Pete carried the busy dining room's last tray of cleared china on his shoulder, a good 50 yard walk from the furthest private room, through the main dining room, up a ramp, past the cooks, and to the conveyor belt to load for the dishwashers. A couple of weeks into his summer job as a busboy at an exclusive lakeside resort while on break from college, he'd already made the trip countless times; first for breakfast, then for dinner, every day. He was already in top physical condition, swimming for his small Midwestern college team, so it wasn't the weight of the trays that bothered him. His shoulders and arms were strong and carried the lean muscle of an athlete with thousands of hours in the pool. But his feet were not accustomed to such duty, especially carrying a 40 lb. tray of heavy china and flatware multiple times every meal. He groaned inwardly, reminding himself that this was just breakfast, just the beginning of the day.
He unloaded the dishes, joked a bit with the dishwashers and cooks, loitering about, grabbing a slice of bacon from a tray, and ambled out to the dining room to help finish cleaning up. He was looking forward to his own meal, then a little time by the lake to relax and water-ski, maybe flirt with some girls, before the dinner shift later that evening.
He walked over to his friend Tom, who attended the same school and fraternity, and who'd gotten him the job this summer. Tom had worked at the resort last summer and, at school, spoke glowingly of his exploits there, describing days golfing and lounging by the water, and nights in the bar picking up guests of all ages, the nannies who traveled with them, and waitresses heralding from Europe for the summer. "What the fuck did you sign me up for man", Pete complained to him. "My feet are killing me."
"New shoes, pussy", Tom replied. "And you'll get used to it after a few more days, trust me. You'll be in even better shape at the end of the summer."
Just then, Terry, an older waiter, was walking by. "Get some inserts", he advised. "And, soak your feet at night, until those muscles develop. Or, hey, I used to be a licensed masseur, so I can give them a good rub down for you, if you want."
Pete glanced at Tom, and chuckled awkwardly. "Nah, it's all good man, I'll survive. Thanks though."
Terry shrugged and walked off. Pete and Tom cracked up a bit. Terry was a nice guy, early forties, a triathlete, in great shape, very good looking, tall, with thinning blond hair, but certainly gay all the way.
Not that there's anything wrong with that, Pete knew. He wasn't threatened, and liked Terry, had talked with him several times about their respective training regimens. In fact, Tom had had a couple of rather mild experiences with other guys before; a drunken hot tub jerk-off session with a fellow swim instructor from last summer's job after everyone had passed out at a party once, and an impromptu, coked-up threesome while sharing a bed with a guy and girl from school, which really amounted to nothing more than some heavy petting and fingering while they took turns fucking the girl. If either one of the experiences had been Terry in the guy's place, he would have gladly accepted. He didn't mind either time, even was thrilled by the novelty and forbidden nature of them, but his tastes ran to women, and women of all ages and nationalities were in no short supply at this place.
Thus, he certainly surprised himself when, while clocking out and walking toward the front door for the ¼ mile trek back to his room, he spotted Terry climbing onto his bike. "Hey", Pete said, "Man my feet really are killing me; is that offer still open?"
Terry smiled and said "Sure. I'm in Hopkins cabin, by the marina. You know where it is?"
"Uhhh, I'll look at the map and find it, no worries."
"Around two?"
"Great, uh yeah sure, thanks man" Pete replied. "See ya."
"Jesus," Pete thought to himself as he walked back to his own dorm to shower before lunch. "Did I really just do that? Well yeah, I guess I did, and I wanted to after all, even sober. Weird..."
Pete felt the familiar butterflies of anticipation as he returned to his room. He cranked out his pushups and situps, and decided to forgo the walk back to the employee cafeteria for lunch, instead opting for some canned tuna, crackers, and fruit he had in his room.
He then gathered his shower items, slipped on his slides, and went down the hall to the showers.
Pete clipped his toenails, and spent extra time cleaning his sore feet, making sure they were as hygienic as feet could be. He chuckled to himself, picturing poor Terry wearing a gas mask to fight through the freak show that were his smelly, beaten down dogs. "Might as well trim myself up" he thought to himself while showering. Being a swimmer, he'd already taken care of most of his body hair, and in keeping, kept his cock, balls, and crack shaved clean, leaving only a small patch of trimmed hair above his cock. Most girls liked it that way, and it made his cock stand out nicely. Girls, and even the couple of guys who'd touched it, had always complimented him on it. A little shorter than average, but definitely thicker than average, straight and smooth. He shaved his pubic region clean, rinsed down with soap, and paid careful attention to his asshole, making sure it was smooth and clean. "Never know" he thought to himself, his cock semi-stiff as he soaped his ass, not resisting the urge to slip in a soapy finger. He dried himself off in the shower, and went to get dressed.
Pete certainly wasn't sure what this "massage" entailed, if Terry was simply offering a kind gesture for a co-worker. But, he decided he'd give Terry a thrill in return. He selected a white lycra spandex thong, usually reserved for workouts. He found the stretchy pouch-type thongs worn under shorts kept everything in place while running or doing stairs, and they just felt comfortable and sexy. He sometimes wore them under jeans if he went out to a club to dance, as they made his package look huge. This accentuation was a bonus for this occasion, and the cut left no doubt as to his grooming habits. It could not be any lower rise, with the top just barely covering the base of his cock and the pouch pushing everything out front. He slipped on a performance tee shirt, some loose fitting basketball shorts, and flip-flops. A quick check of the map in the property's brochure revealed the location of Terry's cabin, and Pete was out the door, a little late, around two.
Terry's cabin was situated on a far corner of the property, a little wooded area overlooking the lake. "Nice", Pete thought to himself as he approached, and wondered how the hell Terry was able to pull that. As far as he knew, only the wine masters, senior cooks, head waiters, and captains had their own cabins. The rest of the wait and bar staff had dorm style rooms on stilted cabins; small, wood-paneled, poorly insulated rooms that made his own digs at school feel like the Waldorf. Terry answered Pete's knock, and opened the door with a smile. "Hey Pete, come on in", he said. Terry was wearing some bike shorts and riding bibs. He looked like he was ready to get out and go for a ride. "Uhhh, were you leaving or something? You sure this is a good time?" Pete asked.
"Yeah it's fine. I actually wasn't sure if you were coming, and today's my 40 mile ride, so I was getting ready just in case."
"Oh, sorry I'm a little late Terry. We can always do this another time."
"No, no, it's no problem, I've got time now."
Terry walked over to his dresser as Pete took in the cabin. It was tastefully decorated, and stored a couple road bikes and a mountain bike hanging from hooks on the ceiling. Several trophies adorned shelving on the walls. "Nice place man, how did you manage to secure this little gem? You related to the Porters or something?" The Porters were the family who owned the old, stately resort.
"Nah, they just give us old guys private places. We need our sleep, and can't function like you kids up all night", Terry laughed. "Actually, I've been working here for seven summers now, so I do have a bit of seniority. And, since it looks like I'm not going riding today, I guess we can share this little gem, too." Terry turned and produced a neatly wrapped joint from his dresser drawer. "Another perk, one of the groundskeepers keeps me well supplied in some choice home-grown."
Pete laughed. "Sweet, I gotta make his acquaintance sometime!"
Terry clicked on some mellow reggae, sat on the edge of his bed, and sparked the joint. Pete sat in an easy chair across from him, and they shared the excellent pot. Terry cracked a couple of cold craft beers from his mini fridge. Conversation turned to work, which captains were nicest to work with, Pete's swimming workouts in the lake, Terry's trophies and what races he'd won, and what local races he was entering this summer. "You should enter the Enduro in August before you go back to school, Pete", Terry advised.
"Shoot, I'd likely be one of the first ones out of the water, and still finish last, or dead on the road somewhere" Pete joked.
"Nah, you'd do fine. I've got an extra bike to help you train." Terry blew out a thick stream of smoke, snubbed out the last half of the joint into an ashtray, and walked to the small closet across the room. "Glad I kept this", he said, unfolding a portable massage table. As Terry began to set up the table, Pete took this as a signal the massage was about to begin. He'd originally planned to simply let the massage happen fully clothed, but, as often happened to him, the high quality pot served a dual purpose: He was now incredibly horny, and his inhibitions were low. He was already a bit of an exhibitionist, and proud of the body he'd worked hard to attain, so without much thought and before he could change his mind, he kicked off his flip flops, pulled off his tee shirt, and stepped out of his loose fitting shorts, leaving on only the small, tight thong, which housed a cock that, although not at all hard, was certainly beginning to stir with some blood at the excitement. Terry turned around, took a glance at him, quickly up and down, and said, smiling "Wow, ooookaaay..."
"Well, you were nice enough to offer to massage my feet", Pete grinned, "so I figured I'd give you something nice to look at while you were doing it."
"Well, in my time as a masseur, I certainly had to deal with a lot of body types and odors", Terry replied, "and I've seen them all. Bodies like yours made it a pleasure to work on them. You're in fantastic shape, and, nice touch", he said while letting his eyes linger an extra beat on Pete's package.
"Thanks, I kind of like showing it off actually, Pete said. "So how do you want me to begin?"
"Let's have you lay on your back, Pete." Terry produced a small pillow, and Pete got situated. He was acutely aware how exposed he was, practically naked, willingly, while Terry was still fully clothed. The thought appealed to his exhibitionist side tremendously. Between his ever-growing excitement and pouch thong, his bulge while lying down looked absolutely huge.
Terry moved to the end of the table, moved a small table next to it, and placed some oils on it. "Thanks for having some clean feet here, it saves me a step. Now just relax and we'll get these feet feeling better for the dinner shift."
Pete closed his eyes as Terry began to work his feet. He had obvious skills, and knew the pressure points well. "That feels amazing", he said, as Terry expertly massaged one foot then the other, for what felt like an eternity of bliss, but in reality was about fifteen minutes. From time to time, Pete would open his eyes and glance down at Terry and notice how large he was growing. He now regretted choosing a white thong, as he was pretty sure he was about to start dripping, and any leakage would be immediately visible to Terry. Strangely, the thought served only to excite Pete further. Once, when he opened his eyes, he saw Terry staring directly at his cock. They locked eyes briefly and Terry smiled. Pete smiled embarrassingly, and closed his eyes again, but not before slightly opening his legs and thrusting his hips up slightly as if to say "Here's a little better view for you, if you like what you see so far."
As if on cue, Terry proceeded to move up Pete's legs to his calves, methodically and expertly massaging one, then the other. "Nice shave" Terry said, snapping Pete out of his trance.
"Yeah, you know, well, swimming."
