Massage Tales: Massaging Victor

VICTOR

On holidays

There are certain attractions that I look for when I book my annual summer holiday.

Among many places where I have stayed, this particular resort is my favourite.

Why? The quality of the rooms and inclusions. The on-site restaurant. The toys, such as the catamarans, surf skis, paddle boards and jet skis. And the two swimming pools – the outdoor one and the smaller, heated indoor one. The gym. The spa. The sauna. The proximity to surfing beaches. And all of the tanned and toned summer bodies who hang out here! And, as a massage therapist, I value observing excellent muscle tone. On excellent bodies.

There are certain times of the day when I really enjoy hanging out near either of the pools, although the larger, outdoor pool is far more popular.

After breakfast, it's the time when the people with the most energy, and those who are not `hung over' from activities such as night-time drinking or partying, come out to play. As well as the smaller kids, with a family `guardian' supervising.

Then, around lunchtime, whole families come down from their apartments, for a swim while lunch is being prepared; maybe the dad is utilising the BBQ while the mum is arranging the salads on an umbrella-shaded table. And it also gives me the chance to see who `is connected' to whom and to note if any guys seem to be on `big-brother duty' with younger siblings.

And, the time after dinner is usually when the teenagers like to monopolise the outdoor pool, fool around with one another, oblivious to the noise that they are creating, but still early enough so that nobody really complains. Sometimes there is also a bit of hanky-panky in the pool in places where the submarine lighting is dimmest.

I observe a lot of the `activity' from my favourite apartment's balcony, two floors directly above the outdoor pool. I also get to note which guys are `chick magnets' and which ones favour pairing off with a girl, and which ones seem to muck around exclusively with mates and just how physical they get with one another.

When I'm down at pool level, I try to be as nonchalant and discrete as possible in studying them, like when I `sunbake' on the partially-reclined sun lounge with dark glasses masking my eyes. Or, in reading a book (sometimes it's the daily newspaper) with occasional glances over the top to take in the nearby activity.

Occasionally, in search of something to eat or drink, I get up and walk past groups of people, and say `good day' to various and selected ones, especially the parents with handsome offspring round around them, who then, usually introduce both themselves and their teenage sons and daughters. So, when I return, I settle back into my previous position, with refreshments, better-informed about who's who.

Just doing normal and friendly guest stuff!

One group that caught my attention two days ago was a handsome, tousle-haired 20-ish guy. And his younger sibling who sported similar physical features, but whom I would describe more as `cute' than handsome. Both were sitting with their mother. I guessed.

Yesterday, after lunch, in my usual amicable custom, I strolled by, said `hello', introduced myself and got to know them as Margaret, Michael and Victor.

After observing Michael, his body, and his touchy-feely relationship with his younger brother in the pool, I did have some thoughts, and plans, of getting to know him better. Until today. The happy trio has been joined by a young lady who, by their interaction, must be Michael's girlfriend.

So much for my fantasy!

I decide to ease my disappointment by having a spa and spending some time in the sauna.

When I return from my room, still attired in my `Speedos', towel over my shoulder, and having collected the #2 sauna key from reception, Margaret and her company have gone.

The large circular spa, indoor, just off the pool deck, is open to all-comers, on the condition that any children are supervised. There is also a shower.

Beyond that, there are two locked doors. One leads to the smallish, `intimate' sauna and the other to the well-equipped gymnasium. Both require a key from reception and are restricted to people aged 18 and older.

The spa is already bubbling, and occupied by three people, basically with their backs to me. Two are arm-over-shoulder close together, and the other is at about a metre away.

I place my towel with the others on the wooden bench and ease myself into the steaming, aromatic bubbles.

"Hi, Rob," Michael greets me as I head for the largest gap around the edge, virtually opposite him and his girlfriend.

"Hi Michael, and Nicole, and Victor," I reply. "Great minds think alike, eh? I love this spa when the water's hot."

Michael says, "Hey, Rob, seeing that we're here for a week, why don't you call me `Mick'?"

Nicole adds, "And call me `Nic'."

Victor says, "And I prefer `Vic'."

"That's very funny," I tell them smiling, and then pointing to each in turn, I say, "Mick and Nic and Vic. Pure poetry!"

However, in my mind, I would really think of them by their full names.

At this closeness, and from their expressions and voices, I'm tempted to hazard a guess at their respective ages. Michael, a touch younger than me, may be 20. Nicole, about 17. Victor is harder. 15? 14? 16?

We spend a lot of time making small-talk about where we are from, what we do, what we like to eat, what movies we have seen or intend to see while we're in town, etc.

All the while, I'm studying Michael's features.

His light brown, tousled hair, now wet, is flat on his head and appears darker. I'm tempted to throw into our `conversation' that people shouldn't submerge their heads in a spa because of the higher risk of ear infections, but words don't come out. I wouldn't want to offend him, in case there is still a chance of us becoming friends.

He has `normal' eyebrows over sparkling hazel eyes and now-wet, clumping long eyelashes. His straight nose and relatively small lips sit perfectly above his rounded chin. His grin is impish. I can see why Nicole is attracted to him! Hell, I'm finding myself attracted to him!

I look from big brother to little brother. They are very similar, including height and upper-body muscles, except that one is older and the other has discernibly younger features. One has some chin stubble and the other doesn't. Both have the same attractive eyes and playful grins. And, from my previous observation of both in their Speedos, one has slightly larger and more rounded `assets' than the other, which is to be expected!

As the conversation begins to flag, I say, "Hey, it's been good to chat with you guys, but I need to hit the sauna before this spa water has my skin looking like a prune!"

I clamber out and retrieve my towel and key.

As I put the key into the lock of the solid-timber door to the sauna, I hear Michael say to his brother, "Hey, mate, Nic and I are going to head straight down to the beach for no more about an hour. Can we get you to look after our stuff and take it all back to the room?"

"Sure, no prob!" I hear him reply.

I close the door firmly behind me and it clicks, `locked'. There is another door into the actual `hot' room which is obscured from view while ever the main door is open.

This `ante-room', well-lit, is about one metre wide and two long, with a bench and hooks for clothes that you don't want wear inside, or things that you don't want to roast, like your phone.

The sauna itself is only about two metres by two. The door to it has a little square window and, peering in, there is a reddish, very dim light. I can only just make out that it is empty.

I pull the door open and feel the gush of heat on my body, but mostly on my face and deeper, into my nostrils and lungs, as I inhale.

I close the door, spread a ladle-full of water across the hot stones and take the higher of the two rows of seats as the resultant heat and steam spread. I sit on, then open, my wrapped-around towel, exposing my naked body to the dim light and the heat.

If there were four adults in here, it would feel crowded. That is probably why there are only two keys. When I was given #2, I had anticipated that it might already be `occupied'. But, not so! Thankfully.

My eyes are closed, and I have relaxed into the heat. My body is covered in beads of perspiration, many of which I feel tickling my body as they succumb to gravity.

I hear the `outer' door open, then click closed, and I automatically `cover up' with the two flaps of my towel.

Soon, the lit-from-behind silhouette of a head appears, pressed against the little window, apparently scanning for occupants.

As the door opens and then closes, the light from the ante-room highlights a familiar shape.

"Is that you, Mick?" I ask. "I thought that you were going to the beach."

He puts one foot on the lower seat, steps up, and then settles next to me.

"It's me, Vic, actually," he replies.

"Vic, how did you get in here?" I put to him.

"With the key," he replies, "Number #1".

I comment, "Reception only issues a key to people who are 18 or over. And I know that they only give out two at a time. So, now, I have one, and you must have the other one."

"Correct!" he says.

"So, how old are you?"

"I must be eighteen, then, mustn't I?" he answers, cheekily.

"You look more like 14!" I reply sceptically. Then I hit him with, "So what year were you born?"

I can tell from his hesitation, that he is doing a calculation.

"If you are really 18," I say, "then you would know what year you were born without having to work it out."

"I do have a licence, you know," he replies.

I can't tell whether he's miffed or being a smart-alec.

"Did you drive here or come in by coach?" I put to him.

"By car," he answers.

"What car?" I question.

"White Hyundai Kona."

There's only one white Kona in the underground car park," I inform him, "and I've parked next to it. It has `L' plates on it. Is it yours?"

"Yes."

"So," I deduce, "you are actually 16!"

"Well, you can't get a Learner's Licence until you are sixteen in this state," he replies.

"So, how did you manage to get the key for the sauna?" I put to him.

Vic grins, "My brother got it from reception. It was with his things that he asked me to take back to our room. He won't be needing it for at least an hour."

"So, why are you in here?" I ask.

"To have a sauna, obviously."

"What? On your own?"

"Yes."

I say, "It's funny that just before I came in here, I heard you agree to take your brother's things back to your room. Did you follow me?

"You came in first, so I must have followed you," he replies cautiously.

"Why?" I ask.

He answers in a tone which is semi-accusing, but with a large dose of flirtation. "Because I've seen you checking me out."

"When did I do that?" I ask, defensively.

"Ever since mum, Mick and I arrived," he says.

Should I tell him that I was more focussed on his older brother?

"So, what if I was looking?" I ask. "That doesn't explain why you followed me in here."

He doesn't answer me in words. Instead, he undoes his towel and displays a fully-erect penis. Not long, but thick, flawless and tight. Perfect for an adolescent!

"Isn't this what you really wanted to see?" he asks, and slides his backside closer to me until our thighs are touching.

Without saying anything, I look into his grinning eyes, close to my face, and then study his body, as much as the dim light permits. However, my eyes have sufficiently adjusted to the light, to make it easier.

His ceiling-pointing erection is perfectly-formed and rigidly-straight. Perhaps just a `smaller' version of what I had envisaged his older brother's to be, Handsome for a younger brother!

At its base, he has a tuft of dark brown, curly, adolescent pubic hair, and his round, spreading balls appear hairless, like the rest of his body.

"You can feel it, if you want," he says cheekily, grinning directly into my eyes.

"Why would I want to do that?" I ask him, and swallow nervously.

"Because you have a stiffy too," he replies. "And because I think that you want to!"

I know that he's right, but I look down to confirm what he's saying and how he could tell!

As if the tent in my towel wasn't sufficient evidence, the half of it nearer to Vic has slipped down, and my cock is actually visible, holding up the other half, like a tent pole.

Instead of covering up, I remove the towel flaps completely. "Happy now?" I ask him. "I'll bet that you just actually wanted to see mine. "Didn't you?"

"Nice!" he grins, and boldly takes hold of it. "Yours is bigger than Mick's!" He encourages, "You can feel mine. Go on! It's OK."

Can I resist? "You are sixteen, aren't you?" I put to him. "I don't need any legal hassles!"

"You already worked that out yourself, didn't you?" he asks. "Go ahead. Feel it."

Although more at ease with willing, naked bodies on my massage table, I tentatively enfold his erection in my fist. It jerks at my touch, and mine responds similarly.

"You can play with it, if you like," he says, slowly beginning to rub mine up and down and running his fingers around the head. It is instantly obvious that he is no novice at this!

"You really know what you're doing, don't you?" I put to him, savouring his touch and action.

"Of course!" he replies. "Mick taught me when I was twelve. When I walked into his bedroom one day from our shared bathroom, he was doing it to himself. Actually, I was just standing at his doorway, watching him. When he finally saw me, he yelled, `What are you doing?' and I answered, `What are YOU doing?'"

"He said, `Get in here and I'll show you, but if you tell anyone, I'll creep into your room while you're asleep and choke you to death!' He showed me what to do and let me do it to him until his spunk spurted out. Then, he did it to me and it felt amazing! I do it all the time now but I really prefer doing it with someone else, instead of just by myself."

"Why me?" I put to him, while both of our hands keep moving.

"I recognised the look on your face," he tells me. "Mick gets that look whenever he's horny and wants to muck around with me in his bedroom or mine. He doesn't need to ask. Besides, I like you."

It's ironic, I think, that I'm already doing with the young, 16-year-old brother what I had hoped to do with the 20-year-old brother! And I didn't even instigate anything!

I feel my body give a surge of pre-cum which Vic takes and spreads, expertly, down my shaft. My cock jerks at his touch.

"Nice!" he says. "I knew that you wanted this!"

I feel his own cock get wet and I make it slippery all of the way down too. I fondle and tickle his smooth balls, and he puts his head back and groans.

"I can suck you off, if you want," he tells me. "Mick taught me how to do that too. He reckons that I'm really good at it."

"Why? Is that what you want me to do to you?" I put to him.

"Hell, yeah!" he grins at me. "Would you? Mick hasn't done it since his girlfriend came on the scene. I hate her. He spends all of his time fucking her instead of me."

"Whoa! What did you just say?" I exclaim. "Did you just say that Michael fucks you?"

"You can do it too, if you want," he tells me, quite shamelessly. "I enjoy it."

"Hey, Vic," I say. "I don't mind wanking and sucking, but that's where I draw the line!"

"I'll settle for a blow job then," he tells me. "Thanks for offering!"

"I wasn't exactly offering," I tell him, "but I wouldn't feel right doing it in here, anyway. You never know when somebody could come along. Maybe the manager, or a cleaner, with another key!"

Vic says, "Mum's gone shopping and Mick said that the two of them would be about an hour, so we could go to our place,"

"Actually," I tell him, "I think that my apartment would be safer. I have it all to myself, and I'm not expecting anyone."

"OK. Let's go!" he enthuses releasing his grip. Then, pausing, he says, "Oh, wait. We'd better not leave together. You go first. What's your room number?"

I tell him.

"Nice!" he announces. "Two doors from mine. Same floor."

In the ante-room, I put my Speedos back on, and sling the large beach towel over my shoulder, allowing it to hang down the front to disguise my excitement. Then I leave.

I take the lift to my floor, and encounter Margaret coming out of her room as I pass it.

"Forgot my purse!" she says. "When I fished my phone out of my bag, I noticed that my purse wasn't there! Just as well I didn't already have a basket full of groceries at the checkout."

I'm glad that Vic and I didn't finish playing sooner and that he didn't come up with me!

I open my door, check that the place is tidy enough for a visitor, and then wait. Encouraged by what is going to happen, my cock is still hard.

I hear a tentative knock, open the door, and Vic looks each way, up and down the corridor, before ducking inside.

"I had to put all of Mick's and Nic's things in our room first," he says, as if to explain why he kept me waiting more than two minutes. "There was nobody there."

"I saw your mother," I tell him. "She was coming out of your room when I passed it."

"But she already went shopping," he says.

"And forgot her purse," I reply. "Just as well we didn't come back any earlier! Now, where were we?"

We shed our scant clothing and sit side-by-side on the comfortable triple lounge. It is easy to sink into a reclining position and have full access to each other's body, and we re-start our stimulation of each other.

In better light this time, I again admire his youthful body and handsome `assets', which respond with my every change of action.

He copies what I do. "You're good at this too!" he chuckles. "Nice!"

We continue until I warn him when I feel the beginnings of the end. "Getting close."

He sits up, and moves to kneeling between my knees and immediately goes down on my cock. His experienced tongue and suction hasten what is inevitable.

"You want to pull off, now?" I ask.

He does. But only to answer, "Nah! I love this bit!"

And he takes all of it into his mouth, swallowing twice, while I spasm and moan.

"Tissues!" I say, pointing to the coffee table.

He retrieves the box, and I take a couple to mop up. Not that he has left much! I'm basically drying off his saliva.

"Thanks, Vic." I say. "That was terrific! Your turn. Sit back on the lounge."

He resumes his former reclining position, legs apart, cock standing upright. Well, it's actually standing rigid off his abdomen instead of lying on it.

I run my fingers up his inner thighs, past his cock and up to his chest, rub his nipples and then proceed back down to cup his balls in one hand, while I take his steely adolescence into my mouth fully, rubbing my nose in his pubic curls.

I use my mouth and tongue, as he did. Then I pull off, and gently draw in each of his balls in turn. Round and smooth! Then back to his cock, ensuring that my lips squeeze his stiff bulk on the way back up, until I detect the change in his breathing and the tensing of his body.

"Gonna cum!" he groans.

"Relax and just let it go!" I tell him.

I count the spurts as he climaxes. Four big ones. And I suck out the remnant.

"Aargh!" he says. "It's getting too sensitive!"

I know what that feels like, so I pull off and give him the tissues.

I sit alongside him. We are both spent!

"Wow!" he grins at me. His eyes are sparkling through those thick eyelashes. "That was really good! And you did some stuff that I want to try on Mick, when his girlfriend gives me the chance!"

We loll in post-euphoric relaxation, simply cupping each other's balls.

So, Michael swings both ways. There's hope for me yet!

He finally speaks. "Rob," he asks, "did you say that you were a massage therapist?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Well, I had a car accident last week. Somebody hit me while I was driving, and I've got a sore neck. Do you think that you could check it out for me? Please?"

"What? In the Kona?" I ask him.

"No," he replies. "It was a different one."

I get him to sit on the floor in front of me, between my legs, and I feel around his shoulders, scapulae and neck. Some places elicit an "Ouch! Yes! That's the spot! And that one too!"

I relieve the trigger points and work the stiffness out of his muscles. Then, with him lying on the carpet, I do a minor adjustment on his neck.

"Ohh. That feels so much better," he says, twisting his head from side to side, then up and down. "Thank you so much. For everything."

We both put our Speedos back on, and he pulls on his shorts too.

I check the hallway. "All clear," I tell him.

"Catch you later," he says, and gives the bulk in my Speedos a soft, parting grope. He turns and grins. I manage to land a swat on his tight backside on his way out.

I close the door, put on the jug for a coffee and take a quick shower.

I can't believe what has just happened! And, I reckon that it couldn't have been any better with his older brother.

Having woken from a necessary nap, I decide that a swim in the outdoor pool, will be refreshing.

"Hello Margaret," I say to the boys' mother, who is enhancing her tan on one of the reclined sun lounges.

"Ah, Rob," she says. "Please sit down. Can we talk while there's nobody else around?"

What for? My heartbeat turns into a thumping bass drum.

"Victor has just had a chat with me," Margaret starts.

I instantly feel sick.

"He told me something that you did to him," she says, with minimal expression.

Shit! Why would Vic tell his mother what we did? Especially when he started it! I'm as good as dead! I say nothing and wait for the guillotine to drop!

Margaret says, "Victor mentioned that you were able to relieve the pain in his neck that he's had for a week. Would it be too much of an imposition for you to look at my elbow? I have really bad pains there. Everyone reckons that it's `tennis elbow', but I don't play tennis."

I hope that the relief in my chest and gut are not too question-provokingly obvious as I exhale. But I relax, massively.

"Of course," I say, calming my voice. "I suspect that it's tendonitis, and probably emanating from your shoulder. I may not be able to `fix' it totally in a few minutes, but I'm sure that I can relieve your current pain."

We move to some chairs beneath an umbrella and I go into my `tennis elbow' routine.

"Where is everybody?" I ask.

"Michael has taken Nic for another driving lesson in my Kona," Margaret starts. "She wasn't feeling well for the first few days that we were here, and spent most of the time in her room."

"I parked next to the Kona," I tell her. "I thought that the `L' plates might have been Victor's,"

"Why would you think that?" she responds.

"Well," I say, "he's young and he did say that he hurt his neck when someone ran into his car."

"I think that you might have misheard him," Margaret tells me. "He was driving a `kart', not a `car'. It was in a go-kart race. He's an amazingly-good competitor in his age group."

"Do you need a licence at a competitive level for karting?" I ask, running through my head everything else that Victor told me, realising that his evasiveness was to avoid telling a lie.

"Of course," she replies. "They get up to some pretty amazing speeds."

While we've been talking, Vic has emerged and walked up behind his mother, listening. She hasn't seen him.

Margaret continues, "The ironic thing is, that despite his driving skill in a kart, Victor won't be eligible for a Learner's Licence on the road for another thirteen months."

My brain instantly does the calculation. WTF! The cute, randy bugger IS only fourteen!

I look over Margaret's shoulder and Vic pulls an `Oops!' face at me, then shrugs and grins. He walks past us, drops his towel and his tight glutes head for the pool.

"Hey, Vic!" I call after him. "No diving for 24 hours. You need to look after your neck."

He turns, gives me a thumbs-up and grins, "Or, you could always give me another treatment!"

Not gonna happen!

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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', `Ty' and `Ulysses'.
(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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