"Hi Rob, do you mind if my little brother tags along?" Barry asks, after advising me that he's running a few minutes late.
Barry is one of my regulars, and always punctual, which is a big thing for him. So, I'll expect him now about five past the hour unless all of the traffic lights on the way are green, or red.
"No, I don't mind him sitting in, if you don't, mate," I reply. "It's OK with me."
He adds, "He needs to get to his lesson, and mum and dad won't be back from town until later. I only have two choices: to take him there and miss my massage, or to bring him with me to your place. I wouldn't have time to see you, go back home to pick him up, then get him there on time."
"Drive carefully," I tell him. "See you both when you get here."
I vaguely remember Barry once mentioning that he had a little brother, but nothing more than that. I expect Barry to ensure that the juvenile one will bring something to entertain himself for the best part of an hour. Possibly a library book or, more likely, an electronic game.
Not knowing how young he is, I ensure that I have coloured pencils and a selection of colouring books ready.
Then again, how many little kids have lessons for anything? Maybe swimming? Or piano? Perhaps, even some maths coaching.
Sure enough, almost on time, Barry rings the doorbell, as he always does; not once, but three times. That's his signal!
"Hi, Rob," he greets me, entering through the clinic room door at the side of my house. "You haven't met my little brother, have you? Liam, say hello to the best massage therapist in the district."
Taking his iPad in his left hand, Barry's little brother extends his right hand to shake mine. "Pleased to meet you, Mr Armstrong," he says, politely.
This is not what I was expecting!
"Pleased to meet you too, Liam," I tell him, returning his smile and eye contact. "But, I'd feel much more comfortable if you could call me `Rob', as your big brother does."
He grins.
"So, what is the age difference between you and Liam?" I ask Barry.
"Five years, less a month," he replies.
I know that Barry is 23. The last time that I saw him was the day after his birthday.
"And where is the little brother going after leaving here?" I ask Liam directly.
He can tell that I'm playing up the big brother / little brother thing. It amuses him. He grins at me.
"A few of us have an appointment with our gymnastics coach," Liam tells me. "He wants us to incorporate a couple of new positions into our `rings' routines."
"Unless I need an eye test, you are hardly the `little' brother," I smile at him.
Liam grins, "Younger, but definitely not the little one in the family. That would be Barry."
Barry shrugs in acknowledgment.
Now, Barry isn't exactly short, but his `little brother' is taller, and his well-developed athletic body is among the best that I have ever seen in the flesh. His torso-hugging singlet highlights his well-rounded (without being overdeveloped and unsightly) pecs and biceps. Slim hips and flat stomach. Firm thighs. And, the obvious, amorphous roundness in the front of his gymnastic training pants isn't exactly little either.
OK. Focus... back on the client!
"So, what's our primary concern today, Barry?" I put to him.
"The usual," he replies. "Upper and lower back. Some tension across the shoulders and neck. But, the right Achilles seem a bit tight too."
"No problem," I tell him. "You know the routine. Strip down to your Calvin Kleins then face-down on the table."
Barry is one for routines. I even know what brand of underwear he will be wearing!
I turn to Liam. "Why don't you sit in the spare chair by my desk. You can watch what I do from there if you like, and you can use the desk for your iPad, if you want to."
Liam thanks me, sits, facing me, and lays his iPad on my desk, without opening it.
I can almost hear his mother berating him on his sitting position, `For goodness' sake, boy. Sit up. Stop slouching!' At least, that's what I used to hear from mine.
The effect of sliding into a slouch is that Liam's pants become tighter at the crotch, highlighting the extent of his cock and balls. He crosses his arms and watches.
Barry places his clothes in a neat pile on the floor and assumes his prostrate position, face in the hole, feet over the bolster at Liam's end.
I stand, mostly, on that side of Barry which enables me to see Liam. Mostly, but not all of the time. I do change sides; sometimes via Barry's head; sometimes via his feet, avoiding Liam's.
While I'm working around Barry's shoulders and neck at the opposite end of the table, Liam opens his iPad and begins browsing.
As I work on Barry, I have one eye on him and the other on the growing definition in the front of Liam's thin, synthetic pants. A couple of times, Liam catches me looking at it, then he maintains full eye contact with me until I look away.
Standing at Barry's hip, I work on his lower back, glutes and hamstrings for some minutes.
I'm closer to Liam, and the definition of a sideways-pointing erection in his pants is now rather obvious. He makes no effort to hide it. The next time he catches me looking, he just smirks and shrugs.
To work on Barry's hamstrings, I need to stand very close to Liam and, apart from appreciating what's in his pants, I glance at his iPad. He catches me and quickly closes it.
I'm sure that what I momentarily saw was porn. Gay porn. I look at him. Again, he grins and shrugs, then deliberately, I think, jiggles and adjusts his erection. Almost plays with it, knowing that I'm watching.
I nod acknowledgment, grin, shrug and adjust my own chunkiness, in my navy track pants, so that he can see it.
He grins, puts his finger to his lips and then does a zipper-closing motion. My interpretation is `You don't say anything and I won't say anything'.
I smile and give him a `thumbs-up'. Done deal!
Barry turns over and Liam lays his iPad, closed, on his lap, covering everything.
"How you doing, little bro?" Barry asks him.
"I'm good," Liam answers.
Looking towards Liam, I have to ask, "So, does Barry always call you that?"
"Always!" Liam answers. "Ever since I can remember. But, if we are in public, I respond by calling him `big brother' then wave my hand over his head and mine to indicate that he is shorter than I am. That shuts him up. Doesn't it `Big Bro'?"
"Always." Barry answers, then says to me, "Because there is five years between us, he has always been my little brother. When I was ten, he was five. When I was fourteen, he was nine. But even when he hit puberty and started to grow and develop, `little brother' had just become his name."
With Barry face up, supine, Liam's eyes switch back and forth between the lumps in his brother's CKs and the front of my track suit.
I make a zipper motion across my lips and Liam nods, smiling. I feel a bond developing.
I complete what I want to do on Barry's quad muscles and some neck work from the front, then I ask him to stand up and flex his muscles to ensure that I've addressed everything to his satisfaction.
"Excellent!" Barry tells me, picking up his shirt. "Thank you, Rob. I'll probably see you in a fortnight. I'll call or message you."
He finishes dressing, pays me and says, "Come on, little bro, let's get you off to the gym."
Barry leads the way. Liam follows, picking up one of my business cards on his way out. "Nice to meet you, Rob," he says politely, shaking my hand, then, again, making another zipper motion across his mouth.
"You too, Liam" I say.
He closes the door on his way out, and I wonder what that was all about! Horny 18-year old stud who is into gay porn! Who would believe it? Especially Barry's brother!
Barry, on the other hand is definitely `straight' and has boasted to me in our private sessions about his `fun' with a variety of girlfriends.
Two days later, early morning Wednesday. I receive a phone call from a number that I don't recognise.
"Hello, this is Rob," I say.
I hear, "Hello Rob, this is Liam, Barry's brother."
"Hey, Liam," I respond. "How was the rings session at the gym?"
"All good," he tells me. "Two of us got it, but one of the guys still needs a bit of extra strength work and timing to be able to do it without the rings swaying."
There is a pause as though Liam is waiting for me to say something.
I ask, "So, what can I do for you, Liam?"
"After the rings session," he starts, "I was practising my floor routine, and I think that I've pulled groin muscle, or something. It hurt, so I had to stop. I was wondering if you could have a look at it for me."
"Did you do any pre-routine stretches?" I put to him.
"I thought that I was sufficiently warmed up, after all of the rings work," he says. "But, apparently not. The coach wasn't happy with me for skipping them. Neither was the `big brother'."
"So, did Barry suggest that you ring me?" I ask.
"No. We had a big argument about it on the way home, and he hasn't spoken to me since," Liam says. "It was fortunate that I took one of your cards."
He's upset. I can hear the emotion in his voice, and ask him, "How soon do you want to come?"
"Whenever you can fit me in," he answers. "I was hoping that you might be able to see me today."
I check my diary.
"I don't have anyone until twelve o'clock," I advise him, "so if you could get here before 10:00, I could probably do something to help you."
"What about 9:00?" he asks. "Is that time OK?"
"Yes, that would be fine. How will you get here?" I ask.
"Well, Barry is working today, besides he's still pissed off with me and probably wouldn't drive me anyway." Liam says. "But mum told me that I could borrow her car. I've already asked her, in case you could see me. I can still drive. It's an automatic and I don't need to use my left foot."
"OK." I say. "See you around nine. Drive carefully."
"Thanks, Rob. See you then," I hear before he disconnects.
I check that the massage table is set up, appropriate room temperature, and music ready to go, then I make myself a juice and have some breakfast.
Being used to Barry being a stickler for punctuality, I begin checking my watch every few minutes after 9 o'clock, hoping that Liam hasn't had an accident on the way.
At ten past, the doorbell rings.
Liam shakes my hand, smiling, but his expression is almost one of apology. Either for being careless at the gym, or for being late. I don't ask.
"Come in," I tell him.
He and I go through the ensuite, to the clinic room and complete the necessary paperwork.
"Let me ask you a few relevant questions," I tell him. "Let's start with, when you felt the pain, did you stop your routine or keep going?"
"Well, I tried to keep going, but that just made it worse," he says. "That's when the coach asked me about the pre-routine stretching, and that's when he got mad at me for not doing it."
"OK," I continue. "What did he do, or recommend? Any ice on the area?"
"Yes, he made me sit down while he went and got an ice pack, and told me to hold it on the area for 5 minutes at a time. For ages."
"Did that help?" I ask.
"Yes, but he was in a foul mood because I had ignored all of the instructions that we are all aware of. And the big brother was into me all of the way home. Let's not talk about him!"
"And what have you done since Monday?" I need to understand how he has followed up the cold packs.
"Well, it's been pretty much rest for the past 24 hours. It wasn't so bad this morning, but I thought that I'd see whether you could do anything to help." He smiles, again apologetically.
"OK," I tell him. I'm happy to look at it to see how serious it is, and do some work on you, if that's appropriate, and then give you some simple exercises to do at home."
"Great!" he replies, with an increased measure of enthusiasm.
"There's one more thing," I say to him. He looks at me questioningly. "What happens in the room, stays in the room. As far as I'm concerned, you are my client, and I won't be saying anything to Barry, even if he asks. He knows my confidentiality rules."
"Excellent!" is Liam's response.
This morning, he is wearing the same singlet with a pair of microfibre shorts. Same bulge.
I have Liam sit on the massage table, have him manoeuvre his leg into various positions while I feel the body of the various groin muscles and their reactions to the movements.
"The good news," I tell him, "is that it's not serious. Most likely a Grade 1 strain. No tearing that I can determine. You should be fine after a bit of work at home – if you follow my instructions.
"Can do, Rob," he says. "I'd love to get Barry and the Coach off my back.
"So, let's lose the singlet and the shorts," I tell him, "and we'll start with you face down. Same as Barry the other day. Apart from the adductors in your groin, there are lots of other muscles that work together to stabilise your hips. Let's make sure that they are relaxed."
Liam strips off his singlet, and I can't help admiring his flawless, hairless chest with rounded pecs. Defined abs, with no discernible a `treasure trail'.
He either shaves or waxes, I'm sure.
He drops his shorts.
"That's one of the flimsiest jock straps I've ever seen. Or is it a `thong' or a `G-string'?" I joke with him at the smallness of what is holding everything `in'. "You may as well be wearing nothing."
He laughs, "Yeah. Whatever. I bought it on line." He turns around to display the `back'. Only, there is no back! Only the thinnest of a flesh-coloured strap above his grapefruit-sized, muscular glutes, and another strap which disappears between them.
"Nice!" I tell him, as he turns back to face me, and grins.
"I thought that it would be the most appropriate thing to wear, so that things wouldn't get in the way while you were working near my groin," he smiles. "Is it OK?"
"It's only just managing to keep them out of the way, by the look of how much there is," I tell him. "And, like I said, you may as well be wearing nothing. It doesn't hide much. The material is so thin that I can see everything. They're virtually transparent."
My comment elicits a boyish giggle and a huge grin. "That's why I bought this one, and a few others like it."
It doesn't take much to connect the dots! Perfect body... Sexy underwear... Gay porn.
I try to put it to him delicately. "So, did you catch the Mardi Gras parade on TV?"
He looks at me, smirks and answers, "No." Then he adds, clarifying, "I was in it, on a float, but I wore a mask so that nobody would recognise me."
"I'm sure that a few people would recognise your perfect body though, wouldn't they?" I ask, grinning.
"Only certain people," he replies. "Anyway, most of those were in on the float with me. Identical masks. Including my two `best buddies' from the gym."
"My lips are sealed," I tell him. "Now let's have you face down while I loosen up your back, glutes and hamstrings."
With Liam comfortably settled, I begin the de-sensitising, with one hand on his upper back and the other resting on his glutes. I have anticipated that he wouldn't mind this!
He doesn't comment or flinch at my hand on his backside.
I run my hands from his shoulders to his calves. The strap is the only obstacle (and not much of one at that) to a long and uninterrupted stroking of his all-over-tanned and smooth skin.
"Because everything is connected, I'll start with your lower back and glutes, then the hamstrings," I tell him. When the back's done, we'll see what we can do on the front."
Without asking, I pull the tight strap down below his glutes, then, with a little oil, begin massaging.
I relish the feeling of his firm, discretely rounded, grapefruit-sized glutes, and spend considerable time with them. When I occasionally press a spot that induces a muscle contraction, I give it a mild slap and say, "Relax this!"
After a couple of minutes, his muscle contractions increase; so do my slaps.
"Are you doing that on purpose?" I ask. "Those spots weren't tender a minute ago."
He chuckles, playfully.
After much stroking and kneading, and slapping, I move down to his knees to work on his thighs.
His body relaxes. Finally.
Starting on his right leg, I massage upwards to finish under his glute. Then I stretch from his inner thigh backwards, across the muscle fibre direction. I repeat this pattern – upwards then backwards.
"Just loosening them up," I tell him.
"That's not the sore one," he reminds me. "It's the other leg."
"I know that," I tell him. "I usually work on the good side first, then the other side knows exactly what to expect, and doesn't tense up."
"Oh, OK," he says.
I start on the other leg, beginning more slowly and lightly. Then I increase the pressure. It's easy to isolate the offending muscles. This time any spasms are genuine.
"I can deal with these better from the front," I tell him. "Flip over onto your back."
There is a pause, accompanied by an "Umm."
"What happens in the room, stays in the room," I tell him. "I have seen erections before."
"How could you tell?" he asks.
"You aren't my first-ever client, you know!" I say.
"OK!" he sighs, with an air of inevitability, and turns slowly.
I move the bolster to be under his knees, and provide a rolled towel as pillow for his head.
"I knew that that small piece of material wouldn't be sufficient to hold all of you in," I tell him, looking at his face directly, but with reference to what has happened below.
"Yeah, well it was doing OK until a few minutes ago," he says, jokingly, as if to absolve himself from any blame and embarrassment.
I say, "It looks like it's being strangled by the tightness of the waistband. Do you want to remove the attempted murderer?"
Without even a contemplation, he responds, "Thank you. Would you do the honours?"
I take hold of the strap and pull it downwards. With his `escaped' cock already lying flat on his abdomen, there is nothing to impede the removal of the pocket-sized piece of cloth and elastic.
He raises his hips to facilitate.
"Ah, freedom!" he groans, fondling his ample balls.
"Now, lie back and relax," I tell him.
I feel for the adductors on his right leg, then compare those of his left, by moving each leg laterally and medially, out and in.
"Can you feel the difference?" I ask him, alternating between the two.
"Actually, yes," he replies. "Right is relaxed and happy. Left is a little tight and unhappy."
"So, I'll just work at making the left one relaxed and happy too," I say.
Working right into his groin, doing cross-fibre stretching, the backs of my fingers continually make contact with his relaxed balls. Well, at least the left one.
"Do you want to hold them out of the way?" I ask him.
"Nah," he replies. "I was just beginning to enjoy it." He lifts his head and smiles at me.
"Not `just beginning', I reckon" I tell him, provocatively, taking a quick feel and squeeze of his erection. It jumps.
"Yeah. OK. I confess. So, I've been enjoying it for a while now! You've just felt the evidence," he says, looking at where I am working, then laying his head back.
I work, professionally, at relieving the tension in his adductor muscles, from his knee right up to their attachments in his groin. Stretching, both vertically and horizontally.
His pain diminishes until the only response which I observe is the jerking of his cock each time that I press up, alongside his balls, as high as I can go, at the top.
Actually, there is another response – Liam's low moans of pleasure.
I pause and do similar things to the right side.
He looks up. "Is there something wrong on that side too?" he asks.
"No." I answer. "But I wouldn't want anything on the right side to be jealous of the left!"
"Funny," he replies. "But true. Do it!"
I near my conclusion, and run my two hands up the inside of both thighs at the same time, ostensibly feeling for any difference in the right and left adductor groups, my thumbs raising his balls as I reach the top, his hard perineum getting an incidental massage.
After an appropriate time, I say, "I think that you're done."
"Not quite," he murmurs. "Now I have one more stiffness that needs to be relieved."
I pause, then say, "I can't see anything obvious, unless you want me to relieve this one too," lifting his rigid cock off is abdomen.
"That's the one. Would you?" Liam asks.
"But, hand only!" I tell him, in case he has anything else in mind.
"Not complaining," he replies, reclining and closing his eyes.
I thinly drizzle some oil across his cock, balls, thighs and sculpted, fair pubes, then begin to slowly spread it around. In doing so, I arouse all of the sensitive spots in his groin area.
I tickle his inner thighs. I cradle and fondle his balls. I grip, squeeze and rub up and down from the head of his cock to his pubes, gathering more oil as I rake through his hair, rubbing it up and across his abs.
He begins to groan and I feel his now-steely cock pulse with each of my downstrokes. I release it and fondle his balls, and his cock continues to throb off his abdomen.
As I stimulate everything, his pleasure heightens.
Then, without warning, I feel the palm of his hand on the front of my track pants. Exploring, then grasping the firmness that it finds.
"Thought so!" he tells me, lifting his head and grinning at me.
I look at it but say nothing, and simply allow his hand to enjoy itself.
I can't deny that mine are doing the same. While working his cock and balls with one hand, I fondle his round pecs with the other, rubbing his nipples with my thumb.
Eventually, Liam is `so far gone' that the end is imminent!
His rapid breathing becomes irregular gasps.
His body starts to quiver.
His hips lift off the table.
His voiced `oohs' and `aarghs' become louder.
His balls gyrate.
His cock stiffens, then spurts into my enclosing fist. And throbs. And spurts. And spurts.
His body slumps, even though his cock seems reluctant to slacken off.
"How long has it been since your last release?" I ask him. "There was certainly a lot!"
I grab a hand towel, clean my hand first, then offer it to him.
He answers me, "Day before yesterday, while I was `resting', as instructed."
It's only then that his hand releases my own firmness.
There is a long pause while his breathing normalises, then, returning his hand to the prominence in my track suit pants, he asks, "What about you?"
"I'm OK, but thanks," I tell him. "I'll have a hot and soapy shower after my last client, later."
He comments, "It's not my style just to `get off' and leave the other guy `hanging'."
"So, you do this with other guys, do you?" I put to him, expecting that, maybe more.
"Yes, but only with my two gym buddies," he replies, then adds, "although, I have had other offers."
"I can understand why," I comment. "You have an extremely attractive body. All over."
"Thanks," he replies. "You're pretty well built yourself, from what I can see, and feel." He continues, "I'd really love to return the favour."
"What if I see you for a follow-up assessment in another two days' time, Friday?" I put to him, smiling. "And if you need relaxing again and still want to, as you put it, `return the favour', then I won't charge you."
"Excellent!" he replies, sitting up and swinging his legs off the table.
I indicate the still-bulkiness of his `gear' and comment, "Are you going to be able to pack all of that away?"
"Doesn't matter," he replies. "Commando is good."
He pulls on his singlet and shorts. With him still bulging at the front, the tightness of the material makes his tight glutes even more prominent at the back. Nice.
I tell him, and demonstrate, the exercises that I want him to do at home, and say, "Ease into these. Less is better. Otherwise you might do some real damage."
He pays me and comments, "My two gym buddies might like a similar treatment too. Is that OK?"
I reply, "We agreed. What happens in the room, stays in the room. Remember? I still run a professional practice here. You are among the very few who have had the `extras'."
"Can I give them one of your business cards, then," Liam asks me.
"You can tell them that I was able to get you `back on track' with a minimum of pain, if you like," I say, "but don't mention the extras. OK?"
"OK. He replies. "What time Friday?"
I check my on-line diary. "If you can come at 4:15pm, I'll make you the last client of the day so that we won't have to rush `your treatment'. Is that OK with you?"
"Excellent!" he replies and enters it into the calendar on his phone. "See you then."
As he leaves, as he did on Monday, he reaches for my business cards, taking a few.
I look at him and raise an eyebrow.
"I know," he tells me, "no mention of the extras!"
As he leaves, I pat his backside and say, "Nice! Take it easy! See you Friday."
"Friday!" he says, turning and grinning at me.
As I watch his slim form ambles to the car, I think, `I wish that I had a little brother like him!'
Two hours later, my phone rings. An unknown number.
"Hello, this is Rob," I say.
"Hi," I hear, "My name is Tyson. I'm a member of Liam's gym squad. Would you be able to have a look at my lower back for me, sometime? It's been giving me a bit of trouble. Liam said that you were able to work miracles with his body."
If you like these stories, please take a couple of
minutes to email me at
rob.zz@hotmail.com
I do try to reply to everyone. Please be patient.
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It is my intention to write a `massaging' story for
each letter of the alphabet.
Nifty has already posted `Adam', `Brock', `Callum', `Dylan', `Evan', `Flynn',
`Gino' `Hayden', `Isaac' `Josh' and `Karl'.
I think that `Gino' is one of my better
works; however, it's in a different location: http://nifty.org/nifty/gay/highschool/massaging-gino/
-----
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