I was beat. I was whupped. I was in serious need of some rest and rehabilitation.
The weather had all of the flights backed up and I had to ride into town on a friggin' bus. Not just any bus, though. I honestly think that Greyhound pulled the oldest bus just shy of a salvage yard from their fleet to make some easy money on the overflow of desperate business guys like me who needed to get to our destinations regardless of whether or not planes could land or take off. In fact, I was beginning to think that the bus company rented an old Iraqi Army transport and painted a silver dog on the side just for the occasion.
The bottom line was that I rode into town in something that was essentially an Iron Maiden on wheels and my 55 year-old body was in some serious pain as a result. I couldn't manage to get any sleep while I was on the bus, and now my back was so kinked up that there was no way I'd be able to sleep in even the softest of hotel beds. I was in serious need of traction but I'd settle for a massage.
It was 9:45 pm and the hotel masseuse closed up shop at 8:00 pm. Try as I might, I couldn't locate any other resource for getting my back to relax. Being drawn and quartered seemed a viable option but there was no way I was gonna sneak four horses and their Medieval handlers in here without raising some major eyebrows. I tried more conventional means, but for some reason I couldn't get the water in the tub hot enough to loosen things up. Oh, it was hot enough to scald the pubic hair right out of the crack of my ass, but not enough to get my back to relax.
Figuring that if my unintentional Brazilian wax job wasn't enough to get my back to flex better than the leaf springs off of a Mack truck, I had better seek out some professional help. So I called the front desk and whined like a little kid.
Try as I might, I wasn't having any better luck finding what I was looking for because I wasn't having any luck at all of getting the guy who answered the front desk phone to speak in unaccented English. Fuck, I'd have even been happy with accented English if I honestly thought that English had been the language our alleged conversation had at least been based upon. The east Indian accent is very melodic and all – in fact, I generally find it rather pleasant – but I only have about 40 percent of my hearing still intact after a lot of years working with heavy equipment and trying to communicate over the phone with anyone that has any accent is like dragging fingernails down a chalkboard. I just can't sit through it long enough for it to satisfactorily end without going friggin' nuts along the way.
Needless to say, I don't make a lot of phone calls to Arkansas for the same reason.
Anywho, being the headstrong individual that I am – read: I don't know when to give up – I endeavored to see just how high I could spike my blood pressure by repeating "massage, massage" into the phone while the front desk guy, who probably doubled as tech support for my company's computer network, would adamantly assure me that I had no messages waiting.
So, I got pissed off – scratch that, I was already pissed off – and slammed the phone down. If the people at the front desk who were supposed to help me weren't willing or able to help me, then I needed to find another resource. So, I rattled all of the drawers in the room and found a large area phone book. I immediately flipped the pages to the 'M's to find a masseuse. Obviously all of those years of school were paying off. That, and I'd probably have better luck finding what I was looking for than if I searched under 'R' for 'Rub'.
Along my way through the 'M's – I had just gotten past Marbles, Markets, and Masks – I came across a business card tucked between a couple pages. The card simply had the word 'Massage' printed in large letters with a phone number beneath it, along with a picture of a rather muscular guy who looked about 30 or so. I figured that coming across the card qualified as some sort of sign, and coupled with the fact that I needed the massage more than I needed to spend my time searching for a masseuse, decided to just go with it. Besides, no one would raise eyebrows over some guy coming to my room late at night instead of some woman, right?
I called the number and got some guy who said his name was "Mo" (he even spelled it) with what sounded like a French accent this time – Christ, this was definitely not my night for clear communication – and after a conversation that was more a negotiation, made arrangements for an immediate servicing.
It wasn't but 10 minutes later that I heard a knock on my hotel room door. Still one to play things safe while on the road I opened the door a crack with the safety bar in place and peered through the opening to find the guy from the card. "Massage?" he asked.
I nodded and then opened the door to let him in. He was dressed in blue sweats over a white t-shirt and carrying a briefcase, but he didn't have a massage table that I could see. He was about my height of 5'9", maybe around a firm 160 lbs, and had a strong-looking, cleanly shaven face. His head was topped with slicked-back nearly-black hair peppered with bits of gray that made him look a little more mature than the picture on his card suggested; closer to 40. No biggie, as long as he had firm hands that would work the kinks out of my back.
"Shower," he said to me.
"Bath," I replied.
"Take shower," he repeated firmly. "Hot."
I was about to explain that I had already boiled myself earlier but just decided it would be easier to jump into the shower instead. I made it a hot but quick one, then stepped out and gave myself a quick drying off. I came out of the bathroom with just the towel around me and found Mo now dressed in only a pair of silky running shorts.
"Nice to see you've made yourself at home," I said.
"Thank you," he replied sincerely. "Bed."
I wanted to say, 'Yes, it is', but waited for further instructions.
"On bed," Mo said. "No towel."
Whatever. I tossed the towel onto the bed and Mo's eyes seemed to light up at my nakedness. I figure I don't look half bad naked for a guy my age, so I appreciated the flattery. I glanced and saw that his briefcase was on the desk and opened, revealing what looked to be bottles of oils. I went over to the bed and spread my towel where I intended to lay and then climbed onto it, lying on my stomach.
"Uh, no," Mo said. "Back."
"Yes, back," I replied.
"No, back!" Mo stated again, a little more firmly this time.
"I want you to do my back!" I said, looking over my shoulder at Mo and jabbing my extended thumb over my shoulder for emphasis. "Back! Back!"
Mo finally shrugged his shoulders in resignation and nodded. I turned my face away and lay my head on my folded arms as Mo began to drizzle massage oil onto my back. I half expected it to feel cold, but it quickly adapted to my body temperature.
Finally, Mo put his hands on my back. As he started to rub the oils into my skin they began to take on a warming glow. Coupled with Mo's strong hands working into my muscles it felt as though the knots in my back and body might actually have a chance at breaking up.
Mo poured more of the oil onto my back, my shoulders, over my buttocks and down the backs of my thighs. He quickly followed with applications of his firm fingers working and kneading my flesh. He rolled and squeezed and kneaded and rubbed all over me, even giving the cheeks of my ass a nice working over. Normally I would get a little nervous having a guy grabbing handfuls of my ass, but Mo seemed to know that a lot of my pain was centered there as well, and his massaging my glutes was simply one step in relaxing all of me.
I started to finally relax. My pains were melting away and the sweet sensations of Mo's expert hands on my skin quickly had me feeling as if I was floating off of the bed. I actually started to drift off even as I felt Mo straddle my thighs to get a better angle...
You know that part of the dream where you aren't really sure if you're awake or dreaming? You know, where things seem really weird and stuff is happening in your dream that you know you'd never do in your waking hours? In my case, it started out with me feeling like I was floating on a cloud, then I got the sensation that I was in my doctor's office and the doctor had really greased me up and was now giving me "the finger."
You know; a prostate exam. Only my faceless doctor was working that finger for all it was worth. Working his big, fat, fleshy finger in and out of my stretched ass hole and rubbing it so hard inside of my rectum and up against my prostate that it was actually exciting me and making me feel real good all over, inside and out. I think I even moaned out loud. And the really weird part was the sensation of his testicles against my greased thighs as he drove his really thick finger into me...
If I had snapped awake any harder I'd have given myself whiplash. I quickly became aware that my prostate exam was not only a reality, but so were the testicles that slid between my thighs with each thrust of Mo's hips against me as he pushed harder and deeper.
What the fuck? Mo's knees were between mine and as he held his body up over mine with his arms he clearly had his dick stuffed up my ass! Okay, it was a well-lubricated ass, and Mo's dick was quite hard and actually pretty long... and he was stroking himself into me with steady, firm strokes... and the head of his prick was rubbing me deeply inside and massaging my prostate and sending chills of pleasure through my whole body... and...
Fuck, this was feeling good! I know I should have been feeling a lot of pain but this lithe French dude was sweetly and steadily fucking my ass and it was making me feel better than I'd felt in a long time!
Mo seemed to notice that I had come awake. "Back?" he asked, as if confirming that this was the answer I had been seeking.
All I could do was nod and sigh.
"More?" Mo asked.
"More," I said in a heavy breath. "More."
Mo picked up the pace of his pumping, driving his dick harder into my ass. He was keeping his strokes as long as he could, and it felt as though his plunging cock had to be at least seven inches or more in length. But I could tell that it was straight as an arrow and didn't have any curve or twist. No, it was just ramrod-straight manhood being drilled into my slippery ass.
"More?" asked Mo with slightly strained breath.
"More!" I replied loudly as I arched my back to give my masseuse an even better angle of attack.
Mo let his weight down onto me as he started to drive into me faster and harder until he was literally slamming his manly meat into me and smacking his swaying testicles against mine. Now his body was slipping against mine, his sweating torso sliding against my oiled back. Mo was fighting to get his weight onto his knees to get a better purchase by which he could ram his wonderful fuck pole even deeper into me. Now his grunts turned animalistic and his whole body started to shudder.
"No more!" Mo cried out as I could feel his cock jerking hard inside of me.
At that very moment something completely amazing happened to me as Mo's continued thrusts in my ass and the rubbing of his member deep inside of me stirred up a climax that literally come from the inside out. Mo's pummeling of my prostate drove me to an orgasm and I could feel my own rock hard prick spasm beneath me, untouched by any hands or anything, erupting in a warm flood of my semen that flowed between me and the towel I had handily placed beneath me.
Mo kept pounding away at my ass and my balls kept pumping out sperm until both of us seemed spent and Mo literally fell off of me and then off of the bed onto the floor. A moment later Mo picked himself up off of the floor and stood next to the bed, wobbly and sweaty. I saw that his dick was sheathed in a pink condom that now looked like a sagging balloon from the massive load of semen he had deposited in it.
We took a shower together and I shelled out a hundred dollar bill and then Mo smiled and left. I went to bed and climbed under the covers, realizing as I turned off the light that all my pain had been worked out of my muscles and I drifted off into a deep, deep sleep.