Hey folks, I'm Ben, if you have read my other first cracks at sharing some of my real-life stories, you'll know I'm 32, married to my beautiful wife Cara and have these occasional and increasing urges to muck about with dudes.
I've kept my rugby players body from high school days and workout at least five times a week to stay in shape. I'm covered in hair with a pelted chest and hairy thighs and ass, and speaking of ass, that's the thing that I am most uncomfortable about. It's big, not just perky or bubble, it's the thing that stops me being able to wear most shorts or pants because I split them as soon as I bend over or squat down to pick something up. Cara thinks this is hilarious and loves to rub my ass when I'm deep inside her, it's like she's holding on tight and pulling me in deeper.
My job as a commercial building engineer gives me plenty of travel, after the first year though, the novelty wears off. Airports, delays and airplane farts from the crap food quickly take the thrill out of it. Sometimes the hotels are awesome and sometimes the cities are even better. Next week I'm off to London for a project that I need to check in on for three days. I decide because of the long flight, I will leave early and have the weekend over there. I'm staying in the heart of London just off Oxford Street and know the area well.
I've always been a lover of massages, from women, men or anyone that can get into my muscles and make me feel like I'm floating. This love started way back in school when after a hard game of rugby, the coach would always make us get a rub down to get the lactic acid out of our muscles. I'd be lying if I told you I have never deliberately searched for a male masseuse in a faraway country and pre-booked ready for when I touched down. This time I started searching on the web for male massages in London, there were heaps, so many more than there are in Melbourne.
I stumbled across an ad that read "male massage workshop" which I clicked on. It went on to explain that each Saturday evening, there's a facilitated massage workshop where you will learn basic techniques through a hands-on approach. What does that even mean? Anyway, my chub in my shorts was already telling me to get involved so I messaged the site through their "contact us" link.
"Hi, my name's Ben, am travelling from Australia next weekend and am keen to know if you have any spots available in your next massage workshop?"
Next day, no reply.
The following day, here's what I got, "Thanks Ben, we've got a spot with your name on it. Thanks for getting in touch. We require a bank transfer of 220 pounds prior to attending which will secure your spot and please read the attached FAQs".
Shit, was this really going to happen? Then I re-read the thing about bank transfers and there was no way I was going to do that and put my name out there. I decide to try my luck, and reply with "thanks, appreciate the response, am in the middle of prepping for a work trip over there and can't do a transfer, you okay if I bring cash on the night?" Trying to sound casual about it.
I'm sitting here at my laptop in the study, just home from gym, wondering if I'll get a response. I notice how rank I am, a full day at work and then a 90-minute session at the gym. I stink, yet the half-chub in my shorts keeps telling me to lock this massage workshop in. I shout down to Cara that I'm jumping through the shower before dinner and head to our bathroom. I peel off my stinking gym shorts and red briefs, leaving them in a pile on the floor. As I turn the water on, waiting for it to get warm, I glance back at the pile of clothes on the floor. Instinctively I grab the sweat-soaked red briefs and bring them up to my nose. "Hmmmm, fuck they smell good". The effect was instant, my rock hard fat uncut dick straight out ready for action. Why does the smell of a day's worth of piss drips, sweat and pre-cum dribbles have this impact on me? With no time to nut a load out in the shower, I jump through, have a quick wash and throw on my grey track pants and grey sweater and head downstairs for dinner.
Cara leans in and give me a kiss while reaching behind and squeezing my ass saying, "you smell and feel great babe". She then gives my dick a squeeze through the track pants and comments "you never wear jocks under your track pants, babe that makes me wet". Dinner is already on the table so no time for a quick blow job, we sit down and compare notes on how our days were and what we have on tomorrow. I mention I've got to get a couple more things done before I head to bed. I clean up, fill the dishwasher and notice that Cara is already in front of the television.
I head back to the study check for emails and in my private discreet alternative account, I see I've got a reply from "Tim's Men's Massage Workshops".
"Hi Ben, thanks for getting back to me, I don't usually accept bookings without payment up front, in the past I've have had guys that do not turn up and waste time and places in the workshop." It continued, "though never anyone that is travelling from overseas, you guys always turn up! I hope you don't stuff that track record up, so sure, see you next Saturday night and safe flight over. Remember to thoroughly read the FAQ's I sent you." Well, I guess I'm doing a men's massage workshop next Saturday in London, I decide that I'll look at the FAQs he sent when I'm killing time at the airport or on the flight.
The days pass and I had almost forgotten about the workshop until I was at Dubai airport. My flight from Melbourne was around 21 hours and I had 90 minutes in the lounge in Dubai before off for the final eight-hour leg to London. In the lounge I decide in my sleepy fuzzy state to have a read of the FAQ's that Tim the workshop guy had sent through. There was not much in there that surprised me, things like nudity, consent, and respect. The final point said, "remember to bring a spirit of curiosity". I laughed out aloud, "hahaha" sure I'm curious, that's why I signed up. How I think it will go is something along the lines of a bunch of guys, an instructor and I'm assuming we will be paired up with another guy to practice the techniques on.
No dramas clearing customs and I've checked into my hotel, I've stayed there a few times and the staff are super friendly. It's Friday mid-afternoon, and I know I must stay awake at least six more hours to get this time clock sorted. I decide to do the last thing I really felt like doing and that was to go for a run. Gym gear and trainers on, I head out the door of the hotel. It's tricky running in London central, there's so many people, it's a mix of "excuse me" and slow walking mixed in with pace. I head down to the end of Oxford street to Hyde park and find some more space. I've got no energy and can feel it in my body. I make it around but decide to stroll back to the hotel stopping at a few shops to kill time. Shower back at the hotel, dinner and then its sleep.
Saturday was filled with coordinating work stuff for Monday, and it helped keep my mind off the massage workshop that I was increasingly getting excited about. The day went fast and before I knew it, I was in the shower only an hour from kick off time for this thing. The FAQ's said "wear loose comfortable clothing". With traveling light, it wasn't like I had 20 options to choose from. In fact, I had two, the gym shorts I had worn twice already or a pair of rugby shorts that I work out in also. Easy, rugby shorts, singlet and hoodie over the top. If I get warm, I can take it off. Oh yeah, and boring old red briefs that for some reason, were no longer boring when it came to making my dick hard. Ever since a guy from my morning commute back in Melbourne stuffed his face against them and inhaled my bulge I can't stop getting turned on by them. They're no fancy CK's or anything like that, they are part of probably a four pack my wife grabs for me every so often when I need new jocks.
Dressed and out through the hotel lobby I decide to walk to the apartment address that was emailed to me a few hours ago. Nervous as fuck, now that this is really happening, I stop by a corner pub for a pint (you've got to love how many pubs there are in London). I down my ale and make my way there. I'm bang on time, and wonder if I should walk around the block to kill a few minutes, fuck it, "just press the intercom" I tell myself. "Hey, it's Ben" I announce when I'm greeted with a masculine "hello".
"Come on up, level four and turn left out of the lift". This shit is getting real, I can feel my heart pounding and I can also feel blood starting to flow to my thick dick. Hang on, I can't turn up to this workshop, rock hard, so I start thinking of bunnies and puppies in the hope it doesn't keep growing in my shorts. Two firm knocks on the door and Tim, the host and instructor swings the door open and says in a mocking way "G'day mate", taking the piss out of me being from Australia. I say "hi, how you doing" which was as equally awkward. He invites me in and walks me to his massive lounge area where I can see so much. There are three guys sitting on the sofas drinking wine, there's two massage tables set up and there's a plate of cheese and stuff on the coffee table with bottles of wine and beers. Oh yeah, and there's also Tim the instructor. I'm guessing early forties, muscle with a nice layer of padding over the top, scruffy beard and wearing firm light-coloured chinos and a polo shirt. He is dressed like he does this stuff in the corporate world and has just walked in from the day.