This story contains sexual situations between two males. If material of this nature offends you then you should not read this story. If you are under 18 years of age you are probably not legally allowed to read this story. This story is purely a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons living or dead, or to events that may have occurred, is purely coincidental. The author claims all copyrights in this story and no duplication or publication of this story is allowed (except by the web sites to which it has been posted) without the consent of the author.
Glancing around my apartment I realized that except for the bed, there was no proper surface for massage, and being asked to lie down semi-naked on a man's bed might possibly freak Scott out, or at least make him feel uncomfortable.
I phoned down to George the doorman, told him what I needed and left the problem with him while I hit the shops. I bought a couple of six-packs of boutique beer, two whopping New York T-bone steaks, a bag of potatoes, salad ingredients and a few random grocery items before returning to my apartment and unpacking it all.
A short time later, there was a knock at the door and I opened it to find dear George with a collapsible massage table.
"You're a star, George," I grinned. "Where did you find it?"
"I rang one of the physio clinics in town, Mr Stewart," he said. "We refer guests to them sometimes, so they were happy to let me borrow this table until tomorrow morning."
"What do I owe you, George?" I asked.
"Nothing sir," he replied. "They've done me a favour."
I opened my wallet and handed George a $50 note. "This is too much, Mr Stewart," he said. "All I did was make a phone call."
"I know George," I said, "but you've saved me a lot of time and money. Please."
"Thank you sir," he said. "You're a very generous man."
Once George had left, I set up the massage table in my lounge room, positioning it so that Scott would have a spectacular view of the ocean if he chose to take it in. Not quite as spectacular as the view I'd be getting, I mused.
With a little over an hour left before Scott was due to arrive, I moved to the kitchen and started pulling together dinner. I washed, dried and scored two big potatoes, buttered them, wrapped them in foil and put them in the oven.
It took me a while to figure out how to work the barbeque, which was way more `space-age' than anything I'd encountered before. But finally I got it started and I after seasoning the two steaks I was able to put them on a slow heat.
Next, I threw together a rocket salad with cubes of baked pumpkin and feta cheese, sliced avocado, Spanish onion and cashews, and dressed it with a honey and soy vinaigrette.
I grabbed plates, cutlery, napkins and glasses, and set the table, trying to find a balance between laying everything out perfectly as I usually did, yet making it look casual and impromptu. Damn. I was starting to set a seduction scene. I reminded myself this was not a date, and changed the dining location from the formal table to the coffee table in front of the TV. A bit more blokey, and probably more comfortable for a boy Scott's age.
Yes, a boy. He's a boy, Michael, I reminded myself.
I was preparing sour cream and grated cheese for the jacket potatoes when the doorbell rang, right on 7. I was still dressed in my shorts and singlet, and felt underdressed when I answered the door to find Scott scrubbed nice and clean, and wearing a pair of Levi 501s with a long sleeved black shirt hanging out. He wasn't using his crutch, so he was hobbling slightly.
"Hey," he smiled, and again I noticed those perfect white teeth. I wanted to stick my tongue in his mouth and run it around his gums.
Michael, for fuck's sake, get a grip! He's a kid.
We shook hands and Scott handed me a large bottle of Coke and a bag of potato crisps. "I don't have a fake ID, so I can't buy alcohol," he shrugged. "So I bought the soft stuff."
"If you promise not to turn me in to the cops, you can have a beer," I smiled.
"Well, I guess that's alright," he replied. "The lifeguard did say I should try and stay as relaxed as possible!"
I showed Scott to one of the leather couches and grabbed us a couple of cold beers. Putting my new- found honor code into practice, I sat on a couch opposite Scott. I was placing him out of harm's way. Of course, I knew he'd probably be able to look between my spread legs and see `the boys down under' straining against the nylon pouch of my shorts, but it seemed the lesser of two evils.
"Man," Scott exclaimed, looking around the apartment and through the floor to ceiling windows. "This is like being in an episode of `Lifestyles Of The Rich And Famous'. Do you own this joint?"
"No," I laughed. "I'm just a lawyer, not the Sultan Of Brunei! I just rent it sometimes when I need a break from work."
"It's fuckin' awesome," Scott grinned. "What a wicked view".
"Yeah, it's pretty nice to wake up to," I replied. Not as nice, I thought to myself, as waking up to the sight of you stroking that nice big cock of yours. And I immediately berated myself, again.
As I stood up and headed for the kitchen, I suggested Scott might flick through the pile of CDs I'd unpacked, and play something he likes.
After checking on the steaks, I refreshed the salad and started to prepare the potatoes, when I heard from the lounge, "Hey! You've got the Tyson Hill CD!"
"Yeah, my favourite," I said, placing the salad and potatoes on the table. "I wouldn't have figured you for an Aussie country rock kinda guy?"
"I really love his album," he smiled.
"Yeah, it's a killer," I replied, without adding that I thought Tyson Hill was the hottest muso on the planet and that if I was terminally ill and was granted one final wish, it would be to suck Tyson Hill's cock, rim his gorgeous ass and then fuck him until his eyes popped out of his head.
As I threw two perfectly barbequed steaks on to plates, the title track of Tyson Hill's Love On The Rocks album filled the room.
"He's gonna tour soon," Scott said.
"We'll, that's one concert I'm not gonna miss," I grinned.
"Well maybe I'll see you there," Scott grinned back, as he quietly sang along to the words of "Game Of Chance", the second single from the album and a recent chart-topper.
After clearing the plates away and chatting a while, I casually suggested to Scott that it was time for his massage.
"I need to take a piss first," he replied, and I directed him to the bathroom. When he returned, he'd removed his tee-shirt and the two top buttons of his Levis were undone.
"How much do I need to take off?" he asked.
I wanted to scream "everything", but I casually replied, "For me to do the areas where you're sore, you'll need to lose it all." He seemed momentarily concerned so I handed him a small white towel and added, "you can wrap this around you".
I busied myself arranging oils and lighting some candles and from the corner of my eyes I saw Scott, his back to me, drop his jeans. Clearly there were no boxers, so Board Boy was free-balling. I got my first brief glimpse of his ass and, just as I predicted, it was breathtaking. Two magnificent cheeks of pale, sculpted muscle, a sharp contrast to the deep tan of his back and legs.
With the towel tied loosely around his waist, Scott walked up to me and I gestured to the table. "Just lie down flat with your head in the face ring, and I'll perform some magic!".
He lay face down with the towel stretched tight across his ass. I rubbed some warmed massage oil between my hands and, standing in front of his bowed head, I rubbed it into his skin from his neck to his lower back several times, evenly spreading the oil.
Scott's body was close to perfect, tanned and toned, and his skin was like silk. Adding to my own arousal, he was a moaner. I asked him if I was applying too much pressure, but he assured me that he was feeling great and that I was indeed, "a bloody good massage therapist".
After working his back I moved lower and while I kept the towel in place, my hands `accidentally' pushed it a couple of times and the couple of centimeters it shifted afforded me a tantalizing view of the start of his ass crack.
To stem temptation, I dragged my hands away and started on his muscled legs, applying massage oil in long, even strokes. While working on his right leg the CD came to an end.
"Wanna play it again?" Scott asked.
"You're obviously a big fan," I smiled as I padded over and pushed `repeat' on the CD player and the title track of Love On The Rocks once again filled the room.
I continued massaging Scott's leg as he chatted amiably about Tyson Hill's amazing overnight success story. How he'd made his debut album at home and tried shopping it to the major record companies, all of whom turned him down. And how he'd kept at it and finally managed to get it to the music director of Triple J, the government-funded national radio station famous for cultivating and breaking homegrown talent.
The station started playing one track, to overwhelming listener response, and the record companies that had been so quick to pass all came crawling back. A fierce bidding war was finally won and Tyson Hill's first single debuted at Number One, as did the second single. The album, released earlier in the years, entered the charts at Number 3 before moving up to pole position where it remained for a record 15 weeks.
"How come you know so much about him?" I asked.
"Saw a TV show about him," Scott replied. "Practically everyone I know has this album."
By now, I'd massaged his legs and feet, and it was time to focus on his real problem area.
"Mate," I said, "you're gonna need to loosen the towel a bit so I can get to the top of your legs."
He hesitated a moment, processing the request, and then reached back and pulled the tucked sides of the towel away from the front of his body. In order to properly massage the tops of his legs it was obvious I'd be working my way up to his ass cheeks, so while he settled, I gently lifted up the bottom of the towel and folded it back, unveiling that stunning ass. My unexpected bonus was the arousing sight of his generous scrotum between his slightly spread legs, home to two amply proportioned nads. Ahh ...
"You comfortable mate?" I asked, and got a dreamy "Uh huh" by way of reply.
I went to work, mid thigh for a while, and then moved up to the top of his legs and began manipulating the muscles there. Scott was humming along to the songs from the CD, gently groaning every now and again. Once I felt him completely relax, I changed my strokes and swept my hand from the back of his knees all the way to where his groin met his ass crack. The third time I did it I held my breath as my hand swept upwards and lightly grazed his ball bag. I felt Scott momentarily tense, but he immediately relaxed again and didn't flinch at any `subsequent' accidental bumping.
Lest I push my luck, I moved up to massaging his glutes and once again, a momentary flinch. As I manhandled his ass cheeks I tried to distract him by softly singing along with the CD. Scott started to hum the melody so I started singing the harmony and I heard him chuckle. He seemed to be concentrating now on sticking with the note, so he didn't appear to realize that my ass massage was separating his cheeks with each upward movement and I was able to feast my eyes on the entrance to what I had no doubt was Heaven.
My cock was as hard as it gets and patently obvious in the gym shorts I was wearing. I discretely adjusted myself as I moved to Scott's other side and worked on ass cheek number two. I stayed squeezing the peachy flesh as long as professionally acceptable before reluctantly pulling my hand away. I slapped him on the butt and said, "Time to turn over mate".
Scott stopped humming and said, "Do I have to?"
"Well, I've finished your back, so in order to do the front, it kinda involves a flip on your part."
"I'm not quite ready."
I was silent for a moment or two and then chuckled. "I think someone's got a woody!"
"How do you know?" he asked nervously.
"I've massaged dozens of guys mate," I grinned. "Ninety percent of them throw a boner and worry when they have to turn over!"
"Really?"
"Really!" I laughed. "But it's cool. You can lie there a while if you like, but believe me I've seen more hard dicks than you've had hot dinners!"
Scott paused and then said, "Can I have my towel?"
I picked it up and handed it to him and then deliberately turned away from him and oiled my hands again as he turned over. When I turned back, he was lying on his back with his towel draped across his lower stomach and groin. I wasn't go to see his cock in its naked glory, but I smiled to myself because it was clearly outlined under the towel. Mother Nature has been kind to this kid!
I started to massage Scott's chest, regularly running my fingers across his nipples, which were instantly erect. Again, gentle groans. I moved down to his stomach and reveled in the tautness of his muscles, allowing my fingers to slip just under the towel so that the tips grazed his pubes. It was all I dared, despite the lure of his swollen treasure so close by.
I moved to his legs and marveled at their firmness, a result of his marathon running no doubt. After a few minutes working below his knees, I moved up to his thighs and my long sweeps on his flesh again brought my fingers into fleeting contact with his man bag. He was silent, but each time I did it I could see his erection involuntarily pulse.
I so desperately wanted to wrap my hand around that thick slab of cock meat and squeeze it. I wanted to pull the towel away and take his rigid dick as far into my throat as I could, and give him an experience unlike anything he'd had thus far in his life and would likely never have again. If there's one thing I excel in, it's mind-blowing head, and all I wanted to do was suck the sperm from the lads in his bag. But reality kicked me in the groin, and the voice of conscience took over.
He's 17, Michael. For fuck's sake ...
Besides, he'd done nothing to indicate even a cursory level of interest in the massage taking a non- professional turn. He hadn't raised his ass while I massage his glutes, as some guys do. When my cock was at table length as I massaged him from the side, he hadn't `accidentally' let his hands brush against it, as some guys do. Nor had he forgotten the towel and put his erection in harm's way when he turned over, as some guys do. He was simply taking advantage of a complimentary massage from a qualified practitioner after hurting his back at the beach.
"We're all done, champ," I said, as enthusiastically as I could. "You can have a shower if you like. There's clean towels in the bathroom."
"Nah," he replied. "I'm feeling so good I think I'd fall over if I had to stand under the shower. And the oil's all soaked in."
The voice in my head said ... I could shower with you and hold you up if you like, and then I could turn you around and bend you over and eat your ass like the starving beast I am ...
But the voice that came out of my mouth said "OK mate, whatever you like."
Scott slid off the table sideways as I started tidying up and while I didn't make it obvious, I watched from the corner of my eye as he dropped his towel and started pulling on his jeans. He moved just enough for me to see his still half-hard cock pointing away from his body and I shivered as I watched him stuff it inside his Levis. He buttoned his shirt and was probably relieved that it fell far enough to disguise how proud he was below the navel.
I offered Scott another beer and he stood in the kitchen with me as we sipped, but I sensed it was politeness that made him accept. He was clearly tired. I glanced at my watch and was surprised it was 11.30 already.
"Probably time you hit the sack, mate," I smiled.
"Yeah, I'm a bit knackered," he grinned back. "Thanks for the massage Mike. It was fantastic. You sure I don't owe you anything?"
"Nah, Scott," I replied. "Happy to help. You should start feeling the benefit of it in the morning."
We finished our beers and Scott and I shook hands. I was painfully aware that the purple-headed storm- trooper was still in combat mode in my shorts, as I stared at Scott's denim-clad buns on the way to the door.
"Thanks again Mike," he said as we shook hands again.
"Have a good sleep mate," I said. "Might see you by the pool tomorrow."
I closed the door and then leaned back against it. One hand pulled down my gym shorts while the other grabbed my pulsating prick and it took no more than three strokes before my knees buckled and I shot several jets of joy juice across the apartment's travertine marble foyer.
When I'd recovered, I grabbed some paper towels and mopped up the mess, before killing the lights, stripping and sliding into bed.
The next morning, I again woke early and after tossing and turning and trying to go back to sleep, I reluctantly dragged myself from under the covers and acquiesced to my urgent need to empty my bladder, always a challenge when you've got morning wood that could break rocks.
Once I'd drain the dragon, I hit the shower, dressed for my run and downed a quick cup of coffee before setting off to pound the sand. This time I ran harder and further, and stopped on the way back for a light breakfast and some fruit juice.
I jogged back to Grand Apartments and instead of riding the lift to my penthouse, I headed for the gym for some light bench presses and a bike ride.
The gym was busy, with guys of all ages going through their paces. During my intense but enjoyable workout, I was able to check out the room and thanks to the mirrored walls, I was aware that eyes were trained on my taut ass. The only real interest was being shown by a couple of grey-haired men who weren't even on my radar.
When I moved to the bikes, I was joined by a hot guy of maybe 30. He was big and muscly, full haired and very fit, and every time he smiled, his face dimpled in the cutest way. As we chatted I mentally undressed him and tried to picture him writing beneath me, but my growing dick retreated when I noticed his wedding ring. There was no doubting he was interested, but bitter experience had taught me that there was no future in getting it on with a married guy. Sure, it might be a hot holiday `wham bam', but at 32, I was over one or two hour stands.
I cut short my exercise, said a friendly cheerio and headed to the locker room. I stripped off my gear and hit the showers and after washing away the sweat, I dried myself and wrapped a towel around my waist. As I walked back to the locker room I turned a corner and came face-to-face with Scott, who looked freshly showered and dressed.
"G'day mate," I grinned, slapping him lightly on the back. "I didn't see you in the gym."
"Not quite up to exercise yet, Mike," he said. "I was feeling so good this morning after the massage that I thought a sauna might help my muscles."
"Good thinking, kiddo," I replied.
When I walked back to the bench and picked up my sweaty gym clothes, Scott was right with me, and he made himself comfortable opposite my locker. Would dropping my towel be a watershed moment? Only one way to find out ...
I made a half-hearted remark about the overcast weather as I pulled the towel away and stood naked in front of Board Boy, grateful that my junk was under control, relaxed from the hot shower. I noticed immediately that his eyes darted to my cock and balls, but reminded myself that such a gesture meant nothing. What 17-year-old kid doesn't check out the cock of any other naked guy he encounters? Pride and competitiveness were inherently male traits, and he was only doing what every male has done since the beginning of time.
As I dried myself, Scott said "Can I ask you something?"
Here it comes, I thought. Are you gay?
"I know how you got all those unpaid record royalties for that band. Do you know anything about music publishing?"
I smiled. "Of course I do! It's what I do for a living."
"Can I ask you a favor?"
"Sure," I said, uncertain what was coming.
"One of my brothers is a songwriter and he's been offered a deal by a publishing company for his songs, but I reckon it's a piss weak offer. Could you look at the agreement and see if it's fair?"
Inwardly, I groaned. Here I was in Queensland trying to get away from work, and I was being asked to look over a publishing deal for some two-bit, would-be songwriter who thinks he's Sting. "Sure mate," I found myself saying. "How old's your brother?"
"He's 29," Scott replied. "I've got two brothers. He's the oldest. Then there's Lachie, who's 25."
"Bit of a gap there," I grinned.
"Yeah," he laughed. "Mum and Dad went through a bit of a rough patch with the farm in 1993 and they couldn't afford to replace the TV when it packed up. I was their mistake!"
"I'm sure you were a welcome mistake mate," I smirked. "Does your brother have a record deal?"
"Um, yeah, he does actually," Scott replied. "It's his apartment I'm staying in and he's arriving tomorrow to stay for a few days to organise some of the tradesmen doing the renos. He's not too smart where business is concerned, so it would be great if you could meet him and just have a look at the publishing agreement before he signs it."
"Sure Scott," I said, as earnestly as I could. "Gimme a call when he's here and bring him up. I'll see if I suggest anything to help him."
Scott thanked me profusely, and after I'd pulled on my shorts and removed my cock and balls from his line of sight, he stood and shook my hand before heading back to his apartment. I finished dressing and went back to the penthouse to change into jeans and a shirt, and then headed out for an early lunch at one of the many seaside eateries along the foreshore.
During lunch I had a call from my sister, letting me know that our mutual family friends the Hendersons were holidaying on the Gold Coast and wanted to catch up. They weren't my first choice as stimulating company, but it was something to do for the evening so I called them and arranged to meet in one of the restaurants at Jupiter's Casino.
At 7, all nicely spruced up, I hopped a cab and I was already seated when they arrived at Andiamo at 7.30. It was a pleasant enough evening, as they chatted aimlessly about life in the suburbs and the joys of parenting. They'd thoughtfully brought along their two children, aged 5 and 7, who had clearly been hit with the Annoying Stick, and by 9 o'clock I had a throbber, only this time it was between my temples, not my legs.
Don't get me wrong, I like children. Couldn't eat a whole one though ...
I made the Hendersons happy when I picked up the tab, and after the obligatory hearty handshake, backslap and cheek kiss, and the promise of a barbeque at their place back in Melbourne, I was in another dodgy cab on my way back to my sanctuary.
I ended the night with two glasses of wine as I watched the late news, and after checking my emails and sending a couple of replies ("yes mum, I'll be back in time for Christmas!", etc) I crawled in to bed and feel asleep to the distant sound of ripples from an unsettled sea.
I was up and out of the apartment by seven, pounding the sand on my morning run and by the time I'd made it back to the apartment 2 kilometers later, I'd worked up quite a sweat. I stopped for an orange juice and a coffee and then headed for the Grand Apartments gym.
The joint was jumping and with the exception of two women doing an aerobic workout, it was just us guys. All the bikes were taken so I decided today would be my `leg day" and for the next 45 minutes I concentrated on quads and hamstrings as well as my lower back and abs.
At the end of the set I spied a free bike and took the opportunity to round out the hour with 15 minutes of riding. In front of me was a guy peddling fast, his superb butt raised high off the bike seat. I set my sights on his ass as I pedaled at a steady pace, enjoying the sight of his two beautiful butt cheeks working in unison.
We slowed down at the same time and I wondered vaguely whether it might be an ass I could get to know a whole lot better. When he turned around I was disappointed to see it was Mr. Married, who'd thinly disguised an attempt to chat me up the previous morning. Soaked in sweat, he looked even better than he had the day before and if not for that band of gold on his finger, I'd be introducing my one-eye to his brown-eye for sure.
He made some small talk as we headed to the locker room and while I toweled my hair, he stripped off and headed for the showers. He made sure I copped an eyeful before he sauntered off and it was annoying to know that he had a whopper swinging between his legs. I hope Mrs. Married appreciated her good fortune.
A couple of minutes later I hit the showers myself and I was surprised at how busy it was. Everywhere I looked I saw cocks, balls and asses; some of them old, some of them flabby. Without doubt Mr Married had the best body and the most to show, and he made sure he showed it to me every time my eyes wandered in his direction.
He timed it so that his shower ended at the same time mine did, and we toweled off and dressed standing only a few feet apart. I noticed him checking out my junk a couple of times and when we were both ready to leave, he asked if I'd like to join him for breakfast. I was tempted, but good judgment stepped in and I managed a friendly, "already had breakfast thanks mate, might see you in the gym tomorrow."
With that we parted ways, and on my way back to my apartment, I spotted Scott in the lobby. He was talking on his mobile and when he saw me he beckoned me over. When he finished his call he grinned at me, "G'day Mike! My brother's arrived at Coolangatta airport and he's just picking up his hire car."
"That's great, mate" I replied. "I'll be in my apartment after two, so send him on up if he wants me to go over his publishing offer."
Once indoors, I read the morning papers and watched the midday news before throwing on shorts and heading to the pool for a bit of sun. It was crowded, but I was able to find a lounge and, after applying sun screen, I ordered a fresh fruit salad and a beer, which went down extremely well.
I was tempted to have a second ale, but it was getting close to 2pm and Scott and his brother would be calling in after that. I could have a beer with them in the apartment instead. Besides, I needed to change into more acceptable garb if I was going into `business' mode, even if it was for some songwriting wannabe. I immediately reprimanded myself for the thought; I was doing this for Scott and I should be doing it gladly.
Back in my apartment I checked the fridge and realized I had only two bottles of Crown Lager left. I called George and asked him if he could arrange for a dozen `Crownies' from the bottle shop a block away, as quickly as possible. I also asked him to organize a deli to put together a platter of chicken, avocado and mayonnaise finger sandwiches.
I pushed the CD `on' button and the opening chords of "Love On The Rocks" danced from the speakers as I ripped off my speedo and jumped in the shower. As I washed my hair, I was lamely singing along with the fifth track, "Deep Inside Of Me", thinking to myself how much I'd love to be there myself!
I dried myself off, walked to the bedroom and rummaged through a drawer. I made a mental note to do some washing later because I'd run out of boxers, so I pulled on a pair of white Calvin Klein briefs and had just slipped a shirt on, when the doorbell rang. Thinking it was George, the doorman, with my beer and sandwiches, I left the shirt unbuttoned and opened the door.
I think I went into momentary shock as my mouth fell open, and stayed open. Until this moment, the only other time in my life when I was totally lost for words and felt as though I was floating outside my body was when I was 16, and a neighbour knocked on the door to let me know our much-loved family dog had been hit and killed. I went to speak but no words came out.
"G'day, mate!" beamed my achingly handsome visitor, as he extended his hand. "I'm Ty Hill, Scott's brother ..."
Please feel free to email me your comments. marcusis32@live.com.au