==If you are over 18 and you are offended by gay porno stories I wish you would leave.
If you are under 18, you are not invited here and you must also leave.
Hi, my name is Steve Bartolo. I'm exactly 30 years old. Thirty is a watershed age, especially for a partially gay man. Gaydom is so youth oriented that I feel I may be leaving the "play world". Maybe I should stoke up my boy/girl cells. To a girl I am young. Luckily I still have my looks, slim, dark curly hair, kind of Italian features, you know, full nose and lips. Unlike some Italians I am unhairy. I never have to trim my pubes as they form a line straight line. My chest is devoid of hair, but my Roman pits are luxuriant. I never trim them. Gay guys know that they are the seats of great odors.
There is never enough about me, my favorite subject, but let's get on with the adventure I had in the Hilton Hotel in Santa Barbara. I flew into LAX for a company conference. I am a computer game designer. The flight is long, as you know. I could only get a middle seat and there was a fat guy on my right and a fat lady on my left. I tried to relax; to nap, but each time I felt I was falling asleep, one or the other mountain of flex moves. I had to skip my food service. There was no way I could lower my tray.
By the time I checked into the hotel I was stiff and cranky. I went down to the bar and had my usual pre-dinner cocktail: Manhattan. I know they are for old guys, but I really liked them. I chatted with the portly gray mustached bartender. I complained about my flight. "You feel achy, huh?"
I told him that my back felt like a pretzel.
He handed me a business card. It advertised Jeff, massager of the stars, "You'll be in orbit" It further advised that he specialized in "out" service. I assumed it meant I could get him to come to my hotel room. I laughed at the "out" because I was already out. (Not so funny, but I was jet lagged.)
Oh, I forgot to tell you but the back of the card bore a picture of Jeff. He appeared to be a college age kid with a big smile. I began to feel that Jeff in person, kneading my back was just what I....kneaded (hah.) Remember I'm jet lagged. I asked the bartender if he serves food at the bar. "Only hamburgers." I told him that was fine.
After my hamburger I told the elevator up and went into my room. I picked up the phone and dialed an outside number, then the number of the massage place. A young, slightly gayish voice answered. "Jeff speaking, massager of the stars."
"Hi Jeff, this is Steve Bartolo. I want to arrange for a massage in my hotel room."
He seemed pleased and handled me very cutely. He took down the information and we made the date for about an hour and a half later. Just before he hung up, he said, "Oh, by the way, I have another appointment on the other side of town and I am sending Bruce. You'll love him, he's v-e-r-r-y manly."
I agreed but already mourned the loss of the twink on the back of the business card. I hoped that Bruce was just as collegiate and cute. I had plenty of time to take a shower. Whew, smelling my pits I knew that I really needed it. I finished up and wrapped myself in one of those big Hilton towels, big enough for a very fat man to wrap around. I lay down on the bed and waited. The phone rang about an hour later and I awoke from a very deep sleep. I cleared my throat a few times and hoarsely said, "Hello." It was my massager on the house phone.
"Tell the desk that I am expected. The fucker here is giving me a hard time."
He sure didn't sound like a Jeff. I dialed the desk and gave permission for him to come up. In a few minutes there was a loud rap on the door. I opened it. Wow, this sure was no twink, although he was definitely younger than me....perhaps mid-twenties. He was well over six feet tall, maybe six four or so. He had a cigar clamped in the side of his mouth. His hair was white-walled, his cheeks stubbly. He looked like a drill sergeant and spoke with a gravely voice. "The bed's good enough. I sure as hell didn't want to hump my table up to your room."
I stared at him. He was dressed in white pants and an athletic shirt. The shirt showed off his forearm tattoos and muscles. He had ham hands. "What you staring at guy? I said the bed's good enough. Assume the angle."
I prepared to lie on my stomach and stopped, "Should I remove my towel?"
I recoiled slightly as he answered, "When I'm ready to look at your faggot ass I'll let you know."
I know I reddened on my face and upper chest like I always did when I was embarrassed. This time I was also stung by his insult. I considered throwing him out. I wasn't afraid of him. Although he was bigger than me by five inches and heavier by thirty pounds, I spend five years learning ancient Asian body sport. I was black belt. Still I half enjoyed yielding to his bad-boy masculinity. I obeyed his directions and lay quietly. He opened his zipper bag. He poured some oil on his hands, he hummed a tunelessly as he rubbed his hand together. The fragrance was unlike any massage oil I had ever smelled. Yes it had a perfume, but under the perfume was an earthy, almost garlicky odor. He began massaging my neck. His hands were therefore close to my face and waves of redolence of the oil reached my nose. It had a soothing effect. I found my eyes closing and my whole body relaxing. I was caught in that twilight between sleep and waking. He spoke into my ear, "I use my own special mix of oil. This helps me make sure that the boy I'm working on doesn't get uppity, and relaxes and enjoys my handiwork."
And I must say that he was good at his job. In spite of his uncouth appearance he had great hands. I felt all the kinks straightening out and the blood flowing into each stiff part. He seemed to be able to feel each knot and spent time smoothing and opening them. I found that I was purring, literally. He laughed at me. "You're a good kitten, you like Bruce's magic fingers."
He was now working my gluts. His hands slid into my ass crack and stimulated my anis and the sides of my large ball sack. I was beginning to come to from the effects of the oil. "Ah that feels so good. Don't stop."
"Hey Mary Lou, I'm not here to jerk you off. If you want a happy ending, wait 'til I leave and spank your monkey yourself. But I can give you some ass play. I've got some toys here in my bag."
I half rose, but he put on finger on the hollow of my neck and I was helpless. I knew this move myself. I gasped out, "Look mister, I don't take anything in my ass."
He pulled his hand back and gave me a painful slap on the right buttock, just as the sting was dying away; he did the same thing on the other cheek. "I don't want to play favorites, darling. Each ass half gets it's reward."
I lay there panting. It really hurt. But just as I was going to get up and end this, so called, relaxing massage, he stuck his index finger in my mouth. "Suck on this awhile, see if you can get some spooge out of it." With his other hand he slid an oiled model of a penis in my ass hole. In another minute it began humming and vibrating in my ass. I have never been penetrated so I was not prepared for the exquisite feelings it was producing. I began licking his finger avidly. He was laughing at me. "Oh Sally, you are discovering the joys of getting' your ass worked on. I think I deserve a big tip, Mr. Harrison."
I managed to pull his finger out of my mouth and still mewling with the effect of the dildo I called out in a choked voice. My name is Bartolo, not Harrison."
"Oh shit, aren't you the guy who wanted to get roughed up with a little S & M?"
"No I'm the guy who wanted to have a relaxing massage and maybe a happy ending, if it worked out that way. You're in trouble man. You attacked me sexually and physically. I'm calling the police. You're going to end up as a registered sex offender."
Suddenly Bruce didn't talk like a drill sergeant. His voice rose an octave and he suddenly evinced a slight lisp. He fell down to his knees. "Mr. Bartolo, sir, please don't report me. I was just doing an act I thought you wanted. I'm really a gentle girl. You can do what you want with me. I'll give you the best blow job you ever had." He put out his long, smooth, pink tongue and waggled it suggestively.
I stared down at him. My towel had fallen off by now. "How about a fuck?"
His face was working and his brow was furrowed. "You want me to fuck you? I usually don't do that, I don't have a condom with me, but if that's what you want, I'll do it."
"No big guy, I want to get in your big, beautiful, hairy ass. My cock is jumping with desire for it."
"No way, sir, my ass is for shitting,,,,,,,,it's a one-way street."
I reached for the telephone. "Get me 911," I spoke to him while waiting. This could mean ten to twenty for you Brucy."
"Wait," he was almost sobbing, "Mr. Bartolo, you can have my ass, but be gentle, please, I'm new at this."
"Don't worry, you'll grow to love it. Just don't keep calling me all next week to fuck you again. I'll be busy with my work. Get undressed!"
He stared at me a long time, then let out a long sigh and slowly took off his white jersey top. Whew, what a chest, broad, slightly hairy and muscular, but when his pants came off, that was the real McCoy. He had the thick muscular thighs I love, decorated with shiny brown hair, especially heavy on the inner thighs. His cock was like a lion in the thicket, his pubes were natural and wild. Then he turned around to lean over the desk in the corner and he revealed the hottest ass I have ever seen, it was fuzzy all over. The halves were tight enough to bounce pennies on them, so firm that they stood open and revealed the tender pink ass hole between the soft hairs on his inner cheeks. I came closer to look, his ass hole was ringed with hair, but the ring left a clear space around the pucker.
I reached out my hand and slipped it into his ass crack. He flinched. I touched the outer edge of his anis. It sucked in and out at my touch. He let out a long held breath. I wet my middle finger and inserted it. The inside was hot as an oven. His ass began to involuntarily move in slight fucking motions. I believe that at that moment he had surrendered. His high brain function was over. He had gone down to the animal consciousness and his animal nature wanted to be dominated and fucked.
I lined up my cock with his hole, grabbed his hips for support and began his final capitulation and humiliation. "I'm right here, cock just a half inch from your hole. I see your ass ring pushing out like it wants to kiss my dick. Do you want to be fucked? I want do it until you ask for it. Come on. This is what you've really been waiting for in your heart of hearts, in your insides. You want me to give you the ultimate massage, the massage of your male clit. Make up your mind. Quickly."
I heard a small boy's voice and barked at him, "What did you say? I can't hear you." (I said that like the marine drill sergeant.) Again, the baby voice. This time I could make out what he said. He said, "Please fuck me, I want it. You are s-o-o-o hot, my cock is drooling."
I wasted no more time, I plunged in cruelly. He screamed with pain and surprise. "Christ, you bastard, you're killing me. Pull it out. I can't stand it." Poor boy was sniffling a little bit.
I put my hand on the back of his neck and massaged it and spoke soothingly. "Brucy girl, it'll stop hurting if you count up to ten, by ten you will be loving it."
I slowly fucked in and out being careful to rub against his hot button. He stopped breathing loudly in alarm and settled down. He began to say, "H-m-m", each time I rubbed against his prostate. I knew this was new to him and he was gradually loving it. His first "hmm's" turned to constant sighs, then full fledged moans. He now was fucking his ass back to get more of my tube. Then the final stage as he became vocal, "Oh yeah, you hot boy, keep fucking me, do it harder, I can take it, make me cum."
I really got into a hard bang job, my pubes hitting his ass hole each thrust. Now he was howling. Suddenly he went rigid as his big bad cock began decorating the desk with cum. I felt his ass hole spasms around my cock and he massaged me into my own heavy cum. I grunted and moaned my cum into his virgin ass. Soon I pulled out to his sad cries of "please stay in longer."
I sat down on a chair as he slowly rose, his ass dripping my cum. I lit a cigarette. "You were worth the trouble. You are a good fuck Cora."
He laughed and said, "I'm just an actor. Even the tattoos are just ink that washes off. I can do a tranny if asked, or a blond gay boy. I am an actor." He said the last with the proud air of a Shakespearian ham. "Hey Bartolo, you want a stinkity pinkity?"
"Okay, lay it on me girl."
"I'm a lesbian thespian, funny, huh?"
"A riot."
"Urr, sir, would you like another massage, no charge for this one or the next, if you promise to fuck me."
"By Gad I created a monster. Sure, but tell me, did I miss anything with Jeff?"
"Jeff is hot, but the only thing he'll do is a hand job, but he's good at it. He is a beautiful boy, but I never was able to get it on with him. You could try."
End
This was a tease. Maybe I should call Jeff. What is his secret? Why is he so reluctant to go further?