Massaging Marco

MARCO

At school, I wasn't much good at sports. That is, until I met Gino, who, most unexpectedly, became my swimming coach, and who also, at the time and away from the pool, just happened to be my school vice-captain.

[If you would like to read the story, it's here: http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/highschool/massaging-gino/ ]

He taught me to dive, instead of doing ball-crunching belly flops.

He taught me to use my legs and arms, and to breathe on both sides, and he was the first to recognise my ability to do breaststroke.

Then there was tennis, with the assistance of Franco, the young tour player and coach, one of Gino's friends, I learned how to serve and to do the preparation to hit good forehands and backhands.

However, it was Gino who taught me a lot of other things too, especially out of the pool. In private.

At the end of my final year of high school, I spent three weeks at the Australian Institute of Sport. Apart from getting to stay every night with Gino, I met a couple of other interesting people. Interesting and charismatic.

One was Andy Thompson, also a swimmer who organised for me to go with him to stay for a week at a farm in outback Queensland, which was owned by his boyfriend's parents.

[See that tale, `massaging-karl' at: http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-friends/massage-tales/

And, with such a variety of athletes training at the Institute, I discovered that many of them participated in `cross-disciplinary' activities, that is, other than for their primary sport and specialist events.

Marco turned out to be one of those guys.

I had seen him training in the pool, and had ogled him in the showers, but we actually met in person in the gym while I was doing leg press exercises to strengthen my quads, glutes and calf muscles.

I remember it well...

He asks whether he can alternate with me on the machine. So I agree, although he adds a 20kg disk on each side after my turn, which I then remove after each set that he completes.

Neither of us looks as though we are weight lifters, so I ask why he was using such heavy weights on this equipment.

"Although I normally compete at 5,000m and 10,000m, I also do triathlon," he says. "1.5km swim, 40km bike ride and a 10km run. All three rely on my legs, so I have a pretty rigorous lower body routine, apart from general strengthening and endurance exercises."

"I'm only here for one more week," I reply. "Gino, my swimming coach, organised three weeks for me, to see what I thought of the place, and maybe to learn a few things. I'm Rob, by the way," I tell him, extending my hand.

He replies with a fist bump, "Marco."

"I swim competitively and run for fun," I tell him, removing the extra 40kg, "but have never tried cycling, apart from tearing around the neighbourhood on my BMX."

"I only need to do one more set here," he replies, "then I'll move across to the cycle. Have you ever used one of those?" And he points to the row of exercise bikes.

"Only for a few minutes at a time," I tell him. "Nothing serious, though."

"Why don't you join me?" Marco asks. Then he smiles, "We can multi-task: cycle and talk."

I've heard it said that men can't multi-task, so I appreciate the humour of his comment.

To cut a long story short, having acquitted myself surprisingly well on the exercise bike, almost managing to keep pace with Marco for ten minutes, according to the digital display, he invites me to now join him in some road work.

"Come with me to one of the coach's offices," Marco says, "and see if we can get you kitted out for a ride, including borrowing one of the Institute's road bikes. Does your schedule allow you to take in some extra activity for about an hour?"

"I'm pretty sure that it will be OK," I tell him.

"Excellent!" Marco says. "Come on."

I suspect that Marco must be well-regarded around here because, when he explains to the cycling coach that I am going to ride with him and that I will need all of the gear, there is no hesitation in kitting me out from the extensive stores.

I had no idea that there was so much different equipment! The Coach also gives me a bag to carry it all in.

He says, "Rob, you can keep all of the clothing and the drink bottle. However, you can't have the bike."

He grins.

So do I.

"Thank you very much," I tell him.

We discuss the sizes required – helmet, jersey, shorts and cycle shoes.

I try on the shoes, helmet and jersey to ensure that they are correct.

I'm about to unwrap the shorts, ready to try them on, when the Coach says, "Um, Rob, there is just one thing with these padded shorts; they are worn without underpants." He adds, "And, for health reasons, you won't be able to try them on first. Are you certain that they are the correct size?"

I have a quick chat with Marco. We discuss the size of our normal pants and the relative equivalent in bike pants, and conclude that this size is the correct one.

"They do take a bit of getting used to," Marco says, "and can be a little difficult the first time. You might want to change in private, instead of here."

I respond, "OK, thanks, but I'm living off campus, so I can't exactly go back to my room and try it all."

Marco pauses, looks at me, smiles, then offers the use of his room in which to try everything, and adds, "If you like, I can help you with it to make sure that it all fits correctly."

Now, I wouldn't be averse to him giving me a hand! Hmm. I wonder!

Marco and I are about the same height and I guess about the same weight. Although, with his more pronounced muscles, he could be heavier. Apart from his well-defined muscles and narrow hips, there are two things about him that hold my attention. Firstly, the bulges in his Speedos when I've seen him in the showers: bulky balls and a chunky sausage up front, and those prominent glutes at the back. Then, there are his facial features: most noticeably, his dark eyes, dark and neat curly hair, dark eyebrows and always the beginning of a beard on his square jaw. Definitely tall(ish), dark and handsome. He reminds me a lot of Gino.

Marco pushes the bike and I carry the bag full of gear, with one strap over my shoulder. It's only about a three-minute walk to his room.

"It's OK to bring the bike inside," Marco tells me when I look at him, questioningly, as he about to wheel it through the door. "I keep mine in here."

His room is not large, well not as spacious as Gino's, but it's not cramped either. It reminds me of a number of comfortable motel rooms in which I've stayed.

I was expecting two single beds, and that he might be sharing with a room-mate, but there is only one, a three-quarter bed. Larger than a king single; slightly narrower than a double.

Intercepting my scanning of it, Marco comments, "They do have some rather big guys who stay here! Why don't you unpack the bag and lay everything out on the bed, then we can start?"

"We?" I reply, looking at him, with a measure of increasing curiosity.

"Of course," he replies. "I'll put my gear on at the same time. That way, you can see how it all goes, and we won't miss anything."

There is only one piece of clothing about which I have some concern.

"And the padded shorts go on with nothing underneath?" I put to him.

He grins.

He tells me matter-of-factly, "If you wore underpants or Speedos under the shorts, it could become very uncomfortable. I learned that with experience. The last thing you need is seams or edges to chaff you while you are riding for a long distance."

I watch his face. I wonder whether he has an ulterior motive for bringing me here, and for the two of us to undress together.

"Are you going to get dressed at the same time?" I pose the question. "The same way? No underwear?"

"Yes," he answers, and as he collects his gear from his cupboard, he adds, "Does that bother you?"

"I guess not," I answer. "Except..."

"You're not afraid of me seeing you naked, are you?" he puts to me directly. "The Speedos that you wear at the pool don't leave much to the imagination, you know! Especially when you get out of the water and just let them cling."

I think of how I learned that from Gino. LOL.

"I don't care if you see me naked," I tell him. "Well, not exactly, It's more like, how do I put this...? It might be more of a problem for me, seeing your body."

"How?" he says, standing still and staring at my face.

"It's OK taking a shower with other guys around, and seeing them naked," I begin, "because I can always regulate the temperature to be as cold as necessary."

"As cold as necessary for what?" he asks.

"To keep `things' under control," I answer, pointing at my crotch.

He laughs. "So, you're telling me that seeing guys naked gets you excited?"

"Not usually," I reply very nervously. "But, being close to another guy, naked, without the safety of cold water, well... it could just have a mind of its own. And because I've wondered about the bulges that I've noticed recently in your Speedos, there is the real possibility that I could have one of those uncontrollable moments!"

"How old are you, Rob?" Marco asks.

"Almost eighteen," I reply, as if that has anything to do with it.

"Then you're normal!" he smiles back. "So, stop worrying about it." Then he smirks, and adds, "Besides, when I get to see you naked, we might both end up with the same problem!"

He grins, and waits for a response.

A lot of things run through my mind, but all that comes out of my mouth is, "Well, I'm game, if you are!" and I immediately wonder whether those were the right words to say.

Marco wastes no time in stripping down to almost-bare skin. That is, apart from his patch of neatly-trimmed pubic hair.

I don't rush, but begin to remove everything, deliberately, nervously folding things and placing them in a neat pile; all the while watching him, watching me.

I get down to my gym shorts when I notice his dick start to lengthen, and fatten, and just discernibly rise away from his legs, where it had previously been hanging and nestling over his balls.

He's staring at my shorts and I start to feel movement in there as well.

I pretend to myself that I am preparing for a medical, and remove my shorts and Speedos (instead of underpants today), feigning nonchalance and attempting to keep things under control. Relatively.

However, with me standing naked, and staring at Marco's athletic broad shoulders, round pecs, defined abs and stiffening member, who am I kidding? I pop a woody as well.

"Nice set of equipment!" Marco says.

I'm uncertain whether he might want to `muck around' together, as I'm sure that Gino would at this point. I wouldn't say `no' to Marco if he suggested something, or if he just took the lead.

However, he simply grabs his bike shorts and tells me, "While we're focussed on `down there', we may as well start with these. Take yours out of the plastic bag and do what I do."

He gives his shorts a bit of a stretch, lengthways, and across, then steps into them. They cooperate readily until the waistband gets to above his knees.

"This is the tricky part," he tells me, hoisting up one leg at a time, alternating, until they are snugly `up'. His other `up' bit is now held vertically against his body by the lycra material.

I follow his lead, and I'm glad that I'm a quick learner.

However, the sight of two poorly-concealed, and still-evident, erections, does nothing to help them go down. At least, mine doesn't. And a bit of jiggling and self-adjustment is required to make it comfortable.

We finish dressing, without any problems. The helmet is second-last, followed by the mitts. All set, ensuring that we have drinking water and a puncture repair kit, we head out with the bikes.

Marco leads, following the clearly-marked asphalted bike path at the side of the road. I follow until we are clear of the main traffic, and it becomes sufficiently wide for the two of us to ride abreast.

"How are you doing?" Marco asks.

"Feeling good, for a first time at this," I reply.

"Want to kick it up a notch?" he puts to me.

"You set the pace, and I'll try to keep up," I tell him, turning my head sideways and smiling at him.

He nods and begins to accelerate.

I crank up my own rate to match Marco's and I'm thankful that he soon settles into a new steady speed.

There isn't much talking. That would consume too much of my energy. I focus on pedalling.

After about 20 minutes, my body has had enough! I back off and slow down, cognisant of the fact that it will be at least a 20-minute return ride to the campus. Probably longer, at a reduced speed.

Marco, ahead of me, stops until I catch him up. I bring my bike to a stand-still alongside his.

"This is new to me," I tell him, "and my legs were starting to complain. I won't be very popular with the coaches if I can't swim tomorrow!"

"Sorry, Rob," Marco apologises. "I was deliberately pushing it, to see how you would handle the pace. You were doing great! I didn't think that you would last this long. I reckon that we could even make a triathlete out of you, you know."

I'm not sure whether to return his smirk, or wipe it off his face for pushing me to my limit. I settle for saying, sarcastically, "Thanks, a lot, mate!"

He extends his fist to bump. Mine meets his, and we're good!

We turn around, and pedal at a much more leisurely pace.

"How bad are the legs?" he asks.

"Quad muscles were complaining the most," I tell him, but they weren't the only ones."

"If you like, I'll give you a massage when we get back," he tells me. "Even though I have a Diploma in Remedial Massage, I don't get many chances to practise here. Practically none, actually. Most of the work on the athletes is done by the Institute's physios."

I wonder whether I should tell him about my own training in that area, or not?

After a few seconds of deliberation, I decide to keep my massage experience to myself, and, instead, determine to appreciate his remediation techniques, to see what I might learn.

"OK. But I might need a shower first," I say. Then add, "Thanks."

He acknowledges with a mini salute, two fingers to his helmet, and we pedal onwards.

Back on campus, we go straight to Marco's room and wheel the bikes inside.

"Why don't you shower and freshen up in there," Marco tells me, indicating the ensuite door. "Meanwhile, I'll set up the massage table that has been gathering dust under my bed."

I delight in letting the hot water relax my entire body, right down to the niggling muscles, and decide to use Marco's body wash and shampoo. Both `Peppermint and Rosemary' scented.

I'm drying myself when Marco knocks and comes in.

"I thought that I'd better clean up as well, he tells me. "I don't want to transfer my perspiration to your clean body." He sniffs the air. "Nice smell! I'm glad that you found them."

Without appearing to desire any privacy, or to ask whether I wanted any, he strips everything off, dumping them beside the toilet. He steps into the shower, adjusts the taps quickly with the water having already run through hot, then turns to face me.

"You have nice muscle tone," he comments, looking me up and down, while lathering himself. "I'll bet that your body feels as good as it looks."

"You too," I answer him. "I mean, you have amazing muscle definition."

Pointing at him, I reel off a whole lot of anatomical names for the muscles that impress me. I withhold a couple, like `penis' and `testicles'.

His face is a picture of incredulity.

"It's probably best if you don't put any clothes back on just yet," he comments, turning off the water. "That will just give me better access to the areas that need attention."

I look at him.

I'm not sure what he reads on my face, but he adds, "It's OK. Anything that I'm not massaging will be covered by a towel."

He pulls on a pair of thin, pale blue track pants, indicates for me to take my place on the massage table, "face in the hole, and feet over the bolster", then shows me the massage oil. "It's unscented," he says, "so that you don't smell funny."

"You mean, other than peppermint and rosemary," I comment, referring to what we have both used in the bathroom.

He smiles. "That won't last. Nobody should notice. Besides, they wouldn't know where it came from."

I think, `I'll bet that Gino notices tonight, if there are any traces of it!' and I give up trying to think of an excuse to explain it, and determine to simply tell him the truth. All of it. Whatever happens. No secrets!

Marco spends quite a few minutes, rubbing his hands over all of my totally-uncovered, naked body, feeling my muscles and noting any twinges or points that cause me to groan. It's only then that he uses the oil, and covers whichever half he is not working on – top or bottom, right side or left.

His technique is pretty good, using the heel of his hand or his forearm in preference to his fingers and thumbs most of the time.

My glutes, hamstrings and calves receive the lion's share of attention.

I'm feeling very relaxed, almost drowsy, when Marco says, "OK. Turn over."

I comply, making no comment about my semi-arousal. Nor does he, as he adjusts the bedding, relevant to my new position, including covering my midsection with a hand towel.

A now-somewhat-tented hand towel!

His hands perform professionally on my quads, but they progressively work higher towards my pelvis and gradually closer to my balls, then occasionally brushing them.

The tent grows with the increasing size of the tent pole.

Then, "How does that feel?" Marco asks.

I'm uncertain whether he's referring to my previously-aching muscles or to my now-raging erection.

"You definitely have magic hands," I reply. "Everything feels great! Thank you."

He takes a towel, wipes the oil from his hands and then from my exposed skin.

"Then, we're all good," Marco adds, as if to terminate the massage session.

I think, `Not yet!'

"Would you like me to return the favour?" I ask him. "I'm sure that your legs would appreciate being relaxed as well, wouldn't they?"

"Hmm. OK. If you like," he tells me. "Do you reckon that you can do everything that I've done?"

"I'll try," I say, playing the novice! "But tell me if I'm not doing it right. OK?"

I swing my legs over the edge of the massage table, stand up, and secure a towel around my waist. However, the tent is still mercilessly conspicuous.

Marco re-sets everything on the table, then strips off his trackpants and lays himself face-down.

His dick is nowhere near soft! I could discern that, even before the trackies came off!

I start by de-sensitising his body to my touch: running my palms the length and width of his body, appearing to give equal time to all of it, but frequently returning to, or via, the middle. His glutes and thighs.

Then, with oil, I spend some time massaging across his broad shoulders and upper back.

"Feels good," I hear from under the table, where his mouth is.

I press from his shoulders, down his erector spinae muscles, either side of his spine, and finish at his glutes.

"Is this right?" I ask. "Is this the way that you did it?"

"Damn near perfect," I hear again.

So, I repeat it multiple times. Pushing down his spine, across his glutes to the side and pulling my palms up to his armpits.

"Did I do that?" he asks.

"Well, if you didn't do it to me, then somebody else must have, once before," I tell him.

A few more repetitions, after which I move to his feet. I massage each calf. First left and then right. Pressing and squeezing. Kneading.

"Hey, that's nice!" he says.

I move alongside his knee and start working on his hamstrings, outer and inner thighs. Firmly up the middle, same down the outside but lightly up the inside, ending the sequence by squeezing his firm, round glutes.

Then, again.

Whether it's intentional or a reflex action, Marco parts his knees to allow my hands access to his inner thighs. In doing so, he exposes his balls below which is the head of his penis, pointing downwards.

I do both legs. First the left side three times, then the right.

I notice his penis thickening and lengthening. So, I `accidentally' touch it on my next upstroke.

"Sorry," I tell him. Although I'm not really!

"It's OK," he tells me. "Don't worry about it."

So, I do it again. From both sides. And, each time, I run my fingers lightly over his balls.

"That's not how I did it," I hear. His voice sounds more inquisitive than angry.

"Sorry," I apologise again.

"It's OK," he says. Then there is a pause. "I like your technique better."

A few more repetitions of me touching his dick and balls elicits a few groans of pleasure.

"I think that we're done with this side," I tell him, wiping the oil from his back to his ankles.

Marco turns face-up, and I place the hand towel over his erection, which is lying on his stomach, pointing towards his navel.

"I really don't need the towel, if it's OK with you," he comments. Then, not waiting for a response from me, he drops it onto the floor. Then he reaches down and liberates his balls from between his thighs.

"OK. Ready," he says. "Go for it."

I try very hard to ignore his dick as I massage his quad muscles. However, its frequent bobbing off his abdomen simply tells me that he is enjoying this more than, perhaps, was originally intended.

I remember the very first time that Gino massaged me, and ran his fingers up the inside of my thigh and lifting my balls. I enjoyed that. I wonder if Marco will. Should I try it?

I do. And he does.

He doesn't have to comment. The exuded precum doesn't need being translated into words. In any language.

I do the obligatory three repetitions. Both legs.

Marco lifts his head, looks at his leaking dick, looks at my face, then reaches to release my towel. We are instantly both naked. And both fully excited. And both leaking.

I don't need to ask anything. Or say anything.

I savour the moment when his soft hand envelops my hardness. I pause while he plays with it, and my balls.

Then I start on him.

I cup his probably-shaved balls and have a good feel of their roundness and weightiness. I roll them and tickle them, then reach below them and rub his hard perineum, giving it a good massage. His dick jumps and leaks another blob. I catch it and spread it down his shaft. It jumps again.

I close my eyes and focus on the two feelings – his extreme firmness in my oily hand, and his hand rubbing my own stiffness. When one jerks, the other responds similarly.

"Want to lie on the bed and play for a bit?" Marco asks.

I had thought of doing that, too.

"Sure, but no fucking, OK?" I tell him.

He agrees.

However, instead of making straight for the bed, Marco catches me in a hug and, while grinding his dick against mine, reaches around and begins to massage my glutes.

I reciprocate by running my fingers lightly up his back and then more heavily down across and down, finishing at his firm, round glutes, and giving them a good feel.

We swap under-and-over arm positions multiple times before Marco pulls away and lays himself on his back.

I join him and we indulge in what could simply be described as mutual fondling.

When he leans his puckered face towards me, as if to kiss me on the lips, I turn away and say, "No, sorry."

However, when he lays his head back down, I lean across and kiss his nipples, then work my way up to his neck and kiss both sides. This causes some general moaning and ongoing throbbing of his dick in my hand.

I lie back down and we concentrate on masturbating each other. No massage oil necessary. Our bodies are providing quite sufficient lubrication.

He whispers, "So, no fucking, no kissing on the lips. How about a blow job?"

He catches me in two minds. While I would love a bj, I really want to wait for tonight. Gino is amazing at it!

"I'm good, but would you like one?" I put to Marco.

"Hell, yeah!" he says. "I don't exactly remember the last time that I had one. Actually, I do, and it was too long ago. Thanks!"

I start by again kissing his nipples and I move down slowly. While holding his balls in one hand, I lift the head of his dick to meet my mouth. I go slowly, just as Gino has taught me. I use my tongue on the under-side, and my lips on top, to make his head sensitive, then I take him in. First just half, then all of him at once.

"Aargh!" he calls. "That feels incredible!"

"You like it like that?" I ask, pulling off him and grinning.

"Fuck, mate," he growls. "Where did you learn to do that?"

"Hey. Ask no questions, and I won't have to tell you any lies!" I say.

He relaxes his body, closes his eyes and tilts his head back.

I guess you could say that he's enjoying this.

I intersperse my sucking of his dick with some slow then some rapid jerking. I can tell from the spasms in his legs and his upper body that he's not going to last much longer.

I edge him to the point where I know that he can't delay, and then I lay my body on top of his and begin frotting. There is sufficient precum from both of us for it to be a slippery and stimulating experience.

I lick his nipples.

That does it. He freezes. Then, as he pushes up with his hips, lifting both of us, he explodes with massive jerks and I feel the wet heat between our two stomachs and chests. I continue to frot into it and then I add to it. Frotting and spurting.

When I'm finished, I collapse my weight onto him, allowing both of us to regain some semblance of normal breathing.

I sense him feeling around for a towel, which is easier for me to reach than for him. I retrieve the closest one and, rolling off him, clean myself, then hand it to him.

His grinning face is a lather of perspiration. "Hey, great cardio workout!" he jokes.

"I'll get the shower going," I tell him. "Then you can come and join me."

I know that I'm going to end up smelling like peppermint and rosemary! I'm sure that Gino won't mind. Especially when I demonstrate on him what I have just done to Marco.

I enjoy washing Marco's muscly body. All of it. I even give his shoulders a soapy massage.

"Hey," Marco says. "I thought that I was just going to relieve the tension in your legs."

"Really?" I respond. "I've seen the way that you've been looking at me this week. Just like I was watching you. You wanted this to happen, didn't you? Or did you plan it?"

He takes hold of my very relaxed dick and balls in his cupped hand. "Well, it took me a whole week to catch you doing leg work in the gym," he laughs.

Then he adds, "What time tomorrow?"

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.

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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', `Josh', `Karl' and `Liam'.
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/

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