Date: Tue, 4 Jan 2022 23:51:53 -0700
From: Elyrc Caledon <elryc.caledon@gmail.com>
Subject: The Massage Therapist

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                             The Massage Therapist

I landed in the hospital after a 78 year-old woman, speeding in a Lexus, and
looking down at her cell phone, blew a red light and smashed her car into the
right side of my car, sending it spinning across six lanes of traffic where it
came to rest, crushed against a low retaining wall.  Emergency responders had
to cut me out of my crushed car.  Some of the worst injuries involved my left
knee, which had punched through the lower dash area when my seat slid forward
during the accident, I also had a fractured pelvis, a sprained left ankle, some
cracked ribs, a multitude of contusions and a wrenched back.

I arrived at the emergency room of the hospital in bad shape, trying not to
yell as I was transferred from the gurney from the ambulance over to the bed
in the ER.  My blood pressure was too low, I was going into shock, shivering
and in pain, trying not yelp as the ER personnel cut away all my clothes and
left me naked and shivering on the bed as they inspected my body and assessed
my injuries.

Eventually, I was stabilized enough to have x-rays, my left leg was put into
a brace and the ribs were taped up.  The pelvis, though it had a hairline
fracture, was stable enough not to require surgery.  It turns out that a
fractured pelvis can be a deadly injury, because of the potential for a torn
or punctured vein or artery.

I spent 16 interminable weeks in the hospital, which I thought were never
going to end.  My son had taken care of some of my business affairs, paying
the lot rent for the manufactured home I owned and some other bills, and he
also kept in touch with the HR department where I worked, to help ensure I would
have a job to return to once I was able to work again. I had short-term & long-
term disability insurance policies, so I had enough cash coming in to take care
of the basics.  I hired an attorney to deal with the insurance companies, as the
woman that ran the red light initially tried to lie about the fact that she had
run the red light.  Thankfully, the police report had some witness statements
and her lies were quickly disproven.

At any rate, the day finally arrived when I was able to be discharged.  I was
so glad to get away from the incessant and invasive noise and racket of the
hospital.  I was able to return to work within a few days of my return home,
and I bought a car, and started to get my life back to normal as much as I
could.

I was sent for physical therapy 3 times a week for a year after the accident,
and I gradually regained the use of my left leg, though the knee itself never
completely healed.  As part of the physical therapy routine, once a week, I
received a 30-minute back massage, which concentrated on the lower back area.

I didn't like most of the massage therapists I ran across at the physical therapy
facility.  Although the fractured pelvis had healed, my lower back was sensitive
and I found most were simply too rough.  However, towards the end of the year of
physical therapy, a guy named Patrick started at the clinic and I found I could
tolerate his massages.  Patrick was much gentler, and I found he was so soothing
I would start dozing during the short half hour he would be working on my back.

Patrick was a tall, slim man, not handsome in the conventional sense but he had
interesting looks, with big green eyes, a large nose with a distinct bump, a
square jaw and he was blessed with a profusion of fluffy, untamable hair that
resisted his efforts to style it.  Patrick was a man of few words, other than a
quiet "Hello," when I entered the room set aside for massages, he had little else
to say other to ask if he was applying too much pressure to some areas of my
back.

When the physical therapy sessions drew to a close, at my last visit at the
clinic I mentioned to Patrick I was going to miss the weekly massage sessions.
After he had finished the massage, I saw him retrieving a card from a bag on
a side counter.   When I had gotten off the table and pulled my shirt on,
he handed me a scrap of paper with his address & phone number written on it,
and he asked me to give him a call and that we could work out something to
continue the massages if I was interested.  I thanked him and told him I would
be in touch.

About two weeks later I called Patrick, and he seemed genuinely pleased I
had called, and we set up an appointment for the following Friday evening.
It turned out he didn't live far from where I lived, so I wouldn't be looking
at a long drive.  Patrick proposed a Swedish style of massage, and he said,
in addition to working on my back, that he would also work on my left knee,
which I looked forward to.

Patrick lived in a small apartment, on the top second floor of a sprawling
apartment complex, the apartments of which featured extra tall ceilings.  It
was now close to Christmas, and the night was chilly for the Phoenix area,
around 50°.  The stairs were little tough for me, but I reminded myself that
I'd been advised to take as much exercise as possible and gamely climbed the
many stairs up to the top floor, and as I neared the last bank of steps, I saw
Patrick waiting at the top, and he gave me a quick wave.

"Hey," I said, panting as I reached the top of the stairs, Patrick held out
his hand and I grasped it briefly, "These stairs are a great way to keep in
shape," I gasped out.

"They get easier over time," Patrick said with a slight curve to his lips,
smile, "My apartment is this way," and he led me to his front door, which wasn't
far.

Patrick led me across the threshold of his door into his small, tidy apartment.
It consisted of a small, tastefully furnished living room on the right side,
a small kitchen on the left side, with a small bar area.  In a direct line
from the front door, was an opening into a bedroom, which was furnished with a
twin bed, and had a massage table set up in front of it, that was draped with a
white sheet.  There was a chair in a corner near the window, a dresser and a few
side tables.  At the left, there was large, curved opening into a well-appointed
bathroom, with lots of chrome and marble with dual sinks.

"You can leave your clothes on the chair, and I've left towels for you in
the bathroom," Patrick said, and he went back out to the kitchen.  While
booking the appointment, Patrick had mentioned he would prefer that I showered
before the massage, and he said I was welcome to shower afterwards as well,
though he would be using a light, unscented lotion.

I stripped down, draping my clothes on the chair, and then jumped into the
shower and quickly soaped down with the mild, unscented body wash Patrick
had thoughtfully provided.  I also washed my hair with a mild shampoo, rinsed
and got of the shower and started toweling off and drying my hair.

Patrick had returned to the bedroom and was arranging a large beach towel on
the massage table, and on one of the side tables I saw some a warming tray with
some flat, round stones on top. I hung up the towel on the rod in the bathroom
and walked up to the massage table.

Patrick directed me to lie down, face down with my face in the middle of a
donut cushion, and he draped a large, warm & fluffy beach towel over my mid-
section, which felt nice, as the room was a little chilly for me after the
shower.  He dimmed the corner light in the room, tapped a button a small stereo
unit which began playing a blend of soothing music, and he began the massage.

Patrick drew the towel down to my waist, then he carefully arranged the warm
stones from the side table along my spine and lower back.  He then massaged my
scalp, working his way down both arms, and carefully massaged my hands.  He then
removed the stones, massaged each side of my shoulders and back area, using a
light lotion he dispensed from a bottle he had strapped to his waist, and
started on my legs, moving the towel as needed so he could work on my glutes,
but keeping the towel covering the cleft of my buttocks as he worked his way
down to my feet.

At some point, I started to doze off, because before I knew it, Patrick was
touching my shoulder and asked me to turn over.  I turned over on my back,
and he arranged my arms at my sides, palms of my hands up. Patrick took another
towel, swathed my left knee up with it, and arranged more of the warm stones
around that, and then started massaging my neck, chest, flanks, and made
his way down each leg, starting with the right leg, pulling the towel in
such a way as to keep my genitals out of the way.  When he reached the left
knee, he removed the towel and the stones and gently massaged the knee before
working his way down to the foot.

Presently, the massage was finished; it almost felt too soon for me.  But
I checked my watch after he returned to the living room to allow me to dress,
I saw that more than 90 minutes had passed by.  I was relaxed and refreshed,
but I started to dread the long walk down the stairs.

After a few minutes of idle chat, and setting up another appointment, I paid
Patrick along with a generous tip and got dressed, deciding I didn't need
another shower as Patrick had used only a small amount of the lotion and I
didn't need to rinse.  Then I started for home.  The walk down the stairs was
not as bad as I feared, and I arrived at home feeling better than I had in a
long while.

From there on out, over the next three months, I had massage appointments
with Patrick every two weeks, on Friday evenings.  That schedule seemed
to suit both of us, and Patrick followed pretty much the same routine each
time.

As time went by, Patrick & I grew more comfortable with each other, and we
each shared some limited details of our lives.  I am not normally inclined
to share much of personal details with casual acquaintances, and I have
learned to redirect conversations so certain people, like the woman who
cuts my hair, for example, or a handyman I have doing odd jobs around the
house, talk more about themselves, versus my doing most of the talking.

One Friday evening, after the massage was finished, we were chatting a bit
as usual.  I was still lying on the massage table when Patrick shared that he
had been married, but the marriage had ended in divorce, the primary reason for
the divorce is that although he and his wife had agreed, prior to the marriage,
they would not have children, she had changed her mind.  But Patrick had not
changed his mind, and in the end, after they failed to resolve the matter, his
wife had filed for a divorce, citing irreconcilable differences.

I, in turn shared with Patrick I had divorced many years ago.  He asked me if
I had children, and I responded that I had one child, a son who had recently
moved out on his own, after living with his mother until he was 18.

Patrick looked thoughtful.

"Did you intend to have only one kid?" Patrick asked.

"Um...no," I replied, thinking back to those days, "Actually, we had agreed,
before we were married, that we were not going to have any children."

"What changed?" Patrick inquired.

"She changed her mind," I shrugged, "And to be fair, many of our married
friends were having babies.  I think it sort of rubbed off on us really."

"But you ended up only having one?"

"Yes, there was a miscarriage before him, and several afterwards," I frowned,
remembering some of the disappointment and grief that had been part of those
losses, "The last miscarriage happened around the time my son had turned 10
years old."

"So, you stopped trying after then?"

"Yes, I had a vasectomy."

"So, that was that then?"

"Well...I suppose," I said, thoughtfully, "My having the vasectomy, was really
the start of the end of the marriage."

"Really!" Patrick exclaimed, clearly startled.

"Yes, within a few years, my wife started having an affair at work; with a guy
a few years younger than me, with custody of three children he had from a prior
marriage."

"What happened?" Patrick asked, after a silence developed.  I didn't like spending
time on the topic.

"Well, she arranged for me to find out about the affair, then she left me, and
took my son with her, and she moved in with the guy, and eventually married him.
So together they raised four children, and she was happy, and still is happy I
suppose as she is still married to him.  It's all good, because after she left
me I realized I was gay."

"Wow.  If you don't mind me saying so, I think you're better off without her,"
said Patrick, "Especially as you found out you were gay.  Did the doctor give
you any pushback on the vasectomy, I mean, because you only had one child?"

"Um...no," I responded, "He did ask a few times if I was sure, and I had to sign
a raft of paperwork indicating I understood it was a permanent procedure, that
reversal procedures are generally not covered by insurance and there is the
possibility that fertility cannot be restored."

"Well, I asked about referral for a vasectomy," Patrick said, "About five years
ago, but my primary care doctor discouraged me from thinking seriously about it,
as he felt I was too young, and because I did not have children."

"It's not really his call," I said, "You're an adult, and have the right to make
that kind of decision.  Maybe you need to find a different doctor."

"Yes, maybe," Patrick said, looking troubled.

"The vasectomy, did it hurt much?" Patrick suddenly asked, frowning a little, "I
hope I'm not asking too many nosy questions?"

"Oh, you're fine," I said, "Pain...the most unpleasant part of it was the stick of
the needle for the anesthesia.  There was a dull ache for several days afterwards,
and a slight infection set in.  I took antibiotics for that and it cleared up."

"Did things...feel different," Patrick asked, "I mean, did you notice a difference?"

"Yes and no," I said, "Sensation did not change, but there was a sense of pressure,
after um...ejaculation, that never really went away, I've just gotten used to it,
it bothered me at first...just because it kept dragging my attention to the fact
something had been done."

"Were there any other changes, I mean, like reduced sex drive, that sort of thing?"

"No, actually, I think my testosterone levels were raised a bit, I developed a bit
of acne for few years afterward, and the hair in my temples thinned a bit.  My
primary care doctor said it wasn't unusual for hormone levels to spike a little."

"What about the volume of semen?" Patrick asked, "It seems to me there would be
less."

"No," I said, and then I shrugged, striving to be clear, "I mean, yes, technically
there is less, but the sperm cells are tiny fraction of the fluid, I cannot feel
a difference nor can I tell there is a difference just by looking, there is still
a mess when I masturbate."

Patrick digested what I said for a moment.

"There wasn't a scar," I volunteered, "At least not that I could see.  It's
difficult to look down there."

"Can you feel where the tubes were cut?"

"Yes, there is a smooth round structure, then there is a gap.  It doesn't hurt."

"Do you...would you mind if I take a look?" Patrick asked, his cheeks flushing
a little in the dim light.

"No, fell free to explore," I said, intrigued by such a request, "After spending
so long in the hospital, I've lost any sense of false modesty."

Patrick pulled up the towel, and left it lying on my chest and stomach.  I
stared up at the ceiling as he was looking down.

"I don't see any sign of a scar, were there two incisions?"

"No, just one, in the middle.  The urologist used a some sort of instrument to
hook the vas and pull them up through incision."

"And you can feel where he cut the tubes?"

"Yes," I said, reaching down with my right hand and searching in my scrotum until
I located the severed vas on the right side, "Here, this is the one on the right."

"Can I touch it?" asked Patrick, "It just seems weird that it doesn't hurt."

"Go ahead," I responded, "The vas itself doesn't seem to have many nerve
endings."

Patrick gently probed with delicate fingers, exploring the vas deferans and
the gap.  I reached down with my left hand, trying to find the other side, but
wasn't able to locate it.

Patrick moved his hand to the right, exploring the left side of my scrotum,
until he found the vas deferans on that side, but it took him a while to find
the site of the surgery.

In the meantime, because of the probing and touching, my treacherous penis
gave a few warning twitches, then I felt it filling with blood, and knew that
it was at least semi-erect, if not fully erect.

I felt a blush deepening across my face and forehead.

"Um...sorry about...that," I muttered, "Sometimes the smaller head has a mind of
its own."

"Oh, don't worry about that, it's natural what with my poking around, and it's
just a sign everything is in working order," Patrick said, "Guys often get hardons
during massages.  I've been kind of surprised you haven't yet."

"Well," I said, "My libido has been fairly suppressed since the car crash, I
suppose my body had more important things to worry about."

"Yeah, you were pretty banged up as I recall."

In the meantime, my penis, instead of subsiding as I was willing it to do,
remained stubbornly erect.  Patrick had, as yet, given no sign of stopping his
gentle explorations.  I felt his hand gently cupping my scrotum.

"Your balls look totally normal, full and heavy," Patrick, as his cupped fingers
gently divided the testicles.

"That's good," I said, "I would hate to think they are shrinking from non-use."

"Do you," Patrick hesitated, still cupping me, "Have someone to play around
with at all?"

"No, I'm on my own, have been for a long time now, I haven't felt up to the
effort of trying to find a lover or even a friend with benefits."

"Too bad," Patrick said softly, then I felt his hand move up and he gave my
shaft a gentle upward stroke, which caused me to gasp a little, "You do have a
nice dick you know."

"Um...thanks," I said quietly, "Are you...like bisexual or something?"

"I guess, I never really gave it much thought," Patrick responded, "I prefer to
think of myself as a free spirit.  I've played with a few guys, and I've had a
few guys come on to me, hoping for a  rub & tug, but I'm not into performing for
pay."

"I never had any sort of expectation from you in that way," I said, gasping a
little as Patrick gave my cock a few more gentle strokes.

"Well, I enjoy beautiful bodies, male or female," Patrick said softly, "You have
a great body, you've really taken care of yourself.  And you've made me really
horny, and I need a hole to fuck.  Would you let me fuck you?"

Whoa, this was wholly unexpected.  Patrick continued with his gentle stroking,
and I was so startled I didn't say anything for a few minutes.

"I promise I won't hurt you," said Patrick, his hand sliding down to my opening,
circling it, then one finger pushed in slightly, which caused me to arch my
back a bit.

"Okay," I sighed, "You can fuck me, but just go slow, because, it's been like,
years."  I could feel my cock leaking.  It had been a long time since I had been
so aroused.

Patrick removed his hand, and I watched as he moved away.

"Let's switch to the bed," Patrick suggested, as he turned down the quilt
and upper sheet.

As I got up from the massage table, Patrick brought a towel from the bathroom
and spread it over the bottom sheet.

"I don't like getting lube all the sheets," Patrick said with a grin as I
settled onto the bed.

Patrick stripped out of his t-shirt and shorts, revealing his taut, well-toned
body.  The globes of his ass were absolutely delectable, and he was blessed
with a large cock, thick and heavy, which was already semi-erect, with a relaxed
scrotum swaying a little underneath it.

Patrick approached the bed with an expectant look.

"Suck me a little?" Patrick asked, as he moved his cock in front of my face.

I obligingly opened my mouth, and Patrick inserted the blunt head of his cock
into my mouth, and I began licking the head, and felt him gently thrust in
and out.  His dick was leaking heavily, and I could taste the residue of his
saltiness.

"That's good," Patrick murmured, "I can't wait to be inside of you."

Patrick pulled back, then his head dove down to my crotch, and all at once,
I felt his mouth engulf my cock.  The shock of the warmth made me jump a little,
then I shivered at the intense pleasure.

Too soon, I felt myself approaching the edge, and I pulled gently on his head
until he pulled off of my cock and he sat up a little with a questioning look.

"I don't want to cum yet," I said a little breathlessly, "I can't handle being
fucked after I've cum."

"Got it," Patrick said, "Do you like being face up?"

"Yes."

I laid back on the bed, legs spread.  From his bedside table, Patrick pulled
a bottle of lube out of a drawer.

"Okay if we go bare?" Patrick asked, "I'm negative, I never bottom."

"Yeah, I'm okay with it," I replied.

Patrick got on the bed and lubed up his leaking cock.  He knelt between my
legs, then raised my legs up onto his shoulders, and lined up his cock.

"You okay?" Patrick asked as the thick head of his dick pressed against my
hole.

"Yep, I'm good."

Patrick's cock breeched my hole, slowly.  I stiffened as a burning cramp
shot through my hole, it had been a long time since anyone had fucked me
and the muscles were protesting the intrusion.

Patrick paused and then slowly withdrew, then advanced again after a few
moments.  The second penetration felt better than the first, and he pushed
inside deeper, then began a gentle rocking motion, pushing deeper and deeper,
until he was buried all the way inside of me.

The burn subsided, and I grinned up at Patrick.

"Feels good, go for it," I said.

"You're really tight," said Patrick, "Let me know if you need a break."

"Okay."

Patrick began gently thrusting his cock in and out of me, slow at first,
then picking up the pace.  There was no pain, and I enjoyed watching his
face as he halfway closed his eyes with a dreamy look of bliss.  He bent
his head now and then to kiss me, deeply, and I responded to his kisses
by becoming even more aroused.

After several minutes of steady thrusting, Patrick's movements became a
bit rougher, and I felt his cock expanding, and a few little stabs of
pain as he stretched out my ass.  I began fisting myself, trying to
time my orgasm with his.

Patrick began slowing down, thrusting deeply, and his face and neck
began flushing, and I knew he was close.  I pumped my dick until I
reached the point of no return, and three long stripes of cum spurted
up and over my chest, one spurt hit me in the chin, followed by a
couple more smaller spurts.

Patrick watched my spurting cock, then gave one final mighty plunge
inside of me, and I felt his hot seed flower inside of me.  He shuddered
a little, then we melted together, and we turned sideways on the bed
and started catching our breath a little.

We cuddled for several more minutes, each of us dozing a little.  His
cock slipped out of me.

Soon, Patrick got up off the bed, and I followed him into the bathroom
where he gave me a washcloth & a small towel to clean up with.  I was
deliciously relaxed.

We both got dressed and I started getting ready to head for home.  Patrick
gave me a lingering kiss, and told me he was looking forward to seeing
me in two weeks.

I'm looking forward to seeing him again.

~Finis~
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