As I stepped outside of Canefield Airport on the island of Dominica, the memories came flooding back. I could feel the warmth and humidity being carried on gentle breezes, while the faint scent of tropical flowers wrapped around the sounds of laughter being shared by the locals. But more than anything, I could feel the relaxation. Anyone could feel the relaxation, but for me, it seemed to invade my senses, taking over my being, and days and months of anxiety seemed to melt away. I hadn't realized just how much I had needed this.
The taxi ride to the hotel just outside of Roseau seemed familiar, yet different. Sylvie and I had taken this very ride just 5 years ago, and again for the next three years to celebrate our wedding anniversary. But last year we had missed the trip, on purpose. It is hard to take a "remembrance trip" when you're knee-deep in a nasty divorce. I had thought that getting married later in life would work to my advantage. I had taken a long time to find my soul mate, and when I met Sylvie, I thought I had. I was 39, she was 37. It was the first marriage for both of us, and we both came into the union with money and success. She was big in real estate, and I had gotten my Ph.D. in Celtic literature, taught and lectured at prestigious universities around the world, and was considered somewhat of an expert in my area of study by just about everyone.
Getting married later in life also had its downside. When a woman realizes that she has fewer years to nag you into submission, she subconsciously ratchets up the intensity of the nagging to make up for lost time. Our courtship had been wonderful, almost magical. On our honeymoon, on this very island, we had been so boisterous in our love that the couples occupying the rooms on either side of ours requested room changes during our first night. Something about the level of noise and "sexual frenzy" that caused them to not be able to sleep.
But on the way home from the honeymoon, something changed. Sylvie got off the plane as an angry woman, and things went downhill from there. We revisited the site of our honeymoon each of the next three years, and returning from the trips, the relationship sunk lower each time. Last year, I spent my anniversary huddled with my lawyer, trying to save my assets, to no avail. When it was all over, even my lawyer felt like he'd been castrated by her lawyers. I got out of the marriage with my family jewels, but just barely. Even though Sylvie had never treated me as an expert at anything, apparently being considered an expert by others can translate into big dollar signs for the lawyers.
When it came time to spend some "R and R," my friends said that this was the last place I should go. But this island was a place I knew, and I came back to see if I could find a few shreds of my dignity to form a new foundation, a new life. So here I was, for some rest.
I strode through the spacious lobby of the New Martinique Hotel to the main counter for check in. Not much had changed. I even remembered Enrico, the hotel manager, who checked me in. I looked around and saw a few new faces, and a few familiar ones. A tall blonde man made eye contact and nodded to me from across the lobby, then hurried on his way. When I turned back around, Enrico was sliding something back toward me along with my Visa card.
"What's this, advertising?" I joked as I returned my charge card to my wallet.
"No, Mr. Wolling. It is a card, a coupon for a free massage. Mr. Jay has asked us to give them to our valued customers. You just saw him there, in the lobby.
"The tall blonde?"
"Yes. Mr. Jay and his partners just opened up a health club right here on the hotel grounds. Maybe you have seen it being built last year when you were here? And where is Mrs. Wolling?
"There is no Mrs. Wolling anymore, just me. I'm here to lick my wounds from a nasty divorce."
"Begging your pardon, Mr. Wolling......."
"Enrico, its Max. Just Max. It was Mrs. Wolling that wanted all that recognition, all that fanciness. I just want to be Max. So I guess I'll take my coupon and get a little release from all the stiff muscles and tension. Have you got someone to take my bags to my room?"
"Yes, Mr. Wolling....I mean, Mr. Max.....if that is okay?"
"Yes, Enrico, Mr. Max is okay." I laughed as I headed out the door toward the back balcony, to look out over Roseau and the beautiful Caribbean Sea. Or was it the Atlantic Ocean here? I never could remember.
There, over to my right, was a new building that hadn't been here two years before. That must be the health club. I walked down the steps toward the gardens separating the buildings, admiring the beautiful and fragrant native flowers planted there. A gardener, stripped to the waist with his back to me, was working hard enough to raise a sheen of sweat over what appeared to be a very buff body. As I passed, I looked down and he looked up. I did a double take. He looked a lot like the blonde Mr. Jay I had just seen, but this guy was a bit smaller, with a shaved head. He also had a beautiful tattoo of a panther across his left pectoral, and a sleeve of geometric designs, tastefully done, cascading down his right arm. He seemed to notice that my look at him turned into a stare, lasting a bit too long, and a sly smile spread across his face. In embarrassment, I turned back around and continued to the health club.
It seems that everything here had two speeds, slow and slower. Not that slow was bad; as a matter of fact, slow was what I was looking for as I attempted to unwind from what had been a whirlwind, train-wreck type of year. Even though the health club appeared to be empty, I had to wait for over an hour for my appointment, so I decided to go unpack, and maybe go the bar for a quick drink. Waiting an hour would have driven Sylvie up a wall, so I felt ready to savor and enjoy every minute of the wait.
When I got to my room, the bellhop had just arrived at the door with my bags. While the other two men I had encountered, Mr. Jay and the gardener, were fair skinned, this guy could have passed for a Nubian god. His skin seemed darker than the average islander that I remembered, but he probably was local. If he had been from anywhere else, he probably never would have ended up on this little island. His facial features were flawless; he carried himself with great dignity, and he filled out his uniform in ways that were almost pornographic. His thighs, his bubble butt, his crotch all seemed to have the seams on his pants stretched to the limits. His crisp cotton shirt was open almost to the waist, and two beautiful pecs were peeping through the opening as they bounced above washboard abs that probably made an eight pack. A small vest covered the shirt, but for all it covered, he might as well have not worn it.
"Everything okay, Mr. Max?" Apparently Enrico had already put out the word.
"Yes everything seems to be fine, .......I'm sorry, I don't know your name."
"Jayson. Jayson Truitt, Mr. Max. You need anything, ANYTHING, you get on the phone and ask for Jayson Truitt. You'll have it in a flash!" And he smiled a smile that nearly blinded me. I could feel my cock plumping up, something that hadn't happened much in the past two years. I think I needed to change clothes, and go to the bar for that drink.
I asked Jayson to get me some fresh towels, and a menu from the restaurant down the street. I didn't remember the name, but they had seafood paella that was out of this world. I walked into the bathroom, and decided to take a quick shower. I was just getting out as Jayson walked in with the towels and the menu.
"Here, Mr. Max, let me help with that." And without waiting for an answer, Jayson began to rub down my back, my legs, my butt, everything. He seemed to slow down and spend a lot of time drying my ass and my crotch, going slow over my cock and balls. My man tool was well beyond stiff, and I wanted it to go down so that I could get dressed, but he wasn't helping it. He looked up into my eyes, and I could see lust. At least I think it was lust. I hadn't seen that look in a guy's eyes since I had been in college.
"You know what, Jayson? I've got an appointment for a massage in about fourty-five minutes, and I wanted to stop in the bar right before that, so can we continue.......could I take a rain check..... for whatever?" I sat on the bed, trying to regain my composure.
"Oh yes, Mr. Max. Later is good. I'll find you later."
After he hung up the towel, he walked over to my suitcase, popped it open, and took out a pair of slim leg black jeans and a short sleeved gauze shirt. "These will look nice tonight," he stated, and proceeded to slide the jeans over my feet, and up my legs. He pulled me to my feet, and pulled the jeans up the rest of the way, buttoning them closed as he went. He ran his hands all over the front and back of the jeans as though trying to smooth out the wrinkles from being packed, or maybe he was just trying to get in as much touching as he could. He even jammed a few fingers into my ass crack, pushing the fabric right up against my puckered hole, and I thought I was going to lose it right there.
"Yes, these will look nice tonight. Can you get the shirt on okay, by yourself?" He ran one hand up my chest, to my right nipple and rubbed the back of his hand across it a few times. I involuntarily moaned. "Yes, nice," he stated quietly.
It was a good thing he left right then, I thought, because I was about to throw him on the bed and fuck his brains out. For me, that seemed to be a strange thought, since I had not been intimate with a man for almost twenty years, and then it had only been with Rey, my college roommate. Rey had been dead now for nearly eighteen years. I had graduated and went on for my Masters degree, moving more than a thousand miles away, and he hadn't taken our breakup well. Alcohol had been his undoing. Now, with the damage Sylvie had done to my sex drive, and the fact that I had sworn off women, maybe it was time to revisit the other side of the fence. Funny, but I didn't remember this hotel being so gay-friendly in my previous visits.
I stopped in a small, crowded bar off the lobby for that drink, then moved on for the massage appointment. I was ushered into a beautiful room, and was asked to undress, then crawl under the sheet on the table. Three walls were painted in pastels and local artwork was tastefully presented on each wall. The fourth wall was entirely glass. French doors swung open from a metal door frame to allow access to a small balcony, and the rest of the wall was ceiling to floor windows, giving the client and the masseuse a breathtaking view of the ocean, the beach, and the native flora. The building was perched on a small rise, so no one from below could really see in to the room, and the sense of privacy seemed to make the natural beauty almost intoxicating. I was captivated with the sight, and was startled by the masseuse knocking on the door, asking for permission to enter.
"Sorry, not ready! I was admiring the view." I hurried to disrobe, and then slid beneath the sheet. "Okay, come on in."
I was facing the view, so I didn't see who it was, but large, soft hands began to rub the stress out of my neck. "Headphones?" he asked. Yes, the voice told me it was a man, not a large woman with big hands. I began to giggle to myself at the joke, and then the headphones slipped over my ears, and all I could hear was the sound of soft, smooth jazz. Guitars. Soft, smooth jazz, heavy on the guitars. This place was getting better by the minute.
The oils that the masseuse used must have included some essential oils like peppermint. I could feel my skin reacting to them. But the deep tissue massage made my body react even more. There was some pain as the masseuse worked deep into the muscles. The massage continued up my arms, across my shoulders and back, and down to my waist. Then my feet were the center of attention, followed by my calves and my thighs. The deep tissue pressure and discomfort was joined by a tingling as the built-up pressure from years of verbal abuse began to melt away. I raised my head slightly to take in the view of the ocean, then settled back onto the face pillow, just as the masseuse began to massage my glutes. He seemed to be a master at this, even better than Jayson had been just an hour before. Just the thought of Jayson caused a stirring, and I knew that a massive hard-on could be on its way. The magical hands worked their way up my back again, and then I could feel the masseuse change positions, walking to the head of the table, then resuming the massage of my shoulders.
He leaned over, took the head phones from my right ear, and softly said, "Turn over," then replaced the headphones. I began to turn over, with my eyes still closed, luxuriating in the massage, but thought I might be getting too close to the edge of the table, so I opened my eyes to check my location. There, hanging over my face, as at least nine inches of cock. The masseuse was naked.
I reached up to remove the headphones. "Is this part of the massage?" I asked hesitantly.
"You know. Is this a 'full body massage,' or whatever they call it down here?"
"All out massages are for the complete pleasure of the hotel guests. Whatever they want. Or don't want. So what will it be? Anything you want to avoid?" He began to laugh. I looked up, past the large sausage doing the hula, and realized that my masseuse was the man I had been informed was Mr. Jay.
"Are you the owner?"
"Hey, good help is hard to find." Realizing his choice of words, he began to chuckle. He walked around so that I could see him, and stated, "Yes, one of the owners. I am Mr. Jay. Jamie Hock, Chicago, Illinois. We saw an opportunity to start up a business in a place where there wasn't any snow, so we took it.
"But how do I rate so highly, getting the boss to do my massage? Is business so bad that you haven't hired anyone else, or so good that you sometimes have to handle it yourself?"
His chuckle rose into a belly laugh. "When I saw you a little while ago, I knew I wanted to be the one to work on you. I don't do this for just anyone. You looked like you needed a little stress relief, or maybe a friend. And yes, business has been bad, or maybe slow is a better way to say it. Been working on getting this baby up for eighteen months."
"Take my word for it, you're up," I said. He began to laugh again.
"If you keep me laughing, I won't be able to finish in time for my next appointment. Now, is there anything you want to avoid?"
"No, go ahead. Give me your best shot."
He began to laugh again, and I blushed, finally realizing what I had just said.
"Honestly, if you keep that up, I won't be able to finish. Now let's get down to some serious business." He bent down, looked into my face, and lightly brushed his lips over mine. His tongue traced across my lips, then made the return trip. His lips pushed harder, and his tongue demanded entrance. I opened my mouth, and eagerly pressed back against his lips.
We kissed for long enough that my cock became rock hard, curving up over my navel and dripping cock honey onto my abs. We broke the kiss, and he resumed his massage of my shoulders and pecs. Then he licked all over my pecs, abs and cock, then went back to the end of the table.
"Let's have you back on your stomach, please, Mr. Max, if you can get that beast to lie down," he said with playfulness in his voice. "I think I felt a few knots in your muscles back here that I need to work on."
"I think we're way past the 'mister' part. It's just Max.
He smiled a million dollar smile at me, and I wondered how it was that he didn't have all the business he could handle. It didn't take much time for him to get down to business, working on those "knots," as he worked the muscles of my glutes with his skillful fingers. His deep pressure massage earlier had nothing on this, and he moved ever closer to the valley between my mounds. He dug into the edges of my ass mounds, first gently and then more forcibly pulling them apart. He must have had some lube hidden there somewhere, because soon he was tracing circles around my pucker, leaving a cool wet feeling behind. He continued to do this until it was driving me so wild that I was pushing up to meet his fingers, trying to force them into some place special.
When that first finger breached my sphincter, I thought I was going to pass out. It felt like I had been hit in the gut, forcing all my air out of my lungs. I groaned loudly, almost a scream, then sucked air back into my lungs.
"Sorry," Jay offered. "Maybe I shouldn't have tried two fingers."
"Two! Two! My god....."
"Well, you weren't acting like a virgin. But I guess I should have started a bit slower."
"I'm not a virgin, unless nineteen years of inactivity makes it grow shut. But my god, it felt like you were shoving your whole hand up there!
"Is that something you'd like, or will that be going on the 'please avoid' list?"
I turned my head around, and looked down the table at him, to where he was crouched right by my ass, as a sly, broad grin spread across his face. I tried to scowl.
"Get back to work and earn your money, bitch!" I tried to say that with that scowling face, but couldn't.
Jay responded, continuing his broad smile. "No fucking way. This is free, not costing you a thing. This is on-the-house........" He paused, as though he was thinking. "Actually, this isn't on the house, but we could take it up there. We could give a great show to the clients in the ocean-side rooms. What do you think?
"Shut up and get back to work, fuckhead." I couldn't believe how comfortable I felt in Jay's company. He was good. Very good.
"Put the headphones back on. The music will increase the feeling." Yeah, he already knew I loved soft jazz. He was really, really good.
Jay went back to massaging the door to my inner sanctum, as though he was asking for permission to enter. My body pushed back against his fingers, first one, then two, finally three or maybe more, indicating to him that he was welcomed to enter. With my eyes closed, ears flooded by the music, and body overloaded by the sensual feelings emanating from my ass, I began to drift off. Not to sleep, just to some wonderful place. But I felt the firmness of his cock head as he began to push in, keeping up the pressure until I pushed down, helping him to enter. I had expected pain, having seen the not thick, but not thin, girth of his cock, but I only felt pressure, followed by the electric feeling of having my shit chute filled to bursting by his long cock. I felt him bottom out, his pubes pressed against my ass, and I realized for the first time that he had been completely hairless except for his mop of blonde hair on his head, and the trimmed bush of blonde hair surrounding the base of his cock. A nice, smooth, blonde god, just exactly what I had always dreamed of.
I think I was on my way to heaven, but he poked me in the thigh, and I opened my eyes, and looked back at him. He motioned for me to turn over, and he withdrew so I could. I felt empty, but didn't have to wait long to have the feeling eliminated. Even before I settled in on my back, Jay plunged in and buried his rod full into my ass. Again, I felt like I had been gut-punched, but it was followed by the very best feeling. He set up a rhythm of long-dicking me, almost pulling out, then plunging back in. I couldn't hear anything other than the jazz, but my eyes were telling me all I needed to know. His eyes zeroed in on mine like a laser, and my body was on overload. His speed began to pick up, until he was jack hammering my back door, raising my groaning to a fever pitch. We were out of sync with the jazz now, so I ripped off the headphones.
"Fuck me! Fuck me HARD!" I surprised myself by mouthing those words, but apparently, I didn't surprise Jay at all.
"Yes sir, Mr. Max. We aim to please!" And right then, he aimed right for my prostate, my love nut, and at the same time, reached up for my nipples and gave each one a hard twist. My body jumped up off the table, taking Jay with me. As I landed back on the table, I was treated to a face full of cum, my own. I was cumming harder than I could ever remember, and I could feel Jay's huge man tool throbbing within me. My cum pooled on my abs.
As I felt it there, a terrifying thought entered my mind. Oh no! Had he used a condom? Had we been unprotected? A worried look must have flashed across my face, and he broke into a smile as he withdrew. He moved along the side of the table to stand next to my head, and he skinned off the rubber. "Yes, sir, we were protected!" He seemed to be able to read my mind, or maybe he could just read my face like a book.
"Wanna taste?" he said, waving the full condom in my direction.
"No thanks. I'll have dessert later, after my meal." Jay began to laugh so hard, I thought he was going to fall on the floor. "I meant I'd eat some real dessert, not have more sex. You know, like ice cream, or cake, or......." It seemed like the more I tried to explain, the harder he laughed.
Jay finally composed himself, walked over, and kissed me passionately, for a long time, taking possession of my mouth, my tongue, my body.
"Jeezz, you almost ate my face! Are you that hungry?" I said as I smiled when he finally broke the kiss and stood tall.
"Actually, I was going to ask if I could munch a little on that delectable, edible butt I just fucked. It looks good enough to eat."
I couldn't believe how carefree I felt as I groaned in as sexy a voice as I could muster, "Have at it, big boy." Jay looked like I had just given him the keys to the candy store. Maybe I had.
.....to be continued.......