Below is a fictional gay massage story contributed by our writer. It is written from the point of view of a gay masseur.

After the rain: a gay massage story

It rained and rained, until I started to feel as if I had a water feature installed in my balcony. The soothing sound of rain I could get used to, but stepping outside was always a thoroughly miserable affair. I had recently acquired a sturdy new umbrella, but no amount of waterproofing could protect my light summer shoes from getting soggy with rainwater.

However, now the skies had cleared somewhat, and as I stepped indoors after returning from a bike ride, I was pleased to see that my feet remained perfectly dry. Placing my fabric trainers on the shoe rack, I dropped my gaze to my wristwatch: I had an hour. A whole, luxurious hour. Unbelievable.

The anticipation

Off went the sweat-soaked hoodie and t-shirt, and I flashed myself a cheesy grin in the bathroom mirror: hello, handsome. I had stepped up my game at the gym and it did show: my arm muscles were acquiring a good tone and the six pack was more defined by the day. I stepped into the shower and a cool stream of water made me groan. The aroma of fresh mint rose into the air as I carefully soaped by body, retracing the lines I had worked so hard to define. If only I had a sexy stranger standing outside the shower with a towel of soft Egyptian cotton, waiting to wrap his arms around me…But snap out of it, Bern, I told myself. There’s no time to waste.

I’m a meticulous sort of guy. I set up the candles and refilled the oil pots, making a mental note to stock up on supplies soon. The bed had to be cleared of last night’s sheets, which had soaked up the smell of my vivid dreams. Anyone who insists that humans are not animals, should smell a man’s bed after a good night’s sleep. It is no longer a bed: it’s a lair. I pack away the linen for washing and lay out fresh new sheets. Who are you going to be today, my stranger? Whoever you are, you will leave your own scent all over these sheets by the time we’ve finished.

Would you like to come inside?

The bell rings out at five minutes past the hour. I tut under my breath: oh, you are late. I open the door to reveal a gentleman in a light blue jacket and oval-rimmed glasses. His eyes are darting around, taking in the view of my hall and my form, encased in a dark robe. Well? I lean on the door coyly. “Would you like to come inside?” He does. There is always that strange moment, when I wonder whether my visitor will come in or back out, one excuse or other hanging needlessly in the air. It barely ever happens, of course, but the possibility is there: having a gay massage is a big step for some.

My visitor, however, is keen. As soon as he drops his bag, he runs his hands along my robe. “Will you be wearing this?” he asks, and I can only grin. “Not for long”. I lead him to the bedroom silently, sensing that this visitor would not appreciate small talk. Soft music fills the silence between us and we find no need for words. “Please”, I invite politely, “Undress”. He complies. I shamelessly run my gaze over his ass while his back is turned towards me, taking in the view with contentment. He turns back to me, and gestures towards the bed. I nod, and he stretches out like a jungle cat with an unmistakeable look of comfort on his face. Well hey, I think to myself, you do look like you belong here.

Catch me out

I slide off my robe and warm some oil between my hands. This is my favourite moment, the first touch. I start out with long, full palm strokes that warm the muscles up and let my guest get used to my presence. His skin is smooth, well looked after, and I give it the touch of a lover, building familiarity between us. He turns his head to look at me. His gaze pleases me, and I step closer to ensure that even without his glasses he gets a good view. Then I start working those muscles in earnest, as if reminding my guest that a good view is not all that he’s here for. When he leaves, I want him to feel me: in his muscles, his skin, his whole beautiful male body.

Once I am satisfied with my handiwork, I ready myself for the most exciting part. Balancing myself with my arms (thankfully, those muscles are not merely for show), I lay my body over my stranger, first brushing against him gently, then going in for full contact. He breathes heavily, and his skin is hot to the touch. I bury my nose against his shoulder blade playfully, enjoying the moment of closeness. My next move is going to make his breath catch, or I am not one of the best masseurs around, I challenge myself. I am so focused on achieving my goal, I don’t notice how my hand lingers on his skin a little bit longer, and my knee brushes against his inner thigh a little too eagerly. Then it is my breath that catches…

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