I, on the other hand, found him incredibly attractive and wondered how I would be able to keep myself under control while under his hands. As if reading my thoughts, Jay abruptly stopped his work on my ass. This straight guy was kneading my buttocks like they were mounds of dough he was very angry with. A few minutes later, Jay knocked on the door and came back into the room. I was pleased when he started at my left foot , moving up my calf, and then onto the hamstring. He moved from my upper torso and, after oiling his hands again, moved to my legs. My attention was piqued when I saw an ad for a massage guy whose place seemed to be pretty close to my office. He led me into his massage room, which was an incredibly warm and sun filled atrium at the front of his apartment, overlooking the lake. In his deep yet mellow voice, he asked me if I was doing ok so far.
My heart skipped a beat. Working 16 hour days, no lunch breaks, exceptional stress levels, and a super demanding client were all combining to make me an absolute mess. His touch was never tentative or nervous; he approached each muscle group with determination. I continued to scan some other ads, and tried to contact the strong-looking Hungarian female massage therapist whose hands looked like meat hooks. Was it just me or was it getting warmer in here? I once had a massage from a masseuse who worked on a sloppy futon bed, and I swore never to do that again - I think I left more tense that time than when I walked in. Anyway, Jay closed the blinds in the massage room and told me to undress to my comfort level, pointing to a hanger on the back of the door for my clothes. In the past, I've always gone to women for massages at my chiropractor's office Hours with a therapist I saw briefly a few years ago seemed to conclude that I was trying to fill some unspoken, subconscious void in my life with stupid amounts of work. He seemed completely relaxed and comfortable with himself, and there was no sexual energy in the room from him. I kept reminding myself that I was there for relaxation, and not to keep obsessing about this very hot young man kneading my muscles. My attention was piqued when I saw an ad for a massage guy whose place seemed to be pretty close to my office. Did I even want to stop it? But again, he just kept on massaging me, seemingly oblivious to my state of near-explosion. He asked about previous massage experience, injuries, age, and general health profile. Easy to see why this guy could model. He moved from my upper torso and, after oiling his hands again, moved to my legs. At 36 years old, I was used to spending more time in the gym than my schedule had allowed me during this past month, and I felt that my muscles really needed to be woken up. He told me to lie face down on the table when undressed, and then he went out, softly closing the door behind him as he went. I delayed a few seconds by pretending to stretch my arms, while thinking of old ladies in cold showers, but that erection was NOT going down. It was with a weird mixture of excitement and apprehension that I buzzed up to his apartment. I actually heard myself exhale a huge sigh, as I has been apparently holding my breath. Jay met me at his apartment door with a huge grin and an amazing handshake. When I noticed a response in my inbox from Jay, I was surprised when I felt a small smile creep across my face. I could feel its cool wetness slide down my shaft and start to puddle in what remains of my trimmed pubes.
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