Special Lube Job
"Don't use your mouth. But your hand would be great."
"Oh." The surprised masseur looks at me from his kneeling position on the bed. He brightens.
"That's cool. I have just the thing. Especially with you being uncut."
He gets up and walks to the other end of the large room. He is rummaging around in a drawer looking for something. I study his strong naked body. His back is bent and the muscles are well defined. His ass is a beauty. Small but muscular cheeks, curved by taut stretched muscle on each outside edge, and swelling like a plump ripe peach in the middle.
I had found Brett in the usual way. A gay magazine ad. The apartment was in an old unimpressive building on eighth avenue in Chelsea. He was slow to warm up, controlling the scene and providing a proper swedish massage for the first half hour or so. When he finally stripped, I complemented his body. I guess we were now entering the "release"
part of the "full massage with release" that was advertised. And not a moment too soon. Brett continued to massage me as I lay on my back looking at his strong handsome body over me. He allowed my hand to brush his genitals as he massaged my arms. He would move away, however, if I became too familiar.
I try small talk. Like most people, Brett likes to talk about himself. Seems he is a bartender in a hotel bar, and moonlights as a masseur. He is hoping to make enough to buy his own Manhattan apartment. I ask about his clients. Most of his clients are regulars he informs. He is limited in time, since he works evenings at the bar. He can give massages only in the afternoon (like now) before leaving for work. Or occasionally he will give a very late massage after work. He hates that. Just ready for bed at that point. But he has this one client who likes to call him at 2am and have him go over to his place on the upper east side.
"It's a drag," says Brett, "but he pays so damn well I usually end up doing it."
Now that we have entered into a friendlier, more intimate way of relating, Brett is allowing more familiar caresses to his toned body. He permits me to lift and squeeze his large soft cock. And weigh his balls in the palm of my hand. He has manipulated my dick into tumescence, using scented massage oil. As he moves toward the bottom of the large king sized bed, he lowers his head over my midsection and I realize that he is about to suck me.
And that is where our story begun.
Now Brett is back to the bed, triumphantly holding a large jar of something called Hand Job. It is a lubricant of some kind. I have seen it for sale in sex shops and wondered about it. I first thought it was for masturbation, but now considering the huge size of the jar I'm thinking that it might be more for people into fistfucking. Well, if so, it will not be put to that use today.
Brett is scooping a small amount out and lubing up his hand. With his index finger he circles the inside of my foreskin, and the exposed part of the head. He retracts the foreskin by small degrees, teasing. With his left hand, he gently tweaks my nipples.
The lube is slippery and very wet. It reduces the friction and is like getting jerked off under water. Within moments he is pumping furiously and I am bucking toward the promised release. And it is over. I lie there resting with closed eyes. The phone rings.
"I'm gonna take this one," he says. "Hello."
He listens and then tells the caller that he lives in Chelsea. He listens some more.
He names a price, which is the same one he is charging me. He is quiet again as he listens to the potential client's next question.
"Eight and a half inches." And he listens again.
"Cut," he responds. And he listens.
"No, not today. I have to leave soon. But we could set up something for tomorrow, earlier than this though."
He signs off, and turns his attention back to me. He smiles and pulls on my chest hair in a playful way as he starts to get up. It is clear that I'm not going to get to see Brett come. The massage is over. And so we both prepare to go to work.