Cameron

by Rob Armstrong

I had seen Cameron's bare, blond-haired backside on multiple occasions in the past six months.

Regardless of whichever high-up or low-down aches and pains were troubling him, I had suggested that he strip down to his underpants, explaining that this would enable me to work more easily on any lower muscles down his back and legs which might be triggering issues higher up. Hence, glutes, hamstrings, quads and calves became available to my experienced hands.

Then, with him face-down on the massage table, I had told him that I should protect his Calvin Klein trunks from the massage oil by tucking in a small towel and then lowering the back of them, to expose his glutes.

His enthusiastic response, without hesitation, was, 'Yeah, mate. Go for it.'

After his first visit, he always seemed happy to have 'his CKs down'.

Having first remediated any issues with his back, there had always been a need for some complementary work to be done from the front. Tight muscles around his neck and shoulders were typical of this.

On more than one occasion, after he had turned over onto his back, and even when I covered the ample lump in his underpants with a protective towel, I thought that it seemed a bit chunkier and straighter than when he had first stripped down. And, it was more evident whenever I worked on his thighs. However, seeing it in this state frequently, I concluded that everything had been merely in its most comfortable position for him when he had been lying face-down, with his body weight on it. I never commented on it and avoided touching it – displaying my professional approach to my client, at least outwardly.

Using the same covering-towel to remove any excess massage oil, I had always been able to glimpse the discernible outline more clearly, albeit briefly, before covering everything up again.

On more than one occasion I had thought, 'If that thing is soft, how big does it get when it's hard?' Not bad, for a kid still in high school!

It's footy season again now, and the coach has told all of his senior school team ensure that their bodies are in tip-top condition, which is why Cameron was recommended to me regarding a lower back issue in the first place, towards the end of last season.

Cam, as I call him, not quite able to bring myself to using the impersonal 'CJ' that he told me his mates use, has been a 'regular' ever since that first visit. Regular, as in every month or two, whenever he has strained something in a game, or training, jogging or just 'fooling around' as he called it.

On one occasion, he even brought his 'next-door-neighbour girlfriend' with him, to meet me and to watch what I did. He almost apologised for her presence, saying that she had wanted to know what it was that I did that she couldn't do for him at home.

My suspicion was that whenever he had an appointment with me, she might have thought that he was 'sneaking off' to see another girl.

The day that she 'tagged along', I had a very congenial conversation with her and, after explaining the location and remediation of trigger points in muscles, she reckoned that this was beyond her ability to help him with. Cam told me that, curiosity satisfied, she has never asked him about it again.

I remember the last time that he came. He made a comment about having considered whether or not to wear his Speedos instead of his usual silky and very tight, CK trunks, knowing that I had difficulty tucking the towel into the extended legs, then pulling them up to expose the tops of his hamstrings. And, he added that he hadn't worn his swimmers for a few years, after he had turned fourteen, when board shorts seemed to replace the 'budgie smugglers'.

I remember telling him, 'I'll bet that you couldn't pack all of you into those anymore. You would have grown a lot since then… in case you hadn't noticed.' My double meaning was intentional. He laughed and agreed with me, whichever way he took it.

I was pleasantly surprised, yesterday, to receive a text from him, telling me that he had some sore neck muscles, and that he wanted to be able to move freely during his footy game this coming weekend, and was there any way that I could fit him in for a massage?

<<Of course>> I texted him, and offered him a choice of times. He took the earliest one, today. Now.

"G'day, mate," he greets me.

"Hi Cam," I reply. "Good to see you again. Come in."

He sits, and we talk without mentioning his aches and pains, for the moment.

In response to my question about what he's been doing since I saw him last, he says, "I've been up in the Gold Coast and just got back."

"How was the weather?" I ask, knowing that during the recent hurricane, that particular part of the coast had received a large volume of rain, just presuming that he will say 'wet'.

"Terrific," he replies. "Sunny most of the time. Except for one or two days."

I express my surprise.

"And what took you up there, when your work and home and girlfriend are down here?" I continue, making conversation, but curious.

"There was a footy carnival. The whole team went," he says, "and it gave me a good opportunity to chat with the coach about my future, apart from playing. I'll probably do a Personal Trainer course, or become a football coach for younger players."

"So, what's the problem with the neck?" I ask, steering the conversation back from 'pleasantries' to the real reason for his visit (although he has said on a number of occasions that he actually enjoys my company, wisdom, knowledge and experience). He does talk a lot, and is quite outgoing. And charismatic. And stunningly handsome – blond hair, hazel eyes, square jaw. Not to mention his toned body.

He indicates where the pain is and how it restricts his mobility, especially when driving and having to turn his whole body to look towards oncoming traffic when pulling out into a street or turning a corner.

I press where I anticipate that the problem could be. "Aargh!" he cries. "That's it! How did you know?"

"Would you believe good luck or a bit of an educated guess?" I ask.

He shakes his head and responds, "More like professional experience, based on what I told you!" He rubs the spot.

"OK. I confess!" I say, and we share the humour of it. "All right, let's get you onto the table," I tell him.

He readily strips off. Shoes. Socks. Shirt. Sweat pants.

His teenage manhood in his Calvin Kleins is lying to the right today, and the head looks a bit larger than what I remember, yet obviously 'at ease'.

He knows the routine and lays himself, face-down in the hole, feet over the bolster at the opposite end.

I tuck in the towel and lower the back of his undies over his rounded and exercise-firmed glutes!

I begin to explore his spine, to determine whether something feels 'out'.

I have a thought. I remove the towel, pull his undies back up, and say, "Can you stand up for a minute? I just want to check the balance of your hips while you're on your feet. Face away from me."

He complies readily.

"I'm seeing that your left hip is slightly higher than the right one," I tell him.

"Yeah, I've wondered about that, just from looking at myself in the mirror," he replies.

Another gold star for me!

"Turn and face me," I tell him, "so that I can check from the opposite side."

He does.

I turn the waistband of his CKs down, front and back to expose his hips, and confirm my posterior analysis, appearing to avoid focussing on his manhood by looking from one side to the other. "OK. Turn back around the other way again."

He does. I place my index fingers on his pelvic bones, then turn the waistband back up, and give his undies a bit of a further lift. Not quite a wedgie, but designed to make things a little uncomfortable.

"You know," I tell him, "one day you might even like to try a massage without these on at all."

I want to see what his response will be, considering his 'go for it' comment whenever I suggest exposing his glutes on the table.

I had mentioned to him previously, sowing the seed, that some guys prefer to have their massage naked.

"We can do that now, if you like," he says, matter-of-factly and without seeming guarded or hesitant at all.

I'm pleasantly surprised. Very surprised, actually.

"OK," is all that I say, in a tone that communicates 'Go for it'.

He returns to the chair where his other clothes are, strips off his underpants then takes the few steps back to the opposite side of the table. He is suddenly sporting a stand-out, but incomplete, erection. And, he knows that I can see it!

As he resumes his place, face-down, I make light of the situation, in case he could be embarrassed, which I don't sense at all. "Would it surprise you to know, some guys have told me that one of their biggest fears in getting naked is having an erection?"

His response floors me. "Well, it's just natural, isn't it? Especially for a young guy my age, and having somebody touching and rubbing your body in that area. I'll bet that it happens to them a lot. It sure does for me." That comment registers something in my brain for future reference!

"You're not wrong," I answer him. "I've seen quite a few of those things." We share the humour of it.

I lay the small hand towel across his body to cover his taut backside then focus my next thirty minutes on his neck and back. Warm oil.

From the head of the table, I massage down his spine into his glutes, then up his sides, across his shoulders and back up to his neck. Multiple times, honing in on any trigger points, the 'knots'. Multiple groans.

I remove the towel and turn it lengthwise on the opposite side of his body, covering one glute and exposing the other.

Working on his 'bare' side, I rub from shoulder to ankle and back again. I spend focussed time on his calf, hamstrings and glutes before returning to his shoulders. Three times is a good number.

"That feels really good," he says.

"That's the real advantage of no undies, or Speedos," I smile at him, even though he can't see my face. "Long, uninterrupted strokes are very relaxing."

He agrees, "Yep!"

I keep going, this time moving to include both his outer and inner thighs, taking care not to make solid contact with his balls, very-evident between his legs. However, I do get enticingly close to them!

I also include full arm and hand massages, pressing into his palms and stroking each of his fingers in turn with my closed, oily fist, hinting at something a little more sensual, exploring and testing his previous comment.

I take the towel, wipe off the oil and move to repeat everything, exactly, from the other side, ensuring that his inner thighs receive both light and firm stroking.

I spend a lot of time at his body's top end, loosening up the offending neck muscles and tell him, "I'll do some more on them when you turn over."

I look at the clock and, with about two-thirds of our one hour gone, it's time for the reveal. "OK. Flip over," I tell him, holding the towel over his groin as he turns, and I place it on top of his now-distinct firmness, which is lying flat and pointing straight-up, towards his navel.

I spend five minutes working on his shoulders and under and around, his neck. That was, after all, his primary reason for coming to see me.

I include his pecs, abdomen and upper arms.

Again, standing at his head, I massage down his body, from sternum to his pubic area, stopping in his shaved but regrowing, stubbly pubes.

"How are you going, with all this?" I ask.

"Great!" he says, with seemingly-restrained enthusiasm.

He suddenly and unexpectedly becomes talkative, asking about guys on massage tables having erections, and 'getting off'.

So, I ask, "Have you done that before?" wondering, but anticipating, where this might be leading.

"Well, only the erections bit here," he says. Then he adds, "But my cousin always reckoned that it felt better when somebody else jacked you off, instead of doing it yourself."

Just so that there is no misunderstanding, I ask, to clarify, "So, have you had somebody do it for you before?"

"Sure!" he says. "My cousin's good at it. And he gets me to do him too."

"And have you told your girlfriend?" I put to him.

"No. I wouldn't tell her that!" he says.

"Neither would I," I say, giving him a micro counselling session, based on experience.

"What she doesn't know, won't hurt me," he laughs. I join him. "Besides, my cousin says that what happens in private, stays private! Right?"

I think that he's just drawn a line in the sand as to where 'open communication' with her ceases and confidentiality with me begins. Is he declaring and confirming a mutual assurance of secure lips and granting me the freedom to do something with him?

I, again, replace the towel to cover half of his body, including all of his manhood and I massage his sides, lower abdomen, across his exposed pelvis and then his quads. I make a point of massaging them both vertically and horizontally, coming extremely close to his balls without touching them, except, maybe for the regular, occasional slight brush, as if by accident. If I'm right, this will be driving him crazy.

I do both sides.

Then, in removing the towel to wipe off the excess oil, I draw its full length slowly upwards, allowing it to caress his balls and his erection, until everything is exposed.

I'm confident enough now to continue without the towel, so I place it between his parted knees. He doesn't react. He has his eyes closed.

As I rub my palm repeatedly across his lower abdomen, the back of my hand touches his hardness. It jumps, and I watch an ample supply of pre-cum exuded onto his skin. He's excited.

'OK,' I think. 'It's time!'

I take a gentle 'handshake' grip of his silky-softness-over-steely-stiffness and ask, "Would you like me to include this muscle for you too?"

He opens his eyes, lifts his head and looks at his manliness, cupped in my hand. "If you like," he says, matter-of-factly, then relaxes his head back down and sighs, very contentedly.

In my mind I can imagine him saying, 'It took you a bloody long time to get around to it, after all the hints I've been dropping!'

Taking my squirt bottle, I make sure that his erection and ample balls are well-bathed in oil.

I cup his balls and massage them. They are sporting about a three-day stubble. "You shave these too? Like your chest and pubes?" I ask.

"Yeah, but not often, because it's hard to shave down there. I nicked myself with a razor once. Very painful! And, actually, I've also been having laser treatments on my stomach and legs, to reduce the hair growth."

I keep massaging his abdomen and legs, now including his most rigid muscle. He elicits some low, slow moans.

Then, my hands focus in that area exclusively and coordinate with each other – one fondling his large, fully-contracted balls and the other stroking his fully-extended cock. Slowly. Full length. Both directions, down and up. With occasional twisting motions to stimulate the head.

His hips rise and fall and I coordinate my hand with his movements to simulate thrusting for him. His legs part further, granting me full freedom. He sighs again. After a couple of minutes, he says, "Mate, this feels so good!"

I keep going. Then I draw one hand slowly and lightly up across his balls, tickling-them. At the same time, with the other, I tighten my grip on his erection and pull along its full length. He groans, more loudly, pleasurably.

Without any warning, he simply says, softly, "I'm cumming," and I barely have time to grab the towel. He gasps and grunts. I catch everything except his initial spurt.

I'm aware that some guys, including me, can be extremely sensitive immediately after an ejaculation, so I gently 'milk' him and wipe him. His penis begins to shrink.

Seeing this contracted size, alerts me to the fact that, on previous occasions, what I had seen in his underpants had been, in fact, an erection, instead of the massive, soft sausage which I had concluded that it probably was. So, during almost every other massage session, he'd had an almost-hard-on! Which I didn't touch. Had he wanted me to?

"What a great way to finish," he comments, and his whole body goes into post-ecstatic relaxation. Eyes closed. Long, slow exhalations.

I wait until his normal breathing resumes. "Was that OK?" I ask.

"OK?" he says, "Mate, you could easily charge an extra twenty bucks for that, it was so good!"

"Not necessary." I tell him. "I do what people come for – a professional remedial massage. Any extras, if they want them, are a bonus. Complimentary!" We both laugh.

I give him time to recover and then say, "OK, let's have a look at those hips again. Stand up and face away from me."

He does.

With one of my palms firmly against each of his glutes, and my fingers on his hips, I guide his body forward a few paces. He will now be able to see himself in the full-length mirror. He glances sideways, hesitantly.

"It's OK to look at yourself," I say. "Face the mirror. You're a perfect specimen of manhood."

He laughs, but agrees with me.

"Your hips now look even. I think we've fixed it." I say. "How do you feel?"

"Terrific!" Then he grins at me, "But I might need to come back next week. I'm anticipating a hard game on the weekend."

I smile, and wonder.

He starts to get dressed, shirt first, while I check my appointments.

"Do you want a tissue to put in there?" I ask him, noticing and indicating the small, leaked wetness on the front of his underpants.

"Nah, it'll be fine!" he says, pulling his sweat pants up and over it.

He finishes dressing and I pour us both a glass of water.

He pays me and I tell him my availability for next week.

"Great! Thanks." he says.

I see him out. We shake hands and he, grinning, departs with, "I'll be in touch about next week."

I'm expecting that he will choose a time early in the week. No undies while on the table. Full-body stroking and another happy ending!

And, I may even ask, when I see him, whether he thinks that any of his footy mates might also benefit from a full-body massage after the following week's game, potentially with the 'extras'. That is, if I don't hear from one of them in the meantime. Or his cousin. LOL.