The following story deals with explicit gay sex between men. If this type of material offends you, or you are under the age allowed by the state or region you reside in or you live in an area where this type of material is not legal, you must leave and not read any further.
Although this story is based on an actual event, this author does not condone sexual activity during professional massage sessions, nor is it meant to imply that licensed massage therapists are any thing less than complete professionals providing a nonsexual therapeutic service.
The author reserves all copyright privileges. This work may not be reproduced, except for personal use and may not be linked to any other site or webpage, without the written permission of the author.
There is a moment that almost every massage therapist has before working on someone, when they `tune in' to the person. It is a moment of stillness, of breathing, of focus--of asking permission to touch another person's body. Our breathing changes and becomes in sync with their breathing; that's usually the clue to start.
Standing at the head of the massage table, our breathing linked, I slowly place my hands on his broad, muscular back. It's a magical moment, that first contact--filled with anticipation/trepidation/amazement--and the sensual feel of another's body.
Leaning into him, as my hands spread warmed oil over his back, I can feel the tension in the muscles--as if the tissue is fighting any attempt to relax and soften. He takes a deep breath and attempts to let go.
My strong hands flow over his soft smooth skin like water, my fingers and palms curving to press every portion of skin beneath them. Beneath the thin layer of skin lays hard, tense muscles, resistant to the flowing of my hands, resistant to the entreaties of my fingers to release, to let go. I lean into his body pressing my hands deeper into those chiseled muscles, so tense and resistant. As I press deeper, I gently grip the muscle and coax it into submission; there's a moment of defiance then surrender as the muscle is liberated from its bonds of pain.
He breathes deeper, and sinks further into the table.
A light film of oil covers his beautiful back, his skin glistens in the flickering candlelight. With a firm, deliberate pressure, I slowly glide my hands from his neck to his round muscled gluts, subtly caressing them as I move smoothly to either side. Then reversing direction, I lightly slide my hands back up to his neck--one languid fluid movement.
The flickering light playing across his back, shadows created by the strong muscles, mesmerize me. As if from a distance, I watch my hands flowing over him, again and again, they glide down his back, around his gluts and back up to his neck. Each passage is slightly deeper, slower, as more of my hands, then arms, make contact with him. My fingers spread out to caress more of his body. They trail dangerously close to forbidden areas, lingering, tempting, wanting to sample yet moving on.
I resist the urge to lay my body over his, no matter how right it seems, for that would upset this moment of worship. Indeed, that is what this has become. My hands are communing with this beautiful man. It is more than sexual; it's intimacy at its deepest level. This man has opened himself to me, allowed me to heal him, to pleasure him in ways beyond mere physical release. This is unity at its most ethereal. Utmost is his pleasure; the barely perceptible moans escaping his mouth urging me on, giving me sustenance for the hunger I didn't know I had.
Absolute trust flows from him, as his breathing becomes slower, deeper and further into the table he seems to sink.
Again and again, my hands stroke his body, exploring, worshipping, and releasing both of us. Together, we journey. Together we allow my hands to flow to his round muscular ass. Together we caress each hard globe into submission, hands pressing, gripping and fingers tempting, teasing. His legs spread further apart to allow greater access to forbidden areas of pleasure. Hands flow downward over muscled gluts to where thighs meet, to areas of intense sensitivity. My fingers lightly flicker over quivering flesh.
A deep sigh escapes him, as his breathing continues at a slow, steady rate.
This is not sex; this is more. My hand slides between his globes, feeling the heat of his rosebud. My fingers lightly circle the outside ring. Again and again my fingers circle the entrance of his rosebud. I lean forward and blow my hot breath onto his pink hole. I press the tip of one finger lightly into him, as he blossoms open. I am in sacred ground.
Together, we breathe deeply--complete trust.
He lightly moans as I explore his beautiful ass. My finger gently glides over his prostate and he moans again. My other hand caresses his balls that are tight against his body. He begins thrusting his ass against my probing finger, faster and faster. I lean forward again, and flick my tongue across his balls, my thumb pressing small circles along his perineum. I suck his balls into my mouth momentarily, but it's too much for him. With a gasp, his body goes rigid, again and again he climaxes as my finger continues to make love to his prostate.
He collapses onto the table. Gently I slide my finger out of him. Silently, I thank him for this moment. His breathing returns to normal, then becomes slow and deep. I return to stroking his body. Slow, steady pressure starting at his neck and flowing all the way down his back, over his gluts then back up the sides of his body. I repeat this several times. Finally, standing at the head of the table, I slowly glide my hands down his back, over his gluts, back up the sides of his body, down his arms and end with my hands in his hands, our fingers interlocked. We stay like this for several moments.
I release his hands. Standing up, I bow my head in gratitude for this amazing session. He turns his head and smiles up at me. There is no awkwardness, no questions, no guilt and no need for words. We both recognize the sacred journey we have taken together. For this brief sojourn we were allowed to truly connect and become one.
Nothing more is needed.
We are complete.