The kindness of a stranger

He had been welcoming but businesslike when I first arrived at the house, a small, comfortable bungalow he’d built for himself in the middle of a large bush block. His photo on the massage website hadn’t shown his face, but what it did show had been enough to pique my interest; mature, hairy, athletic body, nothing overdone. 

It had definitely been too long since my last massage back in the city, a pleasant memory just before everything had shut down due to Covid, and I now craved the intimacy on offer. The commercial aspect was an added incentive, putting a dispassionate frame around the engagement and giving me an odd sense of self confidence and security.

Nonetheless I was nervous as I drove up his rutted dirt drive. I had never been overly confident physically, self conscious about the weight I had gained as I had passed from middle-age to something older. I’d made sure that he knew my age in my initial communication with him, wishing to avoid any sense of disappointment, and he had been quick to reassure me that this was of no concern, which happily proved to be the case. 

We made our introductions as he welcomed me into his house and led me into the sitting room, a massage table set up with towels and other accoutrements close to hand. Telling me to undress and make myself comfortable on the table, he busied himself elsewhere, allowing me to strip off with a semblance of privacy. 

It had been a while since I’d been naked with a stranger, and the feeling was both disconcerting and liberating. When he came back into the room I was settled and relatively relaxed, only slightly disappointed to see that he’d chosen to keep his shorts and singlet on for our first appointment. Perhaps that would change at a later date.

It was quickly apparent that he was a man of few words, and as I’m not much of a chatterbox we soon fell into a companionable silence as he rubbed my back with oil and began his work, his attention to my body intense and total. 

His advertisement had indicated that he offered only two styles of massage, relaxation and sensual, and when asked which I preferred I could only chuckle and say both, which was indeed the truth. 

I relaxed into his routine, enjoying particularly those moments when some part of his body pressed against mine as he repositioned himself. Asking if I could stroke his legs when they fell within reach of my hands he murmured approval, and I took great pleasure in feeling his firm calves with their matting of dark hair. When the session gently slipped from relaxation to sensual it was a natural progression which stole upon me as if I’d been reacquainted with an old, intimate friend. 

Asking me to part my legs, his fingers travelled between my buttocks, softly brushing against my smooth ring, travelling down to knead the mound of my perineum before brushing against my balls, handling them with his accustomed gentleness. I broke the silence with a moan, deep and genuine, as his thumb worked its way into my hole, his fingers all the while massaging other parts.

When he at last asked me to roll over onto my back I had lost all sense of time, my inhibitions dissolved beneath his hands, and would happily have spent the rest of the session in this blissful state. 

For the first time since we started I could get a good look at this man who had given me so much joy, his handsome bearded face intent on my body, his hands exploring my nipples, my cock, my balls. I couldn’t easily see what he was doing to my now hard penis, but he clearly knew how to handle a foreskin, which was a  pleasant surprise.

His focus was now centred completely on my cock, the look on his face intense and thoughtful. He was very beautiful and I told him so. He was slightly disconcerted by the announcement, plucked as it had been from thin air, an almost unconscious verbalising of a thought bouncing around in my head, and which perhaps should have been left unspoken. 

But that was not my way. My 60 odd years had loosened my tongue and done irreparable damage to my usual reticence. Given the intimate nature of the encounter there seemed no reason to hide behind a facade of indifference. Besides, I couldn’t stop staring at his handsome face, and was only sorry for embarrassing him. I apologised, but his smile told me that he didn’t mind. 

When my orgasm finally came it was with surprising suddenness, swelling up from the waves of gentle pleasure that he had been coaxing from my cock for what seemed like hours, catching me unawares and drawing gasps from my overwhelmed self. His hands rode my spasms calmly, guiding me through the release until I was spent and exhausted. 

He held my cock tenderly while it softened, eventually pulling the foreskin back over the sensitive head before reaching for a cloth and slowly wiping my body down, semen, oil and sweat all gently swept away. He was in no hurry to see me off and let me lie there for as long as it took to regain my equilibrium, for which I was thankful. 

Once again he busied himself elsewhere while I dressed and got ready to leave, the exchange of money handled with a minimum of fuss. I thanked him for a very special experience and asked if he would allow me to see him again, which I think amused him. 

He put his hand on my shoulder as we said goodbye, the sweetest gesture of all from this quiet, self contained man.