Drifting Biward

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I was hard, stunningly so, I suppose you could say I was fully erect and rampant. I was lying on my front being massaged wearing just a pair of paper pants they put on you at some hotel spas, I had visited quite a few. There were some towels covering other parts of my body, but not my legs, which were slick with oil and being massaged. As the hands had slid up my legs going nearer and nearer to my bum and balls, the erection had started. That was embarrassing and awkward. It’s difficult to cope with a growing erection in that position; I had to wiggle a little to move my weight so my cock could go in the direction the hardening demanded, straight up my stomach. Was I imagining that the hands were massaging me softer? Was the touch gentler, more of a caress than a massage? Had I given myself away? I had no idea and did not dare look, so I kept my eyes tightly shut even, well especially, when I turned over. The towels were rearranged, lifted up and replaced. The bulge must have been noticeable and presumably noticed in the dark blue, thin paper panties, but nothing was said. The front of my lower legs were massaged and then the sensitive and excruciatingly challenging tops of them. The hands swept upwards time and time again even slipping slightly into the legs of the paper pants. My balls lay there inside them, my cock was reared fiercely right up my stomach; it must be obvious. The hands, though, did not touch my balls, but they went very close. And of course each time they did, my wandering mind wondered whether they would. Was I wondering or hoping? Surely the spa in the five star hotel didn’t offer more than the massage, even here in Egypt! The towels were replaced on my legs. The ones on my chest were rolled down. My shoulders, neck, head and upper chest were oiled and treated. I relaxed a little. No obvious advance had been made, nothing overtly suggestive had taken place, no request or invitation for anything other than the aromatic massage promised in the hotel brochure had been extended. I softened, a little. A warm towel was laid across my upper chest, it felt nice. The one across my lower chest and waist was removed. ‘Oh fuck’ I thought I’m going to have my waist and stomach massaged.’ I was absolutely correct. I didn’t know how far the towel lying across my upper legs and stomach reached, I didn’t know what was covered and, more importantly, what was not. The hands were on my waist, near my navel. They were reaching round either side of my body finding and massaging the slight love handles on my forty plus, fairly fit and toned body. They went down a little further onto my stomach beneath my waist, just inside the shorts. Shit, they almost touched it, they almost felt my cock. Luckily, they were concentrating on either side of my stomach around the protruding pelvic bones. They moved from side to side several times. On one traverse of my waist, they reached across me and they brushed it. ‘Maybe it was an accident?’ I hoped, as my body jerked and a whoosh of air escaped from my lips. I closed my eyes even tighter, I couldn’t look I didn’t want to see what was happening; or did I? I was so confused. They moved back across my body and massaged that side for a while then stopped. And then, as they moved to the other side they brushed my erection again. ‘Surely that wasn’t an accident too?’ I asked myself as a grunt slid out of my mouth They finished massaging around my right pelvic bone and hip and then stopped. This time there could be no mistake for they did not brush my erection, they rested on it. Only for a moment or two, but without doubt they paused there before carrying on. The sensations were exquisite and my reactions were instant and very evident. My head rolled to one side, my mouth came open, my torso squirmed a little and I let out a clear, but low groan that must have been obvious as a groan of pleasure. The fingers or hand returned and this time it was far more than a brushing, much more than just resting on it and certainly significantly more than a slight touch. The fingers ran up and then down the length of my erection twice outside the paper shorts. It was a very overt gesture. An invitation or maybe a request. They had set out their stall, it was now down to me; I realised that the ball was now very much in my court. I could move and they would presumably go away and no harm would be done. We isvecbahis could both ignore what had happened. Or I could stay still and invite the hands to go further. I was in a quandary, a conflict a confusion. Move or stay? Stop or go? Illicit pleasure or a moral stand? In the end, the decision was by default. I was still pondering, but the fingers must have assumed that my lack or reaction was acceptance and compliance; they presumably felt that I was accepting their invitation. Whilst one set of fingers remained resting on my erection the other took hold of the paper pants and slowly ripped them. They opened them up and they revealed my stunningly hard erection. There was no hesitation now for they were wrapped round it almost immediately. I pushed back against the fingers, I gave them my clear acceptance, my desire, my want for them to jack me off. There was no waiting now. Other that is, than to pour some warm oil onto my cock before starting to pump it in slow, long movements. It felt absolutely fantastic. I didn’t last long, I knew I would not or could not, so it was just a few moments later that I exploded and my sperm gushed all over the pleasure giving hand and my stomach. It was over quickly. I opened my eyes and took the damp, warm flannel that was being held out for me. “Was that to mister’s satisfaction?” The young, Thai, male masseur asked me? ++ I had not seen my wife get dressed for dinner, so I was very pleasantly surprised to see the thong she was wearing when we got back to our room later that evening. I had opened the door to the room for her and followed her in. We were on the tenth floor of one of the top hotels in Sharm el Sheikh with the city sprawled out beneath us. Some light was coming in through the windows so I didn’t switch the room lights on as we wandered over to the ceiling to floor windows to take in the view. She was slightly in front of me. “Will you darling?” she asked indicating that she wanted me to undo the hook and eye on the back of the halter neck of her silk dress. It was fairly tight and showed quite obviously that she was not wearing a bra. Her nicely shaped B cup breasts were still pert enough in her mid-forties for her to dispense with any support when the situation called for it. As the back of the dress plunged daringly low down her slender back, this was one of those situations. I undid it. She looked over her shoulder at me, shrugged her body and the dress slithered downwards into a pool of silk round her feet, which were clad in elegant, silver, high-heeled sandals. She looked fabulous. She was tanned all over, well the bits I could see and that was most, her boobs sat up well, her pronounced, clearly erect nipples stood out, her long, slender, shapely legs seemed to be waiting to wrap themselves round me and her bum, oh fuck her bum! Kel has the bum of every man’s dreams, especially his wet ones. It is full and round, with firm cheeks that wobble beautifully as she moves giving her the sexiest wiggle possible. It sticks out some way and has a deep, mysterious crease between the gorgeous cheeks. I have heard such bums as hers referred to as ‘a black girl’s bum!’ I have often wondered whether the sensitivity of her bum and the willingness she has to offer it to me for our mutual pleasure is due to it being so shapely and exciting, or whether it’s the other way round; what is the chicken and what’s the egg? Tonight, in the lacy thong that was a mere smidgeon of material at the front covering her landing strip of pale brown pubes and a slither of lace plunging between her cheeks, it looked especially inviting. “Turn round and lean against the window,” I croaked undoing my belt and zip and losing my trousers. “Mmmm it did the trick then,” she said, running her hand over my erection inside the silk boxers she’d had made for me in Hong Kong. “It?” I asked, slipping my shirt off as Kelly pushed the boxers down. “My thong?” She smiled stroking my cock. “Of course, but then so did this,” I said grabbing her bum and twisting her round. She put her hands out and supported herself against the window. Her gorgeous arse was sticking out. “Remind me,” I whispered kneeling behind her “Have I ever told you what a great arse you have?” “Mmmmm, once or twice I seem to recall,” she sighed as I pulled her cheeks apart. Whilst the round fullness of her near perfect cheeks make for isveçbahis giriş a beautifully deep crevice between them, they are pliable enough that when pulled apart her actual hole is easily accessible. Tonight I accessed it with ease. Pulling the thong to one side, I licked along the length of the crease, from the base of her spine to the meeting of her pussy lips passing over her anus in the process. As I licked her, so I squeezed and pinched her bum and ran a hand round the front and found her clit. She was moving slightly and pushing back against my tongue as it now probed right on that puckered entrance. “Fuck yes, James. Go on,” she grunted. I curled my tongue making it firmer and pointed and pressed hard on the hole. I can never get it in far, but enough to pleasure her and to excite me as it was now. “Oh yes,” she groaned, moving one hand from the window I noticed and pinching her nipple. I probed and pushed and she wiggled and pushed back. “Now fuck me, come on fuck me, now,” she moaned. I stood up and pressed my cock in the crease of her arse as I reached round her and grabbed both of her small, pert tits. “Here? You want it here?” “No just fuck me properly tonight.” “Fuck you where Kel”? “Up my cunt, fuck my cunt baby.” I was quickly and easily up my wife and fucking her with long deep thrusts. My arms were round her and my hands had found her tits and her clit. We were going for it big time. It was a surreal situation. She was leaning against the floor to ceiling window and we were both looking out at the city as we made love. What a sight we would have been if our room had been brighter. “Shall I turn the lights up and give Sharme, a real show?” I asked. “No stop sodding around and just fuck me.” I usually find it best to do what my wife says, so I did just that and fucked her. ++ For the rest of the holiday ‘my gay incident,’ as I thought of it, kept popping into my mind. I was confused. I had never consciously had a gay thought and certainly no gay experiences before in my life. I had been married for nearly twenty years and, in the main the sex with Kelly was fine. Earlier on in the marriage, I had strayed now and then, well quite a lot really, but I did travel frequently and with the tortuous, male logic on fidelity that sort of made it ok. So I had the occasional hooker, higher class of course, usually arranged through the hotel concierge, visited a massage parlour now and then and when really lucky I met a fellow travelling lady who was as up for a one nighter as I was. They were rare though, so most of my sex when travelling was self-relief. Pleasant, but lonely. Kelly and I lived in a trendy area of London, Islington. I worked in advertising and she in interior design. We had a wide group of friends and acquaintances who worked in similar industries, the law or the City and we led a relatively sophisticated, well we thought it was, life style. We had decided before we married that we did not want children. That, plus our success in business enabled us to lead an upscale lifestyle, which included a Victorian townhouse in London, a villa in Italy, a house in Florida, his and hers BMWs, eating at the top restaurants in London and taking numerous holidays. Life was good. For the first half of our, now, twenty year marriage, we were both, I think well I was, fairly faithful to each other. Sure, I strayed now and then on business trips and had the occasional hooker when entertaining clients, but then most men do that. I was not too sure about Kelly. As time went on, though, we both needed more. We nearly split up, but decided to stay together and have an open marriage. We agreed that, she and I could go with who we liked on the understanding that we did not embarrass the other. In the main it has worked and to be truthful our sex life is very good indeed. I had obviously exploited my ‘freedom’ and like many men in their thirties I had tried recapturing my youth by going with young woman; nothing pervy I mean eighteen and upwards. I had numerous older partners, managed to get into several threesomes and did most of the things most men would do in my situation. I had never, though, got involved with anything with my own sex, but I had begun to think about it. I had become curious, but nothing else, so why the fucking hell had I let the Thai kid jerk me off? In the UK, after the holiday, things got back isveçbahis yeni giriş to normal. Kelly and I had sex three or four times a week and that was, as usual very satisfying. I put the Thai boy into a recess of my mind. Then, fuck it, I was standing outside a newsagents sheltering from the rain under their canopy and I looked at the notices in the window. It seemed to leap out at me ‘Male Massage’ it said. ‘Discrete, personal, intimate, clean and friendly’ it went on adding ‘Ideal for newcomers, give me a call to discuss your particular needs. Peter 01652876824′ I could hardly believe that I then put the number into my phone. I did not call it though, well not for a few days. Then the curiosity raised its head. “Hello, Peter here, how can I help?’ A surprisingly strong voice said down the phone after I had called the number. “Er oh hi, er um, I saw your ad in a newsagents.” “Oh yes and would you like more details?” “Yes, yes I would please.” He told me that it was a complete service in a quiet discrete, clean flat. “You get a full body massage and whatever else you want can be discussed. Is that what you were looking for?” I told him that it was and we agreed that I would visit him the next day at three in the afternoon. My thinking was that would give me long enough to change my mind; all afternoon, evening all night and tomorrow morning. It was an anguishing time. ‘I’ll go, no I won’t.’ ‘It’s just the buzz, no its not you’re going mad.’ ‘Am I gay, am I changing?” I fucked Kelly twice between making the appointment and three the next day. They were good fucks, with lots of foreplay, including oral from both of us. As I was making love to her, I was totally convinced that Peter was history, but at the back of my mind I was wondering whether this bout of marital sex was an effort to persuade myself that I was dead straight. That Peter was not history and I was not dead straight were witnessed at three the next afternoon as I was ringing the doorbell of his flat in a neat, modern fairly upmarket block of flats near to Upper Street in Islington. “You must be James,” A well-built, good looking guy dressed in a white track suit said as he opened the door. “Yes, yes I am, and you’re Peter?” “I am, come on in.” Inside, the flat was very clean and modern and that made me feel comfortable. “So James, you’re pretty new to all this are you?” He said after leading me into a well-appointed lounge. I had told him on the phone that my visit to him would be my first male massage. “Er, yes I am, it’s my first time.” “Yes, you said that, would you like a drink, maybe a Scotch or a glass of wine?” “That would be lovely thanks, a red wine would be great.” He opened a bottle of Brouilly and poured two glasses. “Cheers,” he said touching his glass to mine. “Here’s to a great first massage.” I smiled. “Well I’ve had massages before but mainly from women.” “Mainly?” “Yes, but I had a male massage in Egypt recently.” “Interesting, enjoy it?” “Well yes and I suppose that’s why I’m here,” I told him finishing my wine. Well we’d better see if we can compete with Egypt hadn’t we? Ready?” “Yes of course.” He took me into one of the bedrooms that had been converted into a salon. There was a sideboard with piles of towels, talcum powders, oils, tissues and sweet smelling candles burning. In one corner, there was a shower and in the middle of the room was a high massage table. The curtains were shut and the room was dimly lit with some light, soothing classical music playing. “I’ll leave you to get ready shall I?” Peter said exiting from the room as he said. “You can put your things over there,” pointing to a little alcove. I was not sure what I should do so I undressed down to my boxers leaned against the side of the massage table and waited. He came back a few minutes later and I saw that he had removed his white track-suit top and was wearing a tight, white singlet. He had muscular arms, what looked to be a good physique and a fairly hairy chest. “OK James ready to go?” he asked in a warm and pleasant manner as he smiled at me. “Yes, sure how do er, um?” “How do I want you? Are you asking?” he said smiling broadly and making me feel relaxed. “Well let’s say on your front on the table.” I went to climb up. “With or without the boxers,” he remarked casually adding. “I do use oil and that can run a bit.” “Best off then?” I asked probably sounding far more confident than I sounded. “Your choice James, but I would say so.” He discretely turned away as I slipped them off and lay down on the bed, my head resting on my arms, my eyes closed.

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