Massaging Callum

CALLUM

I had seen Callum's uncovered, blond-haired backside on multiple occasions.

Regardless of whichever high-up or low-down aches and pains were troubling him, I had suggested that he strip down to his underpants, explaining that this would enable me to work more easily on any lower muscles down his back which might be triggering issues higher up. Hence, glutes, hamstrings, quads and calves became potential targets for my experienced hands.

Then, with him face-down on the massage table, I had told him that I should protect his Calvin Klein trunks from the massage oil by tucking in a small towel and to then that I should lower the back of them to expose his glutes.

His enthusiastic response, without hesitation, was, `Yeah, mate. Go for it.'

After his first visit, he always seemed happy to have his CK's `down'.

Having first remediated any issues with his back, there had always been a need for some complementary work to be done on the front. Tight muscles around his neck and shoulders were typical of this.

On more than one occasion, after he had turned over onto his back, and even when I covered the ample lump in his underpants with a protective towel, I thought that it seemed a bit chunkier and straighter than when he had first stripped down. And, it was more evident whenever I worked on his thighs. However, seeing it in this state frequently, I concluded that everything had been merely in its most comfortable position for him when he had been lying face-down, with his body weight on it. I never commented on it and avoided touching it – displaying my professional approach to my client, at least outwardly.

Using the same covering-towel to remove any excess massage oil, I had always been able to glimpse his discernible outline more clearly, albeit briefly, before covering everything up again.

On more than one occasion I had thought, `If that thing is soft, how big does it get when it's hard?'

It's footy season again now, and the coach has told all of his team ensure that their bodies are in tip-top condition, which is why Callum was recommended to me regarding a lower back issue in the first place, towards the end of last season.

Cal, as I call him, not quite able to bring myself to using the impersonal `CJ' that he told me his mates use, has been a `regular' ever since that first visit. Regular, as in every month or two, whenever he has strained something in a game, or training, jogging or just `fooling around' as he called it.

On one occasion, he even brought his live-in girlfriend with him, to meet me and to watch what I did. He almost apologised for her presence, saying that she had wanted to know what it was that I did for him that she couldn't do at home.

My suspicion was that whenever he had an appointment with me, she might have thought that he was sneaking out to see another woman.

The day that she `tagged along', I had a very congenial conversation with her and, after explaining the location and remediation of trigger points in muscles, she reckoned that this was beyond her ability to help him with. Cal told me that, curiosity satisfied, she has never asked him again.

I remember the last time that he came. He made a comment about having considered whether or not to wear his Speedos instead of his usual silky and very tight, CK trunks, knowing that I had difficulty tucking the towel into the extended legs, then pulling them up to expose the tops of his hamstrings. Then he added that he hadn't worn his swimmers for over a decade, when he had been a young teenager.

I remember saying, `I'll bet that you couldn't pack all of you into them anymore. You would have grown a lot since then... in case you hadn't noticed.' My double meaning was intentional. He laughed and agreed with me, whichever way he took it.

I was pleasantly surprised, yesterday, to receive a text from him, telling me that he had some sore neck muscles, and that he wanted to be able to move freely during his footy game this coming weekend, and was there any way that I could fit him in for a massage?

<<Of course>>, I texted him, and offered him a choice of times. He took the earliest one, today. Now.

"G'day, mate," he greets me.

"Hi Cal," I reply. "Good to see you. Come in."

He sits, and we talk without mentioning his aches and pains, for the moment.

In response to my question about what he's been doing since I saw him last, he says, "I've been up in the Gold Coast and just got back."

"How was the weather?" I ask, knowing that during the recent hurricane, that particular part of the coast had received a large volume of rain, just presuming that he will say `wet'.

"Terrific," he replies. "Sunny most of the time. Except for one or two days."

I express my surprise.

"And what took you up there, when your work and home and girlfriend are down here?" I continue, making conversation, but curious.

"I'm doing a PT course," he answers, then adds, "I've already finished a Certificate III which qualifies me to take group fitness classes. Next, I'll do the Cert IV so that I can do Personal Trainer work with individuals."

He talks about his aim to mentor younger footballers, about 16 or 17 years old, at a time in their life when they could potentially `go off the rails'. He not only means coaching them in football but, also, taking a more personal interest to ensure that they receive a well-rounded and holistic health experience.

"So, what's the problem with the neck?" I ask, steering the conversation from `pleasantries' back to the real reason for his visit (although he has said on a number of occasions that he actually enjoys my company, wisdom, knowledge and experience).

He indicates where the pain is and how it restricts his mobility, especially when driving and having to turn his whole body to look towards oncoming traffic when pulling out into a street or turning a corner.

I press where I anticipate that the problem could be. "Aargh!" he says. "That's it! How did you know?"

"Would you believe good luck or a bit of an educated guess?" I ask.

He shakes his head and responds, "More like professional experience based on what I told you!"

"OK. I confess!" I say, and we share the humour of it. "OK. Let's get you onto the table," I tell him.

He readily strips off. Shoes. Socks. Shirt. Sweat pants.

His manhood in his Calvin Kleins is lying to the right today, and the head looks a bit larger than I remember, yet obviously `at ease'.

He knows the routine and lays himself, face-down in the hole, feet over the bolster at the opposite end.

I tuck in the towel and lower the back of his undies over his rounded and exercise-toned glutes!

I begin to explore his spine, to determine whether something feels `out'.

I have a thought. I pull his undies back up, remove the towel, and say, "Can you stand up for a minute? I just want to check the balance of your hips while you're on your feet. Face away from me."

He complies readily.

"I'm seeing that your left hip is slightly higher than the right one," I tell him.

"Yeah, I've wondered about that, just looking at myself in the mirror," he replies.

Another tick for me!

"Turn and face me," I tell him, "so that I can check from the opposite side."

He does.

I turn the waistband of his CKs down, front and back, and confirm my posterior analysis, appearing to avoid focussing on his manhood by looking from one hip to the other. "OK. Turn back the other way again."

He does. I place my index fingers on his pelvic bones, then turn the waistband back up, and give his undies a bit of a further lift.

"You know," I tell him, "one day you might even like to try a massage without these on at all."

I want to see what his response will be, considering his `go for it' comment whenever I suggest exposing his glutes on the table.

I had mentioned to him previously, sowing the seed, that some guys prefer to have their massage naked.

"We can do that now, if you like," he says, matter-of-factly and without seeming guarded or hesitant at all.

I'm pleasantly surprised. Very surprised, actually.

"OK," is all that I say, in a tone that communicates `Do it'.

He returns to the chair where his other clothes are, strips off his underpants then takes the few steps back to the opposite side of the table. He is suddenly sporting a stand-out, but incomplete, erection. And, he knows that I can see it!

As he resumes his place, face-down, I make light of the situation, in case he could be embarrassed, which I don't sense at all. "Would it surprise you to know, some naked guys have told me that one of their biggest fears is having an erection?"

His response floors me. "Well, it's just natural, isn't it? Especially for a young guy my age, and having somebody fool around with your body in that general area. I'll bet that it pops up for them a lot. It sure does for me." That comment registers something in my brain for future reference!

"You're not wrong," I answer him. "I've seen a lot of those." We both share the humour of it.

I lay the small hand towel across his body to cover his taut backside then focus my next thirty minutes on his neck and upper back. Warm oil.

From the head of the table, I massage down his spine into his glutes, then up his sides, across his shoulders and back up to his neck. Multiple times, and honing in on any trigger points, the `knots'.

I remove the towel and turn it lengthwise along one side of his body, exposing one glute and covering the other.

Standing on his bare side, I rub from shoulder to ankle and back again. I spend focussed time on his calf, hamstrings and glutes before returning to his shoulders. Three times is a good number.

"That feels really good," he says.

"That's the real advantage of no undies, or Speedos," I smile at him, even though he can't see my face. "Long, uninterrupted strokes are very relaxing."

He agrees, "Yep!"

I keep going, this time moving to include both his outer and inner thighs, taking care not to make solid contact with his balls, very-evident between his legs. However, I do get enticingly close to them!

I also include a full arm and hand massage, pressing into his palm and stroking each of his fingers in turn with my closed, oily fist, perhaps hinting at something a little more sensual, exploring and testing his previous comment.

I take the towel, wipe off the oil and move to exactly repeat everything from the other side, ensuring that his inner thighs receive both light and firm stroking.

I spend a lot of time at the top end loosening up the offending neck muscles and tell him, "I'll do some more on them from the other side."

I look at the clock and, with about two-thirds of our one hour gone, it's time for the reveal. "OK. Flip over," I tell him, holding the towel over his groin as he turns, and I place it on top of his now-distinct firmness, which is lying flat and pointing straight-up, towards his navel.

I spend five minutes working on his shoulders and under and around, his neck. That was, after all, his primary reason for coming to see me.

I include his pecs, abdomen and upper arms.

Again, standing at his head, I massage down his body, from sternum to his pubic area, stopping in his shaved but regrowing, stubbly pubes.

"How are you going, with all this?" I ask.

"Great!" he says, with seemingly-restrained enthusiasm.

He suddenly and unexpectedly becomes talkative, about guys on massage tables having erections and how good it feels to `get off'.

So, I ask, "Have you done that before?" wondering, but anticipating, where this might be leading.

"Yep, lots of times," he says. Then he adds, "When I was in the navy, we always used to go for a massage after a footy game. It always felt terrific."

Just so that there is no misunderstanding, I ask, to clarify, "So, you've had a massage therapist give you a happy ending before?"

"Sure!" he says. "Why not?"

"And have you divulged that to your girlfriend?" I put to him.

"No. I wouldn't tell her that!" he says.

"Neither would I," I say, giving him a micro counselling session, based on experience.

"What she doesn't know, won't hurt me," he laughs. I join him. He repeats my previous mantra, "Besides, what happens in the room, stays in the room! Right?"

I think that he's just drawn a line in the sand as to where confidentiality with me begins and `open communication' with her ceases. Is he declaring and confirming our mutual assurance of secure lips and granting me the freedom to do something?

I again, replace the towel to cover half of his body, including all of his manhood and I massage his sides, lower abdomen, across his exposed pelvis and then his quads. I make a point of massaging them both vertically and horizontally, coming extremely close to his balls without touching them, except, maybe for the regular, occasional slight brush, as if by accident. If I'm right, this will be driving him crazy.

I do both sides.

Then, in removing the towel to wipe off the excess oil, I draw its full length slowly upwards, allowing it to caress his balls and his erection, until everything is exposed.

I'm confident enough now to continue without the towel, so I place it between his knees. He doesn't react. He has his eyes closed.

As I rub my palm repeatedly across his lower abdomen, the back of my hand touches his hardness. It jumps. I remove my hand and watch an ample supply of pre-cum release onto his skin. He's excited.

`OK,' I think. `It's time!'

I take a gentle `handshake' grip of his silky-softness-over-steely-stiffness and ask, "Would you like me to include this muscle for you too?"

He opens his eyes, lifts his head and looks at his manliness, cupped in my hand. "If you like," he says, matter-of-factly, then relaxes his head back down and sighs, very contentedly.

In my mind I can imagine him saying, `It took you a bloody long time to get around to it after all the hints that I was dropping!'

Taking my squirt bottle, I make sure that his erection and ample balls are well-bathed in oil.

I cup his balls and massage them. They are sporting about a three-day stubble. "You shave these too? Like your chest and legs?" I ask.

"Yeah, but not often, because it's hard to shave down there. I nicked myself with a razor once. Very painful! And, actually, I've also been having laser treatments on my chest and legs, to reduce the hair growth."

I keep massaging his abdomen and legs, now including his most rigid muscle. Then, my hands focus exclusively and coordinate – one fondling his large, fully-contracted balls and the other stroking his fully-extended cock. Slowly. Full length. Both directions, down and up. With occasional twisting motions to stimulate the head.

His hips rise and fall to simulate thrusting and I coordinate my hand with his movements. His legs part further in granting full freedom. He sighs again. After a couple of minutes, he says, "Mate, this is so good!"

I keep going. Then I draw my hand slowly and lightly up across his balls, tickling-them. At the same time, I tighten my grip on his erection and pull along its full length. He groans, pleasurably.

Without any warning, he simply says, softly, "I'm cumming," and I barely have time to grab the towel. I catch everything except his initial spurt.

I'm aware that some guys, including me, can be extremely sensitive immediately after an ejaculation, so I gently `milk' him and wipe him, and his penis begins to shrink.

Seeing this, his contracted size, alerts me to the fact that, on previous occasions, what I had seen in his underpants had been, in fact, an erection, instead of the massive, soft sausage which I had concluded that it probably was. So, during almost every other massage session, he'd had an almost-hard-on! Which I didn't touch. Had he wanted me to?

"What a great way to finish," he comments, and his whole body goes into post-ecstatic relaxation. Eyes closed. Long, slow exhalations.

I wait until his normal breathing resumes. "Was that OK?" I ask.

"Mate," he says, "you could charge an extra twenty bucks for that, it was so good!"

"Not necessary." I tell him. "I do what people come for – a professional remedial massage. Any extras, if they want them, are a complimentary bonus!" We both laugh.

I give him time to recover and then say, "OK, let's have a look at those hips again. Stand up and face away from me."

He does.

With one of my palms on each of his glutes and my fingers on his hips, I guide his body forward a few paces. He will now be able to see himself in the full-length mirror. He glances sideways, hesitantly.

"It's OK to look at yourself," I say. "Face the mirror. You're a perfect specimen of manhood."

He laughs, but agrees with me.

"Your hips now look even. I think we've fixed it." I say. "How do you feel?"

"Terrific! But I might need to come back next week," he grins at me. "After a hard game on the weekend."

I smile, and wonder.

He starts to get dressed while I check my appointments.

"Do you want a tissue to put in there?" I ask him, noticing and indicating the small, leaked wetness on the front of his underpants.

"Nah, it'll be fine!" he says, pulling his sweat pants up and over it.

He finishes dressing and I pour us both a glass of water.

He pays me and I tell him my availability for next week.

"Great! Thanks." he says.

I see him out. We shake hands and he, grinning, departs with, "I'll be in touch about next week."

I'm expecting that he will choose an early time in the week. No undies while on the table. Full-body stroking and another happy ending!

And, I may even ask him whether he thinks that any of his footy mates might also benefit from a full-body massage after the following week's game, potentially with `extras'. That is, if I don't hear from one of them beforehand. LOL.

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If you like the stories, and haven't said 'hello' yet, please take a couple of minutes to email me. I try to reply to everyone.

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It is my intention to write a `massaging' story for each letter of the alphabet. You will probably already read `Adam' was the and `Brock'. Watch for `Dylan'.

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