Massage Tales: Massaging Ulysses

ULYSSES

I’ve heard horror stories of people who have offered lifts to hitch-hikers and then had all manner of awful things happen to them. Like car-jacking, robbery, assault, and even murder. And it’s not only men who are guilty. A woman, or even two together, from all accounts, can be as dangerous as any man.

Needless to say, I’m hesitant to pick up people with their finger or thumb out, seeking a lift.

After one news report of yet another car-jacking of a ‘good Samaritan’, I even made a New Year’s Resolution not to pick up hitch-hikers.

However, given the ‘right’ circumstances, New Year’s Resolutions are made to be broken, aren’t they?

I’m on a lonely stretch of highway, returning home from enjoying the company of a few fellow massage therapists at a remote golf resort which was recommended to us and, up ahead, I see a hitch-hiker’s finger emanating from the arm of a male body!

My initial, automatic reaction is to look towards the opposite side of the road, pretend that I don’t see him, and to keep my foot well away from the brake.

From a reducing distance, I can tell that he is bare from the waist up, wearing just a brief pair of red sports shorts and sneakers. And toting a backpack.

Obviously hearing my car approaching, he turns to face me, hands in prayer-mode, with a look of anticipation on his face.

As I get close, I rationalise that his muscled body could easily overpower me, and my life could very well be in danger.

I drive past him at a reduced speed to ‘get a good look’ at the potential criminal, and, despite my resolve, the sight of his youthful face, toned torso, muscular legs which support narrow hips, plus well-packed shorts, cause me to toot the horn and pull over.

I watch him in my mirrors and observe the gloom on his face turn to elation. He sprints the fifty metres to where my car comes to rest.

I press the button and the passenger’s-side window glides down.

“Thank you so much,” he says. “You’re only the second car that I’ve seen going in the same direction this morning. The first one, two hours ago, flew straight past, and I thought that you were going to do the same.”

“I was,” I tell him, “but my conscience couldn’t leave you at the mercy of today’s sun. The forecast is for it to get really hot later on.”

I don’t let on that if had suspected him of carrying any sort of weapon, I would have accelerated right past him. Maybe that is why he is so minimally dressed, so that people can see that he has nothing to hide, apart from what may be in his backpack.

Or his shorts. LOL.

I feel the need to add, “Mate, don’t you have a shirt that you should be wearing?”

He shrugs, grins and says, “It’s in the backpack, and it’s OK. I don’t burn easily.”

“Where are you going?” I ask.

It’s a ‘normal’ question, in this situation!

“Heading back to Sydney,” he tells me, “and a lift anywhere in that direction would be greatly appreciated.”

I release the door locks, smile and tell him, “That’s where I’m going. Put your gear in the back and jump up front!”

If he is hiding anything in his backpack, it will now be difficult for him to reach it !

Backpack secure, he climbs in and buckles his seat belt.

I extend my right hand to him. “I’m Rob,” I say.

“Ulysses,” he replies.

He has a firm, appreciative grip!

He half-turns in his seat towards me, with full eye contact, obviously inviting or anticipating conversation. His light brown eyes and long eyelashes are alluring

“Interesting name!” I say, smiling at him and then checking the mirrors as I accelerate back onto the bitumen, with not another car between me and the horizon! “Wasn’t Ulysses the name of a Greek god, or something?”

“That’s kind of close!” he tells me. “It’s the Roman name for the Greek Odysseus, the mythical Greek king who wasn’t a god but who, according to the stories, battled the gods while trying to get home from his travels. You would probably have heard of the Cyclops. That was one of the obstacles that he had to overcome.”

“So,” I ask, “why did your parents gave you that name? Is there a story behind it?”

“Well,” he starts, “it seems kind of appropriate with me in this situation at the moment, doesn’t it, trying to get home? But, my father being Italian and my mother Greek, is probably the most obvious clue. My mother, when she first saw me, said that I looked a strong and handsome baby and the name ‘Odysseus’ just came to her, and my father said that they should use ‘Ulysses’ instead.”

“Strong and handsome, eh?” I comment. “Well, mothers are always right, aren’t they?”

“Really?” he says, grinning at my inferred compliment. “Thanks.”

“So,” I say, “may I ask what you’re doing way out here? Are you undertaking a survival course or some sort of endurance trek, to re-live the Greek mythology?”

I’m surprised when he opens up so readily.

“Girlfriend troubles,” he says, glancing away from me.

“Searching for one, or running from one?” I ask, smiling, just to be friendly without appearing to be prying too personally.

“Kind of running,” he replies, looking back at me, “and not looking. Well, not really.”

“So, hedging your bets, are you?” I ask. “Putting some distance between you and her, but open to finding someone else?”

“Long story!” he says. “But seeing that we have heaps of time and we are not likely to run across each other ever again, I don’t mind telling you the whole sorry saga.”

“That sounds like my ‘House Rule’ for massage client discussions,” I say. “You don’t tell and I don’t tell!”

He laughs, acknowledges the pact of confidentiality, then does the majority of the talking.

I learn that his father’s family owns a building, concreting and landscaping business and that his mother comes from a dynasty of market gardeners. It seems that, at a large wedding, one of the young ladies took a flirtatious liking to Ulysses, the youngest son. His mother, observing, and sensing another potential wedding and the chance to provide her with grandchildren (which seems to be the primary objective for her children’s lives!), played matchmaker and encouraged their blossoming relationship.

Mothers!

The girl was open to no-strings-attached fun, which ended up with them ‘shacking up’ together. The trade-off for the mostly-unrestrained sex was that she had expensive tastes when it came to clothing, jewellery and dining out, subsidised mostly by Ulysses’ family businesses.

With no marriage or grandchildren on the horizon, eventually, his parents said ‘enough!’ to financing his expensive sex-capade. When he told her about the money tap being turned off, she dumped him. He was devastated at the realisation that she was only after whatever she could get, and he took to the road, to try to get her ‘out of his system’.

For the past year, he has travelled the country, taking casual work wherever it was available, including fruit-picking which, in favourable situations, came with free accommodation and food. And the opportunity for a number of willing one-night stands. But not all of them were with females, he confesses! He admits to having a high libido (‘always horny’ is the exact term that he uses), and also to having renewed his teenage familiarity with his right hand.

I’m stunned. Not at what he has told me, but at his openness and honesty!

He quickly checks my face for any shocked response. I return his glance with a smile and a shrug of acceptance. He grins.

So now, with his money almost exhausted, and the various fruit-picking seasons over, he has decided to ‘eat humble pie’ and head home. He figures that living at home, with virtually no expenses, a warm bed, his mother’s good food and being paid a wage, he knows where he will be better off.

His story sounds a bit like the tale of ‘The Prodigal Son’ that I heard in Sunday School and I hope, for his sake, that his family will be equally forgiving.

“I hope you don’t mind if I drowse off, Rob,” he says almost apologetically, having bared his soul and virtually told me his life story. “I haven’t had a decent sleep for a few days now.”

He turns more squarely to the front, partially reclines the seat to about forty-five degrees and stretches his muscled legs to the fullest extent that my car allows.

I begin to tell him that I will wake him up when we get to a lunch stop, and shout him a meal. Also, that rather than driving all night and risking an accident, my plan is to have dinner and stay at a motel, and that he is most welcome to join me, if he wishes. That way, he can freshen up before he ‘fronts’ his family tomorrow.

At one point, I see one of his long legs splay at the knee. When I look across at him, his head has dipped, face inclined towards my side, eyes closed behind those long eyelashes. I’m not sure how much of what I have said he has actually heard.

I take the opportunity, a glance at a time, to ‘study’ him a little more closely.

His black, curly hair sits mostly on the top of his head, with the sides trimmed shorter. His straight eyebrows are thick with a gap above his straight, but slightly broad nose. Full lips above the squared-off chin of his strong jaw. With stubble.

My eyes take in his full pec muscles, sparsely covered in dark, flat hair which funnels into the channel formed by his prominent abs, then thickens as it crosses his navel and broadens as it disappears into his shorts. Treasure trail?

I’m sure that there is treasure concealed in those shorts, judging by the eye-attracting bulge.

I concentrate on the road, no lesser deprived of conversation than I was before I picked him up.

My attention is diverted by the movement of his hand, perhaps unconsciously, disturbing that formless prominence in the front of his shorts.

It doesn’t stay formless. I watch a recognisable shape emerge.

The longer and thicker his cock gets, the more he fondles it into a comfortable position. And the more he fondles it, the longer and thicker and more obvious it becomes.

His hand relaxes, leaving a clear and firm tubular protuberance, pointing sideways and downwards, as if it is intent on escaping the leg of his shorts.

My attention is split between the vacant highway and Ulysses’ show of manhood, which occasionally twitches, as if participating in a dream.

I ponder how this Greco-Italian stallion might respond to a full body massage!

And, now, I have a hard problem of my own to deal with!

It is with some difficulty, restrained by my seat belt and trousers which have ridden up, to release my constrained penis. In the end, sucking in my stomach, I have to force one hand inside and liberate it sideways. It thanks me by stretching to its fullest extent.

With both hands back on the wheel, I breathe a sigh of relief and glance across at Ulysses.

His eyes are open!

His focus changes from my trousers to my face.

“You too, huh?” he says.

“It happens!” I tell him. Then, as if to explain or excuse my excitement, I add, “Especially when I see things like that…” and I point at his shorts.

“I was having a nice dream,” he says, “but it was lucky that I woke up when I did, or things could have become rather messy, if you know what I mean!”

“Yeah,” I laugh. “I know exactly what you mean.”

I feel a tingle down below, and I know what that means too! I look down and see the emergence of a wet patch on my caramel-coloured trousers at the end of my stiffness.

It doesn’t escape Ulysses’ notice, especially since my lowered face has alerted him to it.

“Hey, Rob,” he says. “I don’t suppose you want to pull over? And we can both deal with our stiff problems!”

I look at his grinning face, apply my foot to the brake and pull off onto the side of the road.

By the time the car comes to a stop, Ulysses already has his shorts and underpants down to his knees.

I wasn’t wrong about the treasure!

Among a thatch of black, curly hair, he fondles his large, round balls to freedom, lifting them between his thighs and he raises his thick erection to vertical.

He begins a slow-and-long rubbing of his entire length, primed with pre-cum, accompanied by audible sounds of pleasure. His eyes are closed.

I release my seat belt, undo my belt, lower the zipper and push down my own clothing. I give my cock a few quick jerks and I then synchronise with Ulysses’ rhythm.

While my hand is busy with my erection, my eyes are totally focussed on Ulysses’ action on his manhood. His balls are large and round, without being huge, which could have been unsightly. At one stage he has them in one hand while pumping slowly with the other.

Now and then he raises his hips, pumping his fat cock into his waiting fist, both now well-lubricated with his copious precum.

This is like my own private porn movie!

I give mine another half a dozen quick jerks. Very stimulating!

“I think that I’d better finish off outside of the car,” I say to him and open my door. Holding my pants to prevent them dropping to the ground, I walk around to the passenger’s side and lean against the car. My hips lurch and pump forward, contrary to the direction of my hand.

Ulysses joins me and we stand, and lean, side by side.

“I’m gonna cum anytime soon!” he growls. “Watching you is a real turn-on!”

“Same here!” I tell him, and I resume my quick pace.

He joins me in a frantic burst and then, with a rapid intake of breath, he suddenly freezes.

I watch a long stream burst from his cock, pointed horizontally, and it creates a wet streak on the otherwise dry, brown dirt. Then a second, and a third. And a moan of pleasure.

He milks his ‘treasure’ then watches me.

“Need a hand?” he asks, offering his arm in my direction.

I take my hand away, giving him full freedom to jack me off.

With the touch of his silky, cum-covered hand, I don’t last more than four or five of his slow, sensuous pumps.

“Cumming!” I tell him, and he holds me while I explode; one massive burst and multiple, diminishing others. “I can take it from here,” I say, “and there are tissues in the glove box.”

We both clean up.

“Thanks, Rob,” he says, as we buckle up again. “I really needed that!”

“I was going to wait until tonight,” I tell him, “but this was so much better than doing it alone.”

I repeat my earlier offer of lunch, dinner and a shared motel room for the night.

“Thanks,” he says. “Offer accepted.” Then he adds, “Any chance of a massage later on? I haven’t had one for so long, I’ve forgotten how good it feels. You did say that you were a massage therapist, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did,” I tell him. “But the house rule applies – you don’t tell anyone about ‘anything’ and neither will I. Agreed?”

“Totally,” he replies.

Lunch and the continued journey to the motel are filled with family anecdotes, comparisons of our lives and general comments about where we live. I manage to work into the conversation that I don’t fuck with guys.

“No problem!” he grins. “There are plenty of alternatives.”

When we reach the motel, I register, pay for the room and for two breakfasts tomorrow morning.

In our room we ‘freshen up’ which consists of a warm wash with the provided face cloths: face, plus ‘down below’. Ulysses retrieves his shirt and we head to the motel’s dining room.

A man’s meal of steak, eggs, mashed potato and other vegetables.

“You drink beer?” Ulysses asks. “Or wine?”

“Neither,” I tell him, “but by all means order what you want.”

He has a glass of red and I settle for a large, extra-hot coffee.

I pay for the meal, separate to the accommodation, and we head back to the room.

I’m grateful that none of the motel staff has asked any of those annoying questions about us, but Ulysses did manage to throw into a very clinical conversation with the manager, also serving in the dining room, that ‘My friend and I are travelling back to Sydney from up north. Hey, you have a really nice place here!’ which was sufficient inducement to begin a not-so-brief history of the motel.

“Nice dinner, Rob,” Ulysses says. “Thank you very much.”

“If you want to shower, I’ll set up the single bed to give you the massage I promised you,” I tell him.

I grab a couple of towels from the bathroom so that we don’t get anything spilled onto the bed from the massage oil. Or from anything else. LOL.

Ulysses peels off all of his clothes and simply shucks them straight onto the double bed, and I get my first view of his naked backside. Firm, rectangular, muscley glutes which are sparsely-hairy, like his chest. With his fair rump exposed, the golden tan of his upper body is highlighted.

He doesn’t bother to close the bathroom door. In fact, I think that he leaves it open intentionally.

My thoughts are confirmed when he makes a show to me of soaping up all of his body and rinsing it off, ensuring that ‘down there’ receives the lion’s share of attention.

Ulysses calls, “Hey, Rob. You want to join me?”

“Maybe afterwards!” I call back, which elicits a thumbs-up from him and an enormous, white-toothed grin.

He emerges still drying his body. ‘Down there’ seems chunkier than it was earlier.

“How do you want me?” he asks, grinning. I sense an intentional double entendre!

“Face down, chin over the end of the bed. Arms by your sides,” I say.

He manages to comply easily and I get him to move a little closer towards the middle.

“You taking your gear off?” he asks.

I allow my last vestiges of clothing to drop to the floor and I step out of them.

I begin by desensitising his body to my touch by running my fingers lightly from his neck to his feet, including his soles.

I repeat my actions with the full palms of my hands, allowing them to relish the firmness of his glutes.

I do it multiple times, right and left sides of his body, moving freely alongside the bed as I do so, while resting a knee on the bed so as not to put a strain on my back because of the relative low height of the bed.

I can feel the heat emanating from his body and my hands readily absorb it.

With his hands palm-upwards alongside his body, it is easy for me to run my hands down his arms and onto his palms. As I do it to his near-side hand his fingers interlock my own and he gives my hand a gentle squeeze.

I move to his head at the end of the bed, and commence to press from his shoulders alongside his spine towards his glutes, where my hands come to rest.

He can obviously feel my lower thighs touching the sides of his head, and he leans into me.

As I repeat my last action, he moves both of his hands and wraps them around my legs, then runs them up my thighs and rests them on my glutes.

He has mine and I have his. LOL.

The third time, he allows his hands to stray from the back of my thighs to the front, and he ends up with my cock in one hand and my balls in his other.

“Nice!” he mutters.

I move back to the side and, with firm pressure, perform long stroking from his shoulders to his feet. His hands remain alongside his head, palms down.

There are moans of pleasure as I massage his soles. I’m not a specialist in reflexology, but I know that this feels good.

“I’d love to feel the weight of your body on my back,” he says, lifting and turning his head towards me. He widens his legs, revealing his ample balls and chunked-up cock, pointing straight down.

It’s an invitation on which I have to comment.

“Remember what I said,” I tell him. “No fucking, top or bottom.”

“No problem!” he replies. “We don’t have to go that far. Just all good fun.”

I take up a kneeling position between his legs and run my freshly-oiled hands up his thighs, concentrating on the inside and deliberately making contact with the head of his cock and with his balls, before proceeding over his glutes and up his back. As I do so, I allow my body to sink onto his. By the time my hands run over his shoulders and onto the backs of his downturned hands, he has my full weight on his back. I adjust my position so that my cock is resting between the length of the depression between his glutes, which he contracts to grasp it.

He spreads his fingers, allowing mine to interlock with his. He squeezes my hands and then repeats his squeezing of my cock with his glutes. I rest my head on his shoulder and he leans his own against mine.

With him squeezing my hands and my cock, I feel the freedom to begin moving my hips, thrusting up and down his crack. Small movements at first, and then longer.

I pull right back to where I started, and again massage his calves, thighs, glutes and back. Around his shoulders, he emits a small groan. This is not one of pleasure, and he winces as I press around his right shoulder blade.

“That hurt?” I ask.

“Yes,” he mutters. “Probably too much work with the right hand.”

“Picking fruit?” I put to him.

“Of course,” he replies. “What else could it be?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I tell him. “I thought that it could be something else.”

He laughs. “That’s more wrist and elbow action!”

“So, how are the wrist and elbow?” I jokingly throw back at him.

“No problem,” he says. “They’ve been getting lots of exercise lately. They are both very fit!”

I spend a few minutes relieving the tension and trigger points in his upper back, then roll off him.

“OK,” I say. “Time for the front. Turn over.”

There is no hesitation and I get a close-up view of his engorged cock.

“Nice!” is all that I say, repeating his earlier words, then I begin the de-sensitising of his front as I did to his back. More like tickling upwards with my fingertips and then running the palms of my hands downwards.

Moving upwards, his balls come in for a bit of attention, rolling and jiggling, and his cock gets the light treatment, but it receives a firm fist on my way down.

“Fuck! That feels so good!” he moans.

“No fucking!” I remind him.

He laughs.

His pecs, nipples, abs and inner thighs get a good deal of massaging, but I eventually hone in on his ‘treasure’. I add a good squirt of massage oil and give him a firm, slow, sensuous hand job.

At the same time, he plays with my balls and takes hold of my own stiffness. I let him play and add a squirt of oil to heighten the sensation.

With ‘oohs’, ‘aahs’ and moans from both of us, our mutual masturbation is a lot of fun.

“Hey,” he says. “Lie next to me, on your side.”

I assume a position facing him and we continue to play.

Then he says, “Let me do something!”

He wriggles his body right against mine and, adding more oil, ensures that everything is slippery. Then he pushes his cock down between my legs, under my balls and begins slow thrusting. He grips one of my glutes, holding me against him while he pushes and withdraws. I grip his backside and delight in feeling the contractions of his firm muscles. I squeeze my thighs tightly together to increase the sensation for him.

“Almost as good as fucking!” he laughs after a while. “Want to try it?”

We swap.

“Fantastic!” I tell him, with me now doing the thrusting.

He rolls me onto my back, face to face, with my cock still between his legs.

“Keep going,” he tells me.

This is a different sensation again, with his weight on me. I now have to push up with my hips, lifting us both. I can feel my cock sliding against his rigid perineum. Each time I push, he groans.

“You want to change positions?” I ask.

“Nah!” he replies. “This feels terrific. Besides I’m going to cum pretty soon! Keep going!”

I continue to enjoy myself while, at the same time, pleasuring him.

His body starts to quiver and the tempo of his breathing changes. Then his body goes rigid. I feel his cock throb first, and then a hot wetness spreads between our stomachs. Throbbing. Moaning. Wet heat.

“Oh, Rob,” he gasps. “Thank you. That was amazing. Now let me do something for you.”

He uncouples his body from my still-hard and highly-excited cock, then slides down to immediately take it into his mouth. All of it! What he does with his lips and his tongue is so stimulating that it has me right on the edge!

“Gonna cum!” I warn him.

Instead of pulling off me, he takes me deep and starts to hum. The vibrations do it! I try to hold back. Impossible! And I spurt so hard and so many times that I feel faint!

I’m aware of him pulling off me and then the sound of his voice, “You OK? Rob?”

I open my eyes and look into his worried face. “Amazing!” I whisper to him. “Thank you.”

“I thought for a moment that I’d sucked the life out of you,” he says. “Did you enjoy that?”

“Who needs fucking, when you can do that?” I smile at him. “Where did you say you lived in Sydney? Not too far from me, I hope!”

“Always happy to travel for a good massage,” he replies. “Now what about that shower? You look as though you need one.”

We both laugh.

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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’, ‘Liam’, ‘Marco’, ‘Nate’, ‘Oliver’, ‘Paulo’, ‘Quade’, ‘Ronnie, ‘Simon’ and ‘Ty’.
(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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