Massaging Karl

KARL

[Author: If you are also reading my Kurt Series [.../adult-youth/], you will be familiar with most of these characters, and I'm now about to give you a glimpse into the future of some of them.
Originally planned to be `Massaging Kurt', I changed it for reasons of character consistency.]

As a young guy, Robert Armstrong, `Rob' to my friends, and `Robbo' to my `special' friend, I progressed rapidly in my chosen sport, swimming.

Well, not that it was chosen by me, as you will remember (from Massaging Gino).

My Dad suggested it. My pesky little sister scoffed at it. The head coach facilitated it. My personal coach, Gino, embraced it. And I took to it. And, I took to Gino too.

So, to jump ahead, at the end of that illuminating year, Gino finished high school and was awarded a full coaching scholarship at the Australian Institute of Sport.

Then, I missed him, during the week.

However, for the past three years, we've kept in touch, Gino and me. Regularly. At weekends. In close touch! You can work out what that means, especially if you have been following his story.

Now, at the recent completion of my own final year of schooling, I have been invited to spend two weeks at the AIS, just to `get a feel for the place', to see what they do, and to work with some of their best coaches, one of whom is... Gino.

Let's take it from there. Outside the AIS pool. Early in December.

"Robbo, there's one more person that I'd like you to meet," Gino tells me with a smile, having already introduced me to so many people that my brain is beginning to experience melt down, attempting to remember all of their names. The famous ones are easier!

After this, my sister's going to be doing dishes forever, if she dares to disbelieve, and bet against, anything that I tell her.

Gino does the introductions, "Robbo, meet Andy. Andy... Robbo. Actually, Andy, you should just call him `Rob'. Sorry. Long story!"

I'm glad that Gino said that. He is the only person who ever calls me `Robbo'. It's a special thing between him and me.

Andy and I shake hands.

"Pleased to meet you Andy," I tell him.

"Likewise, Rob," Andy replies. "Gino mentioned that you might be coming down for a few weeks before our Christmas break."

Andy has a friendly smile. Engaging eye contact. Charismatic!

I am immediately suspicious, actually more like just wondering, whether Gino has made friends with Andy like he did with me, because, in his team Speedos, Andy is one handsome specimen of manhood! All over. Broad shoulders to narrow hips, and all of the bulging muscles (and other bits) attached to both. And in between. Back and front.

Gino begins to give Andy and me a brief bio of each other...

"You two have a lot in common, you know," he starts. "You both started swimming later than most people here; you were about a similar age too, and you've both progressed amazingly since day one!"

I hope that there is one part of our commonality that Andy doesn't share with me! He and Gino seem very friendly with each other!

"Andy, I've already told you that Robbo...," Gino commences, then says, "...sorry, I mean `Rob', here, is the reason that I ended up here at the Institute. It was because he progressed so well with his swimming, and so quickly, that he just made me look good as a coach."

Gino smiles at me the way that he does. The way that I love. And he's still giving me the credit for his scholarship and appointment here!

"And, Rob...," he says, clipping his word so that the `..bo' bit remains unspoken, "Andy started swimming as part of a rehab program following a pretty bad fall that he had, and they gave him to me to work with."

Andy and Gino smile, appreciatively, at each other.

I can tell that it's different to how Gino smiles at me. Thankfully!

"Actually, Rob," Andy says, "I think that Gino was a gift to me. He's amazing!"

"You're not wrong!" I reply, thinking of much more than swimming.

Based on what I'm observing of their body language, I sense that the relationship between Andy and my Gino, is strictly professional. I see mutual respect. I see genuine friendship. I see mates, perhaps, but without the `benefits' that I enjoy with Gino.

I think that Gino sees my countenance brighten. He can probably guess why, and grins at me. He knows me well enough after three years!

"Hey, guys," Gino says to us, looking at his watch. "I have a coaches' meeting. Andy, why don't you show Rob around, and maybe get to know each other better? I'll catch up shortly, inside."

"Happy to!" Andy replies. He and Gino bump fists. Gino does the same with me, then heads towards a rather impressive building.

"That's the main office," Andy tells me. "But, let's start with the gym, and we can come back to the pool later. Gino and the other coaches usually come here after their meetings."

While walking, we start with some small-talk about where we are from, etc., and then Andy, without stopping, says, "Just so you know, Rob, I have a boyfriend."

"What?" I ask, then hoping, as an afterthought, that I sounded more surprised by his statement than shocked.

Why would he tell me that?

"I just wanted to get that out of the way, up front," Andy replies. "I noticed the way that you've been checking me out since Gino introduced us."

"Sorry if I offended you, Andy," I tell him.

"Not at all," he replies, resting a hand on my shoulder. "But, I thought that you should know that I'm spoken for."

He stops walking and looks at me, probably waiting for some negative response.

I take a deep breath and say, nervously, "So do I."

"So, do you, what?" he asks.

"So do I have a boyfriend," I say. I don't whisper, exactly, but it's something that I've never told anyone else. I have kept being gay a secret at school for the same reasons that Gino needed to.

Andy just grins.

He extends his hand and we bump fists.

"While we are clearing the air, there's something else that you should know," he says, looking around to ensure that there is nobody within hearing distance."

I don't have to ask. I just stare. The result is the same.

"Gino has a boyfriend, too," he tells me secretively.

"Really?" I put to him, cautiously.

Now I really am shocked! Shocked that he knows about Gino and about me already.

"Yes. He and I established that pretty much up front, when he caught me checking HIM out, with his clinging Speedos," Andy confesses.

I know exactly what he means!

"All a bit hard to miss, isn't it?" I have to smile.

Andy agrees with me, and we both laugh.

"Do you know his boyfriend's name?" I put to Andy as we resume walking side by side.

"I asked him once," Andy tells me, "and he told me that it was a secret – for him to know and for nobody else to even think about! So, I never mentioned it again, and he has never asked me who my boyfriend is. Mutual respect, I guess!"

I not only love Gino, but I now admire him even more, for upholding our pact of mutual secrecy!

However, just when I think that the `boyfriends' thing is done and settled, Andy asks me, "How old is your boyfriend?"

"Can't tell you!" I answer. "It's a secret."

"Well, do you two have sex together?" he probes a little further. Maybe `probe' is the wrong word!

"Can't tell you!" I answer again. "That's a secret, too."

"Well, can you tell me if you muck around with anyone else, other than your boyfriend?" he puts to me.

I wonder where all this is leading. Is he hitting on me? After all, he was the one who told me that he had a boyfriend in the first place! Or was that just to sound me out? To get me involved?

"No," I tell him.

"`No', you don't, or `no', you can't tell me?" he persists.

Now I could get really annoyed at his persistence, but I can also see the amusing side of his mini-interrogation. He seems to have an insatiable `need to know'.

I put it to him plainly, "Yes I can tell you, and no, I don't. Happy?"

"Yeah, I suppose," Andy says, with an air of almost disappointment.

"What about you?" I put to him. "Age? Sex? Muck around?"

He answers in kind, rapid fire, with, "Sixteen, yes and yes!"

"And does your boyfriend know that you muck around with other guys?" I throw back at him.

"Yes. Kurt and I tell each oth..." he begins, then clams up.

The guilt that washes over his face is very obvious.

I grin.

"Ship!" he mutters. "Even Gino doesn't know any of that!"

"What do you mean by a `ship'?" I put to him.

"That's a habit I was taught by a very clever school teacher. Kurt's school teacher. In polite company, you say, `Truck' instead of `fuck' and `ship' instead of `shit'! And, TRUCK! I've just mentioned his name again!"

"It's OK," I say, smiling, but trying hard not to burst out laughing at his loose lips, and looser resolve.

My turn, "So, you've told me that your boyfriend's name is `Kurt', that he's sixteen, and that you have sex with him, and that you muck around with other guys. Does Kurt know that?"

"Yes, he does, and I know that he does too," Andy answers. Then, whether to impress me, or boast, or just plain unable to shut up, he adds, "And, I've met all of the guys that he mucks around with. And seen them all naked."

I'm not sure where this conversation is going, or what Andy's motives are, or whether he's really the sort of person that I should be mixing with. What if Andy and Kurt and their loose friends are into orgies and drugs and booze and don't take precautions?

"OK," I say, "Let's drop the topic. All right? How about we look at the gym?"

Andy shows me through the gym.

I thought that the facilities at school were pretty good, but this place is phenomenal! It has every piece of equipment that I've ever imagined and more. And machines that test how your body functions under stress, and to analyse your performance and generate exercises for you to do, based on your computer profile and specific sport.

I'm totally impressed. No wonder his and Gino's bodies look so good! But, then, Gino always looked good to me, from the moment that I, as a 12-year old, first saw him, shirtless, playing basketball!

We tour the rest of the campus, and Andy introduces me to some others in his swimming squad, most of whom are training for the next Olympic Games. Andy says that he is too!

Without prompting, he gets back to the previous conversation, about his boyfriend.

"I only get to see `you-know-who' a few times a year, but we make the most of our time together," Andy shares. "I often stay with him for a month at a time. His parents own a farm in western Queensland, where he helps out, when he's not at school."

I've just twigged to the reason behind Andy's questioning and comments.

"Do you miss him? You-know-who?" I put to him.

"Totally!" he replies. "But I'm going to spend New Year's with him and his family. It's only a few weeks away. Just thinking about it, makes it hard to keep focussed on my training."

I have to ask, "So, you're going to travel to outback Queensland, after Christmas?"

"Yes," he replies. "I'll stay until the end of January."

"What does your mother know about you and Kurt?" I ask.

"My mum likes him," Andy replies.

"What about the sex?" I put to him. "Does she know about that?"

"She's never said anything, and has never asked," Andy says. Then he adds, "Neither have his parents, although Kurt's dad smiles at us and winks a lot, especially when we say that we're going to stay out in one of the shearers' huts for a couple of nights."

"So, apart from the obvious fun that you two have together," I ask, "what else is there to do out there?"

Andy proceeds to give me a full run-down of the working farm and what visitors do. I'm surprised to hear that people pay to stay for a week, `farm stay', to experience everything from collecting eggs to having a go a sheep shearing and horse riding. Then, there are the quad bikes!

"That must all be great fun!" I say. "I've never shorn a sheep or ridden a horse!" Then I add, "Do you know how much they charge, for a week? And how do people organise it and get there?"

"Well, the second bit is easy," Andy replies. "From here, I can fly to either the Gold Coast to see my mum first, or take the plane straight to Brisbane. From there, it's a bus trip to Cunnamulla and then either a helicopter flight straight out to Kurt's place or his dad might drive and pick me up."

"What about the cost?" I ask.

"I really don't know," Andy replies. "I don't pay. Kurt and I are friends. Why? Are you interested?"

"Too right, I am!" I tell him. "And I'm sure that my Mum and Dad wouldn't have a problem with me disappearing for one more week. Especially if I pay for everything myself."

Neither would my sister!

"Tell you what," Andy says, "What if I check with Kurt and his parents about their visitor bookings. If it's OK, how would you like to come with me, after Christmas? You could fly to the Gold Coast, and we could go the rest of the way together."

"Are you serious?" I tell him. "That would be amazing."

"I'll ring them tonight," Andy tells me.

"Thanks, Andy!" and we bump fists.

"Where are you staying?" Andy asks. "On campus?"

"No idea," I reply. "I believe that Gino has organised something in town for me. I think he said that all of the on-campus accommodation was occupied."

"Yeah, that would be right." Andy says, "Apart from our own athletes, we have a number of visitors from overseas with us at the moment. Even some of the coaches are having to live off campus. Including Gino."

Gino, Andy and I have diet-controlled dinners in the AIS dining room, together with all of the other swimmers in Gino's squad. Some of the guys are `hot', even covered by their track suits!

At some point in the conversation, it comes out that I have almost completed my massage therapist training, which draws some inevitable comments about people's various aches, pains and strains!

It always happens. I joke about that with everyone. Gino winks at me.

Eventually, Gino says, "Come on, Rob, I'll drop you off on my way home. We have an early start in the morning."

He tells his squad members to get an early night, and I bump fists with all of them.

"Where am I staying?" I ask as he pulls out of the parking area.

He smiles. "Where do you reckon? With me, of course."

He only has to put his hand on my thigh and I start to get hard. I know exactly what will happen when we get to his place!

And it does!

I have missed Gino's touching me and our mutual massages.

I could go on longer, and cum again, but `Coach' says that we both need our sleep. "We have three weeks together," he tells me. "It's important that we can both perform at the pool."

Without any more `action', we sleep together, naked. I love the feel of his body spooned up behind me.

"Hi Rob," Andy greets me shortly after Gino and I arrive. "Good news!"

I'm glad that he doesn't ask about where I stayed or what I did last night, but launches straight into, "I spoke with Andy last night. He and his family would be happy to have you as their guest for a week."

"Wow! Thank you," I tell him, and despite wanting to hug him, we settle for a fist-bump.

Apart from the swimming coaching which focuses, but not exclusively, on my breaststroke technique, I have gym sessions for strength, biomechanical analyses, nutritional discussions and a general fitness-improvement regime.

I don't see too much of Andy for the remainder of my time at the AIS, except at meal times. Our schedules don't coincide.

At the end of my three weeks, a few days before Christmas, I arrange with Andy when and where I will meet him at the Gold Coast airport.

Under Gino's attentive gaze, Andy and I hug. It's the only time that I've felt his athletic body against mine. Nice!

Then Gino and Andy hug. I'm watching!

Gino and I spend a long, passionate final night in Canberra before driving home.

"Gonna miss you, mio caro amico" he tells me, as he pulls into my parents' driveway. "Behave! OK?"

I love it when he calls me his `dear friend'.

"Of course," I tell him.

"Do you remember the first day that we met?" he asks me. "I told you that it was all right to look."

"Yes," I answer. "But we did more than look at each other, didn't we?"

"I think that it was meant to be!" Gino smiles at me. "I just want you to be careful. I don't know what Andy's friends are like. Promise me that you will be careful!"

"Yes, I promise," I reply. "You too, eh, without me to relieve your tension."

"Hey, it's only a week, isn't it?" Gino answers. "We go that long without each other all of the time."

Gino walks with me to the door, says hello to Mum and holds up a fist for my sister to bump. They are both happy.

We shake hands and, smiling, he gives me a `palm tickle'. I reciprocate and grin.

He walks back to his Alfa, turns and calls to me, "Let's play some tennis when you get back!"

I give him a thumbs-up then the three of us wave him good-bye.

Even though I have kept in touch by phone and SMS over the past three weeks, Mum asks, "So, how was it?"

"Fantastic!" I tell her as I head up the stairs with my gear, then, swivelling, add, "But, I'll tell you all about it over dinner, so that Dad can hear it too. Is that OK?"

"Sure," Mum tells me. "Would you like some lunch?"

"Thanks, I reply. "Then I might have a shower and a nap."

Over dinner, I give the family a blow-by-blow account of my three weeks, all of the activities and a list of all of the athletes whom I met. The daytime activities, that is.

Dad is impressed. Mum is encouraging.

I can tell by her expression that my sister wants to doubt much of what I have said, especially the people, but she dares not open her mouth! How many years has that taken?

Christmas comes and goes. A terrific celebration with a variety of relatives. I love it when grandparents and aunts can't think of anything to give me, except money!

Dad drives me to the airport, wishes me a good trip and a "Happy New Year, Son".

The flight takes only sixty minutes. We hardly reach a cruising altitude before we begin our descent.

While waiting alongside the carousel for my bag, I hear, "Hey, Rob!" I turn in the direction of Andy's voice, and watch him coming towards me.

His skin-tight pale blue jeans highlight what I saw in his Speedos! And his white Polo shirt emphasises his pectoral muscles and flat stomach. My balls tingle at the sight of him. And I sense the front of my own jeans gently but surely begin to stretch.

I have to remind myself that Andy is `spoken for'. Lucky boyfriend!

Then, I wonder about him too. I'm actually going to meet Kurt, Andy's 16-year old sex partner!

Andy's step-father, nice guy, drives us from the Gold Coast up to Brisbane Airport. He said that it was more convenient, and faster, than taking the public transport option.

I suspect that him driving Andy and me was also so that he could suss me out. Parents!

"Pleasure to meet you, Rob," he tells me as we unload at Brisbane Airport. "Enjoy your week at Whispering Gums."

Andy and his step-dad give each other a `man-hug' then we head into the terminal.

"Whispering Gums?" I ask Andy.

"Yeah, long story," he says. "I'll tell you on the plane."

With only carry-on luggage, we check in and don't have long to wait for the 13:50 flight. The plane is much smaller than the one that I took up to the Gold Coast. Twin-engine turbo prop. I'm surprised to discover that there will be two `stops' on the way!

Andy says, "Yeah, they drop off and pick up at Toowoomba and St. George. It makes the flight to Cunnamulla a long one. But it's interesting because you get to see more of the countryside on the way.

I enjoy the take-offs more than the landings. And I get used to the noise of the aircraft fairly easily. Andy fills me in on the history of `Whispering Gums'. [Author: see Schoolie, chapter 42]

It's a little after 5pm when we reach Cunnamulla. It has been a long day!

Andy heads straight for two handsome guys by the terminal. Both blonde. One appears to be younger than my dad, and the other is obviously Kurt, sixteen. Wow! Lucky Andy!

Andy drops his bag, gives Kurt a strong hug, then shakes hands with the other guy. "Hello Mr Andersen. Good to see you again," he says.

Then he introduces me to them both, in reverse order.

"Mr Andersen, this is Rob Armstrong. He was with us at the AIS for a few weeks prior to Christmas."

"Hello Rob," Mr Andersen says, gripping my hand. "Welcome. We're very happy that you can spend some time with us. I'm sure that the boys will be glad of some extra company their own age for a week."

"G'day, Rob" Kurt says, thrusting out his hand to take mine. "I hope that you have a great week with us."

I feel an instant connection with Kurt, beyond the prolonged handshake. He has an enticing smile and amazingly blue eyes, like his father.

And, my experienced eyes, even with a quick glance and excellent peripheral vision, cannot help but be aware of the roundness in the front of his jeans.

A number of already-known things flash through my brain. He's Andy's boyfriend. They have sex together. And they both muck around with other guys too. Hmm. I sense a familiar, uncontrollable, down-below stirring.

I wonder what Andy has told Kurt about me, and whether he has confessed to telling me stuff about the two of them. I will have to be very alert when making comments in conversation! I recall Gino's words: `Be careful!'

After some `refreshments' at the local Bowling Club, I sit up front with Mr Andersen. Andy and Kurt are in the back. I expected that!

By the time we get to their farm, I've shared with Mr Andersen about how I came to be at the AIS, thanks to Gino, my family, and I've even told him how my sister ended up doing the dishes for a couple of months because of a bet that she made about the progress in my swimming training. Andy and Kurt laugh at that too!

In return, Mr Andersen has explained about Whispering Gums and how his now-wife was able to buy it back, her childhood home. I also discover that Kurt has an identical twin brother, Karl, and that Mr and Mrs Andersen have another set of twins – baby girls.

We reach the farm just after sunset. The farmhouse lights are on, and I can just make out some various buildings in the diminishing light.

It feels great to stand up and stretch. It seems that I've been sitting all day – actually, I have; apart from between changes of transport and when the four of us got to hang out together, once, for a very welcomed `comfort stop' in the middle of nowhere along the way.

"Kurt," Mr Andersen says to him, "why don't you get Andy and Rob settled in the bunkhouse, let them freshen up a bit, then all come over to the house for dinner."

Andy and I gather our things and follow Kurt across the yard.

Inside, I stop dead. Here is Kurt again! Well, obviously it's his twin, Karl. Mr Andersen wasn't kidding about them being identical! And my brain immediately questions whether they are absolutely identical. You know what parts it's thinking of!

Andy introduces us. "Hi Karl," he starts, shaking hands and sharing a man-hug. "This is Rob, my friend from the Institute."

"Hey, Rob," Karl says, giving me the same treatment. I feel right at home!

"Hey, Karl," I say. "Pleased to meet you."

Then, turning to Andy, I say, waving my pointing finger from one twin to the other, "How on earth do you tell them apart?"

All three of them laugh.

Karl replies, grinning, "There is a difference. See if you can work it out, without us telling you."

I'm instantly embarrassed when I hear my mouth say, "With your clothes on or off?"

Karl turns to Andy, "Hey, I like him!" Then to me he says, pointing, "Why don't you have the bed next to mine. Kurt and Andy sleep on that side of the room," again pointing.

Andy and I put our bags on respective beds.

Kurt gives me the `tour' of the bunkhouse. "Toilet that side. Showers this side."

Andy pipes up, grasping his crotch, "Toilet now; shower before bed."

I add, "Me too! You go first."

While Andy `does his business', Kurt shows me the shower room. Two shower heads. No dividing wall, compared with what there are at the pool and at the Institute.

He catches the surprise on my face. "We're used to it! We've all seen each other naked." Then he adds, "And have showered together. And washed each other sometimes."

I look at his face for some intention. Just a smirk.

"No problem!" I answer.

He smirks again.

Gino's words again invade my mind and remind me, `Be careful'!

My mind counters Gino's warning with his own words, `It's OK to look'!

Karl breaks into my mental conversation with, "Andy and Kurt always shower together. We could, too, if you are up for it."

"No problem!" I again answer. Then I add, "But, showering with another guy, I might be more UP for it than normal."

Karl repeats my words, "No problem!" and we both smirk.

I hear the toilet flush. "My turn," I say and make a hasty retreat to the other side of the building. Then, I suddenly realise that there is more than one toilet. Doesn't matter.

As I empty my bladder, I wonder, `Have I just been propositioned by Karl, the twin brother of Andy's boyfriend?' Again, my brain tells me, `It's OK to look' and `Be careful'!

Mr Andersen introduces me to Mrs Andersen, a beautiful lady who is older than him, and very charming. Like my Mum.

"How wonderful to meet you, Rob," she tells me, kissing me on both cheeks. "Any friend of Andy's is a friend of ours, and welcome here any time."

I wonder whether she has Italian relatives, like Gino.

It is obvious that Andy's step-father and Kurt's step-mother are not evil characters as writers of fairy tales would have you believe that they all are!

We sit at the table, Mr and Mrs Andersen at each end, Andy and Kurt on one side, with me next to Karl on the other side.

Karl leans his leg against mine. When I take my leg away, so does he. When I put it back, so does he. No rubbing. No nudging. What is he telling me?

Over a delicious meal, Mrs Andersen, without appearing nosey, discovers as much about me as I am comfortable to tell. Swimming. Tennis. School. Mum. Dad. Little sister!

Somewhere in the conversation, I share about being trained as a massage therapist, and I immediately wonder who will be the first to advise that they have aches and pains which could require remediation!

Mr and Mrs Andersen and Kurt all swing their gazes directly at Karl.

"What?" he says, conscious of being `in the spotlight'.

It's Kurt who speaks up on his brother's behalf, "Karl's always complaining of a sore back from shoeing horses and carrying things around. Maybe if you can fix him up, we won't have to listen to his moaning at the end of every day."

"No I don't!" he fires back at Kurt.

"Well, every second day then," his dad adds.

It's Mrs Andersen who calms everyone by addressing her husband and Kurt. "I think that you are both exaggerating. Besides, you can't just expect a guest to turn up and begin to perform his professional services for you. Rob hasn't even been here for an hour!"

I add, calmly, "It's OK, Mrs Andersen. I don't mind. Really. Let's consider it part of my repaying you all for having me here for the week." I look at Karl and smile.

"Thank you," he tells me. Nobody else sees him press his leg against mine again. "But, you're probably too tired after your trip to do anything tonight, so possibly tomorrow, maybe, please?"

"Sure thing, Karl," I tell him. "Happy to see what I can do."

Mrs Andersen, next to me, lays her hand on my arm. "Thank you, Rob."

It's Andy who yawns first.

"All right, boys," Mr Andersen says. "You guys shower and hit the sack. I'll help with the dishes tonight. And we'll see you bright and early in the morning. And you won't need an alarm clock, with all of the bird life around at the moment!"

"Actually," Karl says, "Rob and I could help with the dishes while Andy and Kurt have their showers first. What do you say, Rob?"

"Karl!" his mother admonishes. "How rude!"

"It's OK, Mrs Andersen," I tell her. "Dishes are my specialty. Did I mention that to you over dinner?"

"All right," Mr Andersen says to us. "I'll scrape the plates for the chooks and get everything ready for you."

It takes me less than 10 minutes to have everything washed. Karl and Mrs Andersen have attempted to keep up with me, drying, as I add things to the draining rack.

"Nice work, Rob," she tells me. "Best kitchen hand we've had around this farm for a long while!" She looks at Karl, who, appearing miffed, simply hands Mrs Andersen his tea towel without replying to the jibe.

"Come on," he tells me. "They should be finished by now."

I follow Karl into the bunkhouse, and he walks straight through to where the beds are. "They're not here!" he calls back to me.

Being outside the shower room door, I push it open and take one step inside. Then, backing out even faster, I say apologetically, "Oops, sorry guys!"

"What's up?" Karl asks.

"They're not finished!" I tell him.

Does he actually know what they are doing in there?

"Well, they haven't seen each other for two months!" he says, trying to hide a smirk.

I decide to change the subject.

Looking at the beds at the end of the room, I tell him, "You know, if we take one mattress and put it onto one of the other beds, which seem to be the right height, it might make a pretty good massage table. If they're not too soft!

"The mattresses are all different," Karl answers. "Test them out."

I give them all the sit-on-it test, and find two that might be suitable. "These two!" I tell him, pointing out my choices.

He wastes no time in doing what I have suggested, then lays himself on top. "How does this work for you?" he asks.

I walk around the bed, laying my hands on his body in various places. No, not there!

"Try it with your head at the end of the bed, instead of near the wall," I suggest.

He switches direction, and I repeat my manoeuvre. "Yep, that's fine," I say. "Tomorrow, then!"

At that moment, Andy and Kurt emerge from the shower room, each with a towel tucked in around his waist, and carrying a scrunch of clothes.

Kurt speaks, "Sorry about that, Rob. We thought that you'd take longer with the dishes, like Karl and I do. Andy and I got carried away."

I'm tempted to say all sorts of things, about what I saw them doing – some serious and some humorous – but I simply reply, "OK. My turn." Then I add, "To have a shower, that is!"

Andy catches on first, points at my red face, and laughs. Kurt and Karl join in. I realise what my comment might have implied.

"There are plenty of towels in there," Karl tells me. "Come on, I'll show you. Leave your boots here."

He sits on his bed, removes his boots, socks and shirt, and heads for the showers.

If I was at Gino's place, he wouldn't have stopped at the shirt!

As I follow Karl, Andy and Kurt both face me, drop their towels and grin. Obviously a predetermined, conspiratorial act!

Do my uncontrollable moments down below have a `Start' button? I think that it has just been pushed!

After another much-relieving visit to the toilet, I cross the corridor, close the shower room door behind me and see that Karl has already removed his jeans. Nice firm glutes!

Then, he turns and, while facing me, removes his white undies. Nice thick cock, spherical balls and crop of blond hairs! Like Kurt's.

He heads for the four shower taps, turns them on and does a few twiddles to achieve an ideal temperature.

He steps in and turns to face me.

I momentarily fear that now, with my `Start' button activated, would not be the best time for Karl to see me naked! But, I think, `what the heck?' and I take everything off, allowing my semi-erection to point directly towards him.

I watch his face for a reaction.

I see an immediate reaction, but it doesn't come from his face!

We look at each other's body and smile.

"Wash your back?" Karl asks, holding up the soap.

I nod, step into the spray and turn my back to him.

He wastes no time in soaping me from shoulders to thighs, then nudges me out of the spray and continues rubbing my back, liberally, with the soap.

He comments, "Kurt and I have washed each other since we were little kids, so I've had lots of practice," as if he needs to justify what he is doing, or to praise his own proficiency.

I'm feeling it!

"Spread `em," he says, nudging the inside of my thighs.

I comply, and receive a quick soapy wash down under too. Gino would have spent more time in there!

"OK, rinse off!" he tells me. It's more like permission to move instead of a command.

I turn to say, "Thanks," and observe that both of our erections are now full-on. We both look, grin and shrug at the inevitability of it.

Ignoring them, he asks, matter-of-factly, "So, you want to do mine now?" and, handing me the soap, turns his back to me. No discussion.

I'm not as proficient (read that as `quick') as Karl, and I take my time. Gino has taught me, when I wash or massage him, to identify individual muscles and to focus on each, one at a time. `That way', Gino has said, `you will be able to identify them by both sight and feel.'

As I work my way down Karl's body, I mentally note those muscles which cause him to wince or elicit a brief groan.

I muse that his muscular issues are real! He hasn't been `putting it on', as his brother and father reckon!

He gets the full `Gino treatment' and when I get to his glutes, I feel for both `major' and `minor'. Separately. Both sides.

Then, without any prompting, he opens his legs and I wash him as I ponder `coccyx, anus, perineum-hard'. I finish in there, do his thighs, then give him one more, quick, top-to-tail rub.

"Rinse," I say.

He does and murmurs, "Wow, you really do know what you're doing, don't you? Can you teach me and Kurt to do that?"

We look at each other. The unspoke question is, `What about the front, too?' He slightly thrusts his hips forward, offering his cock, as if to clarify the non-verbal communication.

"Not tonight," I tell him. Then, I smirk, "I hardly know you."

However, not finished, he grins and asks, "So, when did you jack off last?"

"Umm, yesterday," I tell him, knowing that it was at Gino's place, and not by my own hand.

"Two days ago, for me," he says. Then, without further comment, takes the soap and uses it to start to masturbating. No discussion.

My cock might have a `Start' button, but there definitely isn't one for `Stop'. I put out my hand for the soap.

With the two of us facing each other, he goes fast. I don't need to.

I think that watching each other do it, not only enhances our pleasure, but accelerates the two massive eruptions!

"Well, at least we were quicker than Kurt and Andy," Karl comments as we `clean up'.

I reply, "Yes, but they weren't just..."

While turning off the four taps, Karl stops and turns to me. "So, what were they doing then?" he asks.

"Hey!" I reply. "He's your brother! You should know. If not, why don't you ask him."

Karl smirks, "I can just imagine! It's all good!"

The taps are all off.

We dry our bodies, wrap our towels around us, gather our clothes and head out. Me first.

My first sense is that Andy and Kurt are missing. Or hiding. Or doing something, somewhere.

Suddenly, seemingly from behind us, they grab our towels, leaving us naked, as they are.

Karl responds instantly, grabbing his brother and wrestling him to the nearest bed.

Andy looks at me and takes a step backwards, perhaps wary that I will do the same to him.

I'm tempted! But refrain, preferring instead to watch the naked bodies of the twins twisting, turning, grasping, wrestling. I consciously look for any difference or mark that would identify one from the other.

Andy picks up one of the towels, rolls it and flicks the uppermost visible backside on the bed, which produces three things: a loud whip-cracking sound, a red welt and an expletive from one of the twins.

Then, "Why did you flick ME?" the one asks. I presume from the tone and inflexion, that it is Kurt.

Andy replies, laughing, "Well, from what I could see from this angle, I couldn't tell the difference." Then he adds, "But it worked!"

Kurt looks as though he is going to attack Andy, but is prevented from doing so by a pre-emptive bear hug and a kiss.

Karl takes the opportunity to `escape' to his bed.

Andy, sensing that calm has been restored, releases Kurt, who turns and points an accusing finger at his brother, but says nothing.

"Hey," Karl says, "You started it. Don't blame me!"

I have to say it: "Hey, I've worked out the difference between you two! Kurt has a red welt on his bum."

The three of them stare at me and burst into a refrained cackle.

Andy, before anything physical starts again between the two brothers, asks. "Hey, Rob, did you bring your pyjamas?"

"No," I tell him, feeling embarrassed at the oversight. It didn't cross my mind. Gino and I never wear them.

"Good!" Andy says. "Neither did we."

He smiles. So do Karl and Kurt. Me too.

Karl asks, "Hey, bro, do we even have pj's anymore?"

"Nope!" Kurt replies. "No need!"

Andy says, "It's late, guys. I need my beauty sleep."

Again, I can't help myself, and comment, "Well, it looks like you've been having too much of it then!"

Kurt catches on straight away. "Amen to that!"

Four naked guys give each other a man-hug `good-night' and retreat to their beds.

Karl has the last word to Kurt and Andy, "And, can you two please stay in your own beds tonight. We have a visitor!"

For that, he is elected 2:1 to turn off the lights. I abstain from voting.

I enjoy watching his naked body, swinging cock and nice glutes, make the trip to the light switch. Then darkness.

After a long day, a good wank in the shower and visions of my next massage subject's body, sleep comes easily.

"Hey, time to get a move on!" Karl says, rousing me, with his hand on my chest. "We start early around here!"

I look down. I don't remember becoming uncovered during the night. And my cock has gotten a head start on me. He's up first!

I make a move to cover up. Karl says, encouragingly, "Don't worry. That's normal. Especially around here!" displaying his own.

Then he adds, "Kurt and Andy were up earlier, and have gone over to the house to help with breakfast."

I enjoy his double meaning, and liberate myself from a very comfortable bed.

Having had a shower last night, I head for the toilet, then get dressed.

I look at the other three unmade beds and decide that a break with my normal tidying routine will be OK.

"Good morning, Rob" I am greeted by Mr and Mrs Andersen, Kurt and Andy.

Mrs Andersen adds, "Did you sleep well?"

"Like a log!" I reply, and add, "It must be the clean country air!"

Everybody smiles, politely. Karl winks.

Over a delicious breakfast, it's Mr Andersen who outlines the `agenda' for the morning.

"Rob, I thought that I might take you for a quick tour of part of the property with Andy in the Land Rover, while the boys finish a few jobs around the yard that they have already started. Then, we'll come back for morning tea. After that, if it's still OK with you, you can muck around with Karl's back." It's delivered with an air of cynicism for his son's complaints.

"I won't be mucking around, Mr Andersen," I tell him. "I already have a fair idea of what the problems are. Karl let me have a quick look last night."

"So, there are real issues?" he asks, earning him a death-stare from Karl.

"Absolutely," I reply. "It's a wonder that his back has lasted so long without completely packing it in!"

Karl doesn't need to declare, `I told you so!' because his expression says it all.

I thank Mrs Andersen for breakfast and she declines my offer of washing up.

Before Andy and I hop into the Land Rover, Mr Andersen shows us all of the sheds and explains what they are for. Stables. Farm equipment. Vehicles, including four quad bikes. Fuel, pesticides other chemicals. Junk (but he's on a mission to either re-cycle it, sell it, give it away or dump it in a corner of the property where it won't impact the animals or the quality of the water in the creek).

He comments that he knows Andy has seen most of this in the past three years when he has visited and that he hopes he's not bored seeing it all again.

"Not at all, Mr Andersen," Andy tells him. "I think that it's all terrific, and I always like seeing the improvements that you have made since my previous visit."

We drive south and see the horse yards and some magnificent specimens of stallions, mares and young foals.

"Do you ride, Rob," Mr Andersen asks me.

"I've ridden a bit," I tell him, "but there wasn't much opportunity when I was at school, and I've only just finished."

"Well, maybe you might like to ride with Karl. He's developed into a fine rider, and I'm sure that he would be happy to coach you, if you need it."

Mr Andersen has said the magic word, `coach', and I think of Gino and all of the coaching that I have received from him – swimming, tennis, fishing, riding, Italian. And then there's the bedroom!

Andy has a thought. "Do you think it would be OK, Mr Andersen, if Karl, Kurt, Rob and I check some fencing and stay in one of the remote bunk houses one night? We could show Rob a lot that he wouldn't otherwise see."

He looks at me and smiles. I can't tell whether he has fencing in mind or something else, and I wonder what he and Kurt might have `cooked up' between them.

We follow the river north, past the farmhouse and end up in paddocks of mulga trees. Not quite a forest, because they are well dispersed. Mr Andersen explains that these trees rejuvenate rapidly and can be cut and used for feeding the livestock, as they did in the previous bad drought.

I see cattle and sheep. And kangaroos. And emus. And a couple of snakes – but only after Mr Andersen pointed them out.

Morning tea consists of warm scones with fresh cream and strawberry jam. Yum.

It's Mrs Andersen who explains, "We had some American tourists who called our scones `biscuits'. When I showed them our biscuits, they said that they called them `cookies'. Languages are funny, aren't they?"

"Focaccine con marmellata e panna," I say. My Italian pronunciation has improved over the years, thanks to Gino and his family members.

"Did you just say something rude in Italian?" Karl asks, obviously picking the accent and misunderstanding one of the words.

"Scones with jam and cream," I tell him. "Or, in English, a Devonshire tea."

"Bravo, giovanotto. Bravo!" Mrs Anderson tells me. Her pronunciation is really good. She sounds just like Gino's aunt, Bruna.

Kurt reminds Mrs Andersen that my name is Rob, not Giovani.

"'Giovanotto' just means `young man'," she tells Kurt. "I studied Italian at school, then worked with some Italians at the Council for two years." Then, turning to me she says, "It would be good for me to try to remember some Italian, if we could manage to have a conversation later, Rob."

It's more of a question than a statement. "I'd be happy to give it a go," I tell her.

"I think I'll stick to English," Karl throws in.

Then, looking at me oddly, Andy asks, "So, where did you learn Italian, Rob?"

I'm suddenly aware that he might have connected my Italian directly with Gino. But to try to `throw him off the scent', I say, "Last three years of high school. It was an optional thing. Not part of the normal curriculum."

It's not a lie! Just weekend activities, mainly.

Andy nods, then tells me, "You could always practise with Gino, if you wanted to. He's Italian."

"Good idea. Thanks," I tell him.

I hope that I've avoided an embarrassing disclosure!

"OK, giovanotto," I say to Karl. "Are you ready for some pain? I'm set for that massage if you are."

"Sure thing," he responds. "Let's do it."

On the way out of the door, I hear that Kurt and Andy are going to take two of the quad bikes out along one of the trails.

Karl's dad has some maintenance to do on one of the sheds that he reckons will take him up until lunch time. He reminds Kurt and Andy to be careful, and to follow `the rules'.

This is met with `Yes, Dad,' and `Of course, Mr Andersen' from the two of them.

OK. No interruptions!

Karl and I enter the bunkhouse and he, unexpectedly, locks the door behind us.

I only have to look at him to get an answer. "We wouldn't want Helen to walk in on us, would we? Not that she comes over here much. Kurt and I are responsible for looking after the bunkhouse. But, you can never tell. Helen might want to practise her Italian."

I find his paltry excuse for privacy amusing, but leave it to float in the pond of plausibility.

"Well," I tell Karl, "your body should still be clean from last night's shower, unless you think that you need another one."

"No, I'm fine," he tells me. "All clean. Everywhere!"

"Excellent!" I reply.

I grab a couple of towels from the shower room. One to lay on the mattress to protect it from the oil...

"Oh, I forgot the oil," I tell Karl. "A little bit just helps to make things slipperier."

He reaches into one of the cupboards and produces a large bottle of Baby Oil. "Will this do? Helen bought a boxful to use with the babies, and she suggested that we keep one over here in case we have dry skin from being in the sun or something because of the work that Dad gets us to do."

I note that it is half empty, and refrain from asking how much dry skin he and Kurt have had to warrant so much use. I just smile.

"Perfect," I say, and tell him to position himself, face down, with his head at the foot of the bed, chin hanging over the edge. Pillow under his chest and another under his ankles. "And I suggest that you lose the clothes."

"All of them?" he asks.

"Everything!" I tell him.

He's not shy about getting his gear off, boots and all, and makes a bit of a show of letting me see everything. Bulky.

I don't complain.

He assumes the position that I have described, and I stand on one side of the bed, at his waist level.

I have no sooner rested my hands on his back when Karl, lifts his head and asks, "Are you going to keep your clothes on? Hardly seems fair, seeing that I'm naked and you can see everything!"

"That's how I work," I tell him. "Clients take their clothes off. I keep mine on. It's called `professionalism'."

He puts his head down and I, again, rest my hands on his back.

For a second time, he raises his head, then says, "I'm not actually a client. And I didn't ask for your professionalism."

"That's how I work," I tell him.

He lowers his head. For about two seconds. "Nobody would know!" he tells me. "We have a `house rule' – what happens in the bunkhouse, stays in the bunkhouse."

"So, you want me to take my shirt off?" I ask.

I know where this is heading and find it all quite amusing!

"Yes," he smiles.

I do.

"Is that all?" he asks, turning his head and looking at me.

"Sorry," I tell him, then make a point of taking off my boots and socks too.

"Happy now?" I ask, with a touch of sarcasm.

He looks. "Not really," he replies. "I'll bet that it could get pretty hot working in those jeans. I wouldn't want you to get all sweaty and uncomfortable." There is a pause. "Only thinking of you!" he says.

I can tell what he's thinking of me!

"So, what do you suggest?" I put to him.

"Same as me!" Karl replies.

"What? Totally naked?" I smirk.

"Starkers!" he replies.

"If I agree to your House Rule, you have to as well," I say to him. "Nobody will know?"

"Not a soul!" he assures me.

He raises himself on one elbow, watches me strip, then says, "Nice," and assumes his original position.

"May I proceed now?" I ask.

"Yes, get on with it!" he says.

That earns him a slap to his firm, rounded glutes.

"Ooh," he moans. "I think that I'm going to like this."

"You'll like it when I'm finished," I say.

"I'm hoping that everyone will be happy at the end," he chuckles.

I can tell what he is suggesting, but wonder how he knows about the term `happy endings'. Although, I would lay odds on him having experienced many of them. Enough for half a bottle of baby oil. At least.

I begin, without oil, running my palms lightly down and up, from his neck to his glutes. And along his sides. And down to his thighs, calves and feet. And his shoulders and down his arms. It's all about de-sensitising him to my touch.

That done, I locate those points which I believe had caused him to groan or twinge last night, and press lightly into them. Just to confirm which muscles need attention. Right on!

Ouches!

At appropriate times, when I hit the right spots, I see his athletic glutes contract. Nice!

I re-affirm my beliefs, multiple times. His glutes contract, multiple times. LOL.

I add some oil to my hands, rub them together and apply it to his body, which elicits an enthusing `mmm'.

I apply gradually increasing pressure as I work to relax all of his musculature.

As I walk around the bed, from side to side, one of his hands, dangling over the edge, always seems to find its way to one of my legs. Not grasping. Just making contact.

I move to the end of the bed, near his head, to better massage, pushing, from his shoulders to the small of his back. As I do, his hands change position and locate both of my leg and begin to lightly rub them. He is able to reach up to my glutes and down my thighs. Then, not so lightly.

"Hey!" I say to him. "Who's giving the massage here?"

He giggles, and lets his hands settle down.

"Lay your arms by your side on the mattress," I tell him, "and tuck your thumbs under your thighs. It will help your back muscles relax."

The next ten minutes is spent working into the trigger points, releasing the knots and causing much groaning, and ouches, and glute contractions.

Neck, upper back and lower back all receive the necessary attention.

Then, to balance everything, I work into his glutes. More contractions. I like this bit, sometimes pressing and sometimes kneading.

From the side, I reach inside his thigh and stretch it laterally, away from the centre. Multiple times. Each side. Then, I rub his thigh from glute to knee, with a touch more oil. Down and up.

It is really obvious as I rub in an upwards direction, that his downward-pointing penis has become hard. I make contact with the head, not accidentally, and it jerks, each time, especially when I stroke the frenulum.

I also encourage it by massaging the firmness of his perineum between his anus and his testicles. His hips lift off the bed, as if this part of his body is seeking even more attention.

His groans and moans are no longer those of pain.

"OK," I tell him. "Let's turn you over, and see if we can do any good on the other side."

He grins at me as he rolls over and repositions the pillow under his head. I move the one from his feet to under his knees, for comfort.

His erection lifts off his abdomen, multiple times, and I see a measure of his excitement in the various globules of pre-cum being exuded.

"Is this going to end happily?" he asks, looking from his erection, to my own, and then to my eyes.

"If you want it to," I tell him.

"What do you reckon?" he growls, encasing my stiffness in his nearest hand.

I reach for the oil, and drizzle it across his cock and balls. Then I add some to his grasping hand.

I use one hand to play with his ample balls, lifting them, rolling them, tickling them. The other hand begins a slow massage of his thick firmness, from base to tip, up and down.

"Ohh!" he groans. "That is so nice! Even better than..." And he stops.

I contemplate how the sentence could have ended. `...than doing it myself.' Or, `...than Kurt doing it.' Or, with any number of unknown people's name.

He remembers where his hand is, and it starts to spread the oil as it moves.

We synchronise our hands, which adds to my own pleasure. He has an experienced hand!

I watch his face. He is smiling with his eyes closed and head tilting back. Occasionally he opens his eyes and grins at me, approvingly.

I vary my attention between his cock and his balls.

He does the same to me, one-handed.

I'm beginning to feel excited. I tell him so, and ask, "How are you going there? Getting happy yet?"

"Very soon," he rasps.

I give his cock a few rapid jerks, then slow down.

"Do it again!" he says.

I do.

As I resume going slowly but firmly, he begins to thrust his hips upwards. His balls seem to gyrate in their sacs then retract to each side.

"Gonna cum!" he says, and freezes, as his cock head, covered by my hand, spews out multiple ejaculates.

"Me too!" I tell him, the sight and feel of his excitement pushing me over the edge.

His hand is at the base of my cock when it lets go, and he wears multiple stripes across his body, chin to groin!

I reach for the other towel, dry my hands and then let him wipe himself.

"I think that we should have a shower, and check out the condition of those back muscles. Your brother and dad will want to know whether I was able to `fix' you.

We wash, and he contorts his body and flexes his muscles to confirm the effectiveness of my efforts. All good!

"Fuck! That was amazing," he tells me. "How long are you staying with us?"

If you like these stories, please take a couple of minutes to email me at
rob.zz@hotmail.com

I do try to reply to everyone. Please be patient.

-----

It is my intention to write a `massaging' story for each letter of the alphabet.
Nifty has already posted `Adam', `Brock', `Callum', `Dylan', `Evan', `Flynn', `Gino' `Hayden', `Isaac' and `Josh'.
I think that `Gino' is one of my better works; however, it's in a different location: http://nifty.org/nifty/gay/highschool/massaging-gino/

-----

Please support the efforts at Nifty. Every little bit helps to ensure that

our stories are posted. Do it here: http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html