Will it be a man or a woman?

That’s the first thing I wonder when I’ve been booked in for a full-body massage. Of course I hope for a masseuse. The idea of a woman running her hands all over my body holds vastly more appeal than a man doing the same. It shouldn’t make any difference, I know, but, well, it does. I haven’t had many full-body massages (I really should have more) but those few were all given by women. And on the occasion of my last massage, my hopes were not disappointed.

* * *
With a few taps on my iPad, I checked my appointments for the afternoon. Oh, how I loved this gadget! All the scheduling and client information was at my fingertips — a very good thing for a masseuse, I thought with a smile — so I didn’t have to trudge up to the main spa in the resort proper between sessions. Instead, I could remain ensconced in my cocoon and still learn everything I needed to know. Well, almost everything. The computer could only relay information the client had provided; it couldn't fill in such items as "ulterior motive for wanting a massage in a totally private facility" or predict which of the male clients would suddenly remember a sore groin muscle when they saw that the massage therapist was, indeed, a decently attractive woman.

Short of those unpredictable entries, the electronic tablet told me the necessary particulars of my next appointment: male, mid-40s, lean (if he hadn't lied about his height and weight), no medical problems, coming in for general relaxation.

* * *
I was staying at a resort where one of the indulgences was the use of a spa treatment room, a private building separated from the main facility by a short, winding path. When the time for my appointment arrived, I was greeted at the door by a surprisingly small woman, over whom I towered. The masseuse had smile lines that creased the corners of her sparkling blue eyes. My face broke into a smile when I saw her, and I wondered if the relief on my face was evident.

* * *
Uh-oh, I thought at the sight of his grin, he's going to tell me about the groin injury he forgot to mention on the booking sheet. Nevertheless, I returned the smile and greeted him warmly.

"Welcome, Mr. ..." I glanced down at the iPad cradled in my arm, pretending to be looking for his last name. It's an old trick I use to see how clients introduce themselves. Generally, those who offer up a first name tip better than those who stick with a surname, I've found.

"Please call me Simon," he replied. Good. A generous gratuity might be in the offing.

"Welcome, Simon. I'm Kate," I said, extending my hand to him. "Now, I just need to confirm a couple of things before I show you to the changing area. It says on the form you filled out that you don't have any health problems and that you're not currently experiencing any muscle pain. Are both of those statements correct?"

"Yes, they are."

Hmmm, a potentially big tipper who wasn't overtly hinting at receiving an "intimate" massage. This was getting better by the minute.

* * *
The introductions and preliminary questions out of the way, she led me to a changing room.

“You can get changed here, Simon. Take all your clothes off – but it’s up to you whether you remove your underwear; do whatever makes you most comfortable. You will be under a towel the whole time. There’s a robe for you to wear here. When you’re ready, come out and we’ll begin.” She left me, closing the door behind her.

I could hear her making some kind of preparations outside while I got undressed. Underwear or not, that was the decision. Would Kate see me at all? I decided I didn’t really care if she caught a glimpse of me. But could I be completely naked and not get aroused? I know I’m not a teenager who gets an erection at the drop of a hat, but I also respond to touch and if I was already naked… On an impulse, I slipped out of my underpants and pulled on the robe.

* * *
Ten to one he ditches the undies, I thought; they all do. This one seemed like the sort who would give the matter some consideration, but when all was said and done, he would emerge sans briefs, I was sure of it.

The ease with which I had arrived at that conclusion kept me smirking with amusement as I set up the massage table, retrieved towels from the warmer, flipped on the stereo system and prepared the foot bath. Men. So predictable, so simple. So simply predictable — or should that be predictably simple?

* * *
Kate met me outside of the room I changed in, and led me to her work area. Ambient music was playing, and a natural aroma of flowery scents hung in the air. I saw a chair with a large shallow bowl on the floor in front of it and a massage table covered in towels.

“Sit down and start relaxing,” she said. “Put your feet in the warm water. It’s not too hot, is it?”

I tested the water with my foot. “No, it’s fine,” I said, placing both feet in the warm water.

Kneeling on the floor in front of me, she started gently touching the arches of my feet in the water as she explained the scents in the air. Her light touch was very relaxing, but it also felt very intimate. A hard massage where I was treated like a lump of meat I could handle, but these light caresses were a different matter. Naturally, as I looked down at her upturned face my dirty mind had to remind me what she could be doing to my cock lying inside my robe as she knelt before me. If the robe were to fall open… I had to look away from her eyes and focus purely on the pleasurable sensations her deft touch was producing in my feet. I tried desperately not to feel even the beginnings of any slight rise in my cock. Again, I hoped my thoughts weren’t betrayed by my face — or any other part of my anatomy.

* * *
It didn't take long for me to spot his "tell" — the mannerism that exposes a client's true desire. Like an expert poker player, I could glean a wealth of information from a single nuanced movement.

Poor Simon. Subconsciously, he wanted me to service him sexually, to abandon all pretense of professionalism and offer myself to him so this could wind up like a soft porn flick you'd find at 3 a.m. on HBO rather than a general relaxation massage. But he didn't *want* to want that, hence the quickly averted eyes whenever my touch caused such feelings to stir. I must say, I found his arousal at this early stage flattering, and his shyness about it sweet. If he thought it was difficult to keep a hard-on at bay now, however, it was about to become impossible...

* * *
Kate got up and walked behind the table, and held up a large towel in her outstretched hands, ducking her head behind it. “Now remove the robe and lie face down,” she said. I slipped out of the robe, hanging it over the back of the chair, standing naked momentarily before lying down on the table. With a deft little move of my hand, I arranged my cock in a comfortable position below me and put my face in the padded hole in the table. She draped the towel over me as my breathing fell into an easy, relaxed pattern. I felt another towel cover me, and was aware of her pulling one of them up over my torso, and the other down to cover my legs, keeping me warm.

“In a moment, I will ask you about what level of pressure you prefer, but after that I will stop talking; you can then let your mind go wherever you want.”

“Oh, you can go as hard as you want,” I told her. I couldn’t imagine her small hands doing anything uncomfortable.

She removed the towel from my back, leaving me covered from the waist down. I hoped she liked what she saw as my muscled back and shoulders were revealed. With a touch of vanity, I was sure she would enjoy massaging me more than some of the bloated old business men I had seen at the resort. For just a flash, I felt vulnerable lying prone with my face buried in the hole in the table, eyes closed. Somehow not being able to see Kate, or what she was looking at, made me feel very exposed, but the feeling quickly passed.

She carefully folded down the edge of the towel covering my legs, leaving the upper half of my buttocks exposed. I could hear her applying what must be oil to her hands, and then felt her swirling hands working up and down my spine. The oil was warm, and her expert touch soothed and relaxed my muscles with just the right amount of pressure.

She stood at the head of the table and ran both hands down my spine, starting at my neck. As she reached my backside, her hands slid down to the sides of my hips and pressed down before sliding up again. When she was fully stretched, reaching down to press my hips down against the table, I felt her belly lightly touching the top of my head. Over and over I felt her stomach padding up against my head as she pushed my lower back and hips down with long, slow strokes of her hands. The rhythm was too sensual for me, and I felt a little thickening in my cock pressed against the towels beneath me. Come on Simon, control yourself, I thought, and as her hands fell into a new pattern, I was able to arrest the stiffening feeling.

* * *
He'd done pretty well at keeping himself in check, but it was about to get even harder. Since Simon was still face down, I rolled my eyes and allowed myself a silent chuckle at my own inadvertent double entendre before getting back to the business at hand. Ha! I did it again. This time I had to bite my lower lip to keep from laughing. Sometimes I crack myself up.

* * *
When my back, neck and shoulders were done, they were covered with the towel once more. Rearranging the other one, Kate exposed my right leg as I lay on my stomach. I could feel her carefully arranging the towel to just cover my right buttock. I was sure that if she were to look she could see at least a glimpse of my balls between my legs.

With a slight smile into the massage table, I reminded myself that she probably wouldn’t find it a pretty sight.

She applied more oil to her hands and worked down my leg, massaging from my butt down my hamstrings, to my calf muscles and ending up at my foot. Once more, her light touch massaging the sole of my foot felt so intimate that I couldn’t help being a little more aware of my cock as I lay on it. I was locked in a tug-of-war between my conscious will to restrain myself and my body’s desire to give in to my arousal. I focused on my calm breathing and tried to stay in control of my body.

Once both legs were done, Kate told me she was going to lift the towel and that I was to roll over onto my back. As I flipped over, opening my eyes for just an instant, I was dismayed to see that my cock was about a third full and lying across my stomach. Before I could try to arrange it a little more discreetly, she dropped the towel back over me and started covering my upper and lower halves. I was sure she would see the elongated shape of my cock clearly through the towel. Telling myself to forget about it, I focused once more on my breathing. Soon she placed a warm, folded towel over my eyes, blocking the outside world and leaving me alone with the sensations in my body.

She uncovered my left arm, and with long fluid strokes worked a fresh handful of warm oil into my biceps. Taking my wrist in her hand, she gently pulled my forearm away from my side. I was so relaxed that my hand flopped limply like a rag doll’s and I felt my thumb and fingers wrap around her wrist, where involuntarily they tightened ever so slightly. I wondered dimly what Kate would make of my touch. I felt her grip my wrist firmly, holding my hand, and start to stroke my forearm up and down with her other, well lubricated hand. The touch of our warm hands, slippery with oil, and the pull of her other hand gliding up and down over the skin of my arm became too arousing for me.

Likening that elongated and relaxed arm to my manhood, I gave in to the desire of my twitching cock, still hidden by the towel, to become a little more erect with every beat of my heart. My breathing was less relaxed now as well. I had nowhere to hide. Kate stopped massaging my arm, still holding my hand in hers. She paused, and I wondered if she was going to stop the massage and kick me out.

* * *
In the now infamous words of a former U.S. president, let me make one thing perfectly clear: I do not make a habit of what I was about to do.

Something about Simon had touched me, and I don't mean physically. For one thing, he'd shown himself to be a gentleman — one whose penis had less than honorable intentions, I'll admit — but a gentleman in spirit and actions. I also had an inexplicable but undeniable sense that he needed this, not only the content of what I was going to say but also the reassuring tone that would tell him, ‘Hey, this is natural and okay.’

Aside from my hands, my best feature is my voice. When it came time to choose a career, I could have gone with either masseuse or 900 number phone sex provider, and since my grandmother was still alive, masseuse it was. When I wanted to, though, I could turn on the come hither vocalisation, which is precisely what I decided to do now.

* * *
“Simon, don’t fight your body. Relax and let it respond to its needs. Let your body be free.” Kate's voice was as soothing as her touch. Pinching the towel gently between her fingers, she lifted it into a little tent above my waist. Free of the weight of the towel, my cock sprang straight and rested along my stomach. She dropped the towel back down, smoothing it gently over my hips, careful not to touch the bulge.

“If you are comfortable with the idea, Simon, I can offer you a penis and scrotum massage,” she said, quickly adding, “It is non-sexual. I think you will find it very relaxing.”

My mind raced. Was this a normal offering? Was she stepping over some kind of line here? Despite my concerns, I murmured a definitive, “Yes.”

* * *
“It is non-sexual.” Even as I said it, I half expected Simon to laugh at the notion. Of course a penis and scrotum massage couldn't possibly remain non-sexual — not for the recipient, in any case — but it was what he needed to hear. It put him at ease and rationalised his agreeing to the offer of what his body craved but his scruples wouldn't have allowed him to accept had it been stated more bluntly.

* * *
Kate slid apart the two towels covering me, leaving my erect cock exposed. It felt so good to be hard and free, without a care and, surprisingly, without any self consciousness. It just felt natural and right.

She applied more warm oil to her hands and I felt her fingertips lightly holding my balls, lifting them away from my body and rubbing the skin beneath them. She was right, it did feel remarkably relaxing. She stroked the underside of my balls with her oily fingers, lifting them against her palm and letting them slide past her rising hand. I was drifting somewhere warm and dark, only aware of the gentle touch caressing my sack.

I felt the tips of her first two fingers press against the base of my shaft as my cock lay on my stomach. She started to massage it in small circles, and it slid from side to side under her firm touch, like a slippery and unthinking eel. It might be non-sexual for me, I thought, but what of Kate? Was she still professional and detached? I strained my ears to listen for her breathing, but could hear nothing. I wanted to see her face, but I was captive to the darkness beneath the towel over my eyes.

She started to run the tips of her two oily fingers up and down the length of my cock, pressing firmly on the two ridges of muscle on either side of my vein, stopping at the underside of my cockhead before sliding back down to my base. It was extremely pleasurable, as it felt strangely arousing and relaxing at the same time. Kate lifted my cock upright with one hand, held the base of my shaft lightly, and closed all of her fingers around the tip from above, lightly squeezing and massaging my fleshy crown.

I was jolted out of my dreamy state when she started to slide her bottom fist up and down my shaft while holding my crown with her fingertips. I could start to feel the oil pooling around the circumference of my base as her oily hand pumped firmly up and down. Non-sexual my arse, I thought. She was using me somehow but it felt so good, I didn’t care. Was I supposed to come? In a moment, I knew I wouldn’t have any choice.

* * *
He was close, I could tell. "The Voice" would put him over the edge.

“Relax, and breathe,” I said in little more than a whisper. “Don’t tell your body what to do.” I lowered Simon’s swollen member, aiming it upwards toward his belly once more and continuing to stroke with my oily fist. With a sudden convulsion, his cum spilled out in several pulses and landed in little puddles on his stomach. His cock continued to throb in my grasp for several seconds. As the twitches subsided, I released my hold and retrieved some tissues to wipe him clean, dabbing gently at the weeping tip of his cock.

“Now take your time coming back. Take as long as you like.”

* * *
I disappeared back into the personal darkness afforded by the towel still covering my face. I was otherwise exposed, my spent cock lying across my stomach. She was looking at me, I knew it. What was she doing? Oh, I didn’t care…. I slowly let myself spiral back up into the real world.

Swinging my legs to the side of the table and lifting the towel from my face, I sat up, my tired, flaccid member sagging slowly down between my thighs.

“Kate…” I began with a sigh, looking at her, but she interrupted me.

* * *
No questions! The last thing I needed was to be questioned about this, or worse, to have Simon read more into it than it was. He seemed to be a nice guy, but it wasn't as though I wanted a relationship.

What I wanted more than anything was a nice big fat tip — I really hoped he'd noticed the envelope on the side table — and so I needed to be careful how I phrased the next part. Whatever I said had to be warm but professional, maybe something that would leave him wondering about my intentions without directly suggesting anything untoward. I searched for the right words.

* * *
“I’m here to look after your well being, Simon, for the duration of your stay; I hope you realise that.” Her voice was sincere, professional, in keeping with the tenor of the place. Nothing she had said or done could be contested in that respect, and yet I wondered... The penis and scrotum massage was more than I could ever have anticipated, yet she hadn't given the slightest hint of anything personal above and beyond the very satisfactory conclusion of that manoeuvre.

“I’d like you to know that I also provide an in-room service for guests,” she continued after a long pause. I stared at her, waiting for her to look away as I tried to judge whether this was all part of a professional service, but those cool blue eyes held my gaze. “You can get dressed now, and then we’ll talk about any future appointments you may wish to make.”

I did a quick mental calculation. How many more days did I have here? Three more. I’m sure I could squeeze in a further appointment or two. I was burning with curiosity about this woman now, unable to tell if I had broken through her professional veneer. My ego wanted that to be true. Either way, I couldn’t wait to find out.

* * *
Author’s note: I co-wrote this story with Beholden, a former Lush member who has since left for personal reasons. He originally posted it in November 2010, and it is with his full knowledge and permission that I post it again. Our thanks go to Gypsymoth for her editing prior to original publication.