he said out of the darkness. 'There'.

I was confused, not thinking clearly. In a voice
constrained to a choked whisper I responded, 'There?'

'Yes, there!'

I was in heaven. I was Lost in Euphoria, a place of his
making. I rolled beneath his recumbent thigh, holding it
aloft with one hand as I slid myself to a position laying
between his legs, ending up with his balls only
millimetres from my nose, my eyelashes almost touching
the base of his penis. The natural boy scent of him was
strong here, my nose wrinkled at the delicious sampling
of light and fresh sweat, a hint of piss and the smell of
previous comings. I licked his balls, first one then the
other, the wrinkled but still naked sac lifting beneath
my tongue. His few pubic hairs were still only apparent
on his abdomen above his penis. On the latter and on his
balls there was no trace of hair whatsoever.

I placed my elbows each side of his hips as I drew myself
up. Without further preamble, I slid my moistened lips
over his cock, sliding down to the base even as my tongue
wriggled to seek out the slicked eye hidden within his
foreskin. As my lips slid down his length and my tongue
found its target, instantly becoming coated with his
juices, his body arched and I knew his pleasure was
great. I also sensed that he could last only a few
moments more, that his excitement had been too great for
too long and his need to spill his seed more urgent than
my need to take my time in my own pleasure. His cock was
messaging this to me with the dual swelling of its girth
and head in my mouth. The skin of his sheath was hot and
made hotter by the rigid structure within. He was iron-
hard and, as I lifted my lips to the crown of his cock,
tonguing the sensitive skin on the underside, he erupted
hard, without warning, jetting into my mouth and filling
me with his life-force, his body arching and tensed upon
heels and shoulders only. One hand came down to caress my
head, sifting through, then grabbing my hair.

Again and again his seed surged into me, his cock pulsing
and swelling and throbbing, ever more weakly but still
rigid. I swallowed everything he gave, both shocked and
delighted at having him, his essence, inside me. The
taste of him was virginal. I knew he would sleep now,
cleansed by my mouth, and that my own satisfaction would
have to wait but I also knew that this was the start of a
new beginning, a new life for us both. I could wait.