I was doing nothing much this past Thursday night. I had been busy getting EFU ready to go off for a ten-month stay in New Hampshire and was still trying to get YFU ready for a two-week stay at camp, and I still had to gather ingredients for the soup that I was driving 2.5 hours (each way) to make. There was, you see, a family reunion scheduled for this past weekend, and since my parents are too ill to travel from Florida and neither my brother nor my sister would be there (the reunion is for the descendants of my great grandfather), I would have skipped it, but YFU had originally expressed interest in going, and, more to the point, my father had asked me to go and "represent the family." Apparently representing the family means making soup, at least in my case. At least it's something I'm qualified to do.
Anyway, the extended family is both politically and religiously conservative, and I'm closeted to almost all of them, so the trip wasn't something I was looking forward to, so when George popped up online saying hello, I figured I'd offer him a massage.
George is an early fifties guy with a handsome face and an incredible head of salt and pepper hair. He's also the first guy I gave a somewhat serious massage to. He gave me some pointers after that first one, and I've been happy to rub him down ever since, not least because he likes to kiss while he's being worked on. So I headed down to his place, which is a cool, old house on a hill in Northeast. It's surrounded by a disheveled garden that's always fun to walk through. George let me in, and we made out for a while in the entryway. That's something we hadn't really done in the past, and between that and some other subtle signals I'd picked up from him when we'd chatted, I figured he might be up for a bit of a romp as well as a rub. On the other hand, he'd mentioned being exhausted (construction on his street at 4am), and I was pretty sure from past massages that he was an unreformed top, so it was a mixed bag. Still, he's handsome and fit and kisses well and has nice lips and is of Argentine descent, (Argentine parents but raised in New York by Irish nuns and priests, he told me. He has a faint and undecipherable and very sexy accent.) so why not, right?
But first the massage, of course. We went upstairs, and he took off the rest of his clothes, put on something that sounded like Latin jazz (I heard two different versions of "Summertime" while I was working on him), and lay on his stomach.
I had remembered, on a mental level, how much I like giving massage, but experiencing it again on a tactile and visceral level gave me some combination of longing and belonging that I really can't go so long without having again. I worked on him for about an hour, and he moved in and out of wakefulness, I think. I didn't ask, and after a few moans and telling me how wonderful the feeling was, he went silent. The music was very conducive to the flow of the situation, and it was just good, so good.
At some point, I had him on his back and was working his scalp and temples and kissing him, and I'd thoroughly worked both his dorsal and ventral sides, and I suggested that we move to the bed. He seemed a little nonplussed, but he recovered quickly and agreed. And it soon became apparent that he was indeed a) exhausted, and b) an unreformed top. So I ended up giving him a little head (he has rather a fascinating uncut cock that is on the small side, so it's just what I like for sucking) and then stroking him off while we made out. It was fine, but it was a little bit of a let down after the awesome massage. Plus, it made me horny, and he was obviously in no condition to reciprocate. And, probably, he never does anyway. So I went home and jerked off, which was also fine, and more than a little volcanic.
George was clearly wiped when he'd cum, so I told him he should get some sleep and suggested that we should try to not make it so long between sessions again. He said he'd like that but that he was about to go on vacation for a month. I reminded him that it'd been probably a year since I last massaged him, so a month was really nothing. I'm not sure he was entirely coherent at that point. He'd been too tired to put his clothes on and had walked me downstairs naked and then we'd kissed goodbye for a bit in his doorway.
I think I want to go back to separating sex and massage. They push different buttons, and I get plenty of the former and almost none of the latter these days, so when I finally get the massage table set up in my house, I should probably concentrate on giving some without getting off.