Hands on Love

The following is a complete work of fiction.

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The following story may contain erotic situations between consenting adults. If it is illegal for you to read this please leave now.

Any resemblance between the characters and any real life person is completely coincidental. Please do not copy or distribute the story without the author's permission.

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*****

I supported Tim through his last heavy squat and gave him a pat on the thigh to indicate we were done. He groaned and pressed himself against me briefly, grinding his ass against my hips. I laughed and pushed him toward the locker room. "I'm spoken for, horn dog."

He grunted at me and grabbed his towel. "I could do you so much better, Trey, you know that."

I smiled. "Maybe, Tim, but I've got a man and I don't date clients. You know the rules." I grabbed my water and slugged down a gulp. Tim was one hot man, there was no two ways about it, but I simply wasn't interested. Brian and I had our issues, every couple does, but we'd been together two years and I saw no reason to jump ship. I certainly wasn't going to jump ship for the gym's "had everyone but Trey" stud.

"You should learn to live a little, Trey. You don't do the bars; you eat right, live right, and follow the rules. Man, you're going to be old some day and realize you missed out on life." He gave me a disgusted look. "Being pure doesn't make you happy. Good guys finish last." Yeah, Tim was a bad boy and proud of it. I think he stuck with me because he knew I was incorruptible but he liked the challenge.

I was about to give him an answer when my cell went off. I shot him a "shoo" look and grabbed my phone. "Hands-On, massage and training; this is Trey, how may I help you?"

The low voice on the other end chuckled. "I bet you get a lot of interesting responses to that."

I smiled. The guy had a sense of humor, which I liked in my clients. I waited for the sexual banter to begin. "I've had my share of heavy breathers."

He laughed again and I could almost hear his smile. "This is Jeff, Jeffrey Dane? I emailed you a few weeks back about a possible massage?"

"Oh, yeah; hi Jeff, you got the transfer?" Jeff was a medical management coordinator who had contacted me about a month ago about finding a new therapist and possible trainer. His company was looking to move him to take over the regional accounts.

"Yeah, sorry I didn't update you, but this was kind of sudden. They told me this morning that I had to be down here tonight." I could hear the stress in his voice. "I literally swung by my apartment, had an hour to grab clothes, my laptop and a few personal items and was on the plane down."

"That sucks." I wiped my brow with my towel. I was certain I would be seeing Jeff in the next day or so, if our schedules matched. I liked clients like him, professionals in fields related to medical offices, because they were the best at making connections and referring new clients.

"Tell me about it. I'll be flying back on Friday to drive down. The company has already arranged for a moving service. I have three days to find a place to live."

"Damn, your predecessor must have really fucked up."

He responded with a snort. "Can't talk about it, but I'll just say that if they didn't make a change, we'd lose most of our accounts here in Central Florida." His tone was both disgusted and exhausted. "You wouldn't have any time tonight would you?"

I grimaced. It was already six. I had another training client at six-thirty and an early morning training session. "Where are you staying?"

"Westin, Grand Bohemian."

That would take about twenty minutes to get to from the gym. "If I can take a shower at your room I could see you at a little after eight. I've got training till seven-thirty."

"Sure, the shower is free. I just need these knots worked out before tomorrow's meetings." He did sound like he needed some relief.

"No problem, Jeff. What's your room number?"

"669."

"Eight o'clock."

"You want me to print out your intake form?"

I smiled. My website had everything a client needed to speed up the initial session. I always liked it when one of them actually paid attention to it. "That'd be great."

"See you at eight."

I hung up and went to the front desk for a protein bar. I called Brian. "Hey, I've got a client at eight tonight."

I could imagine his face contorting into a frown. "Damn it, Trey. Don't you ever go off duty?"

"Yes, Brian, at nine pm. I don't take appointments after that." He knew my hours. He worked as an engineer, and for Brian the world should function on a nine-to-five timetable. The fact that most of my clients lived in the nine-to-five world, and needed my services after those hours, never seemed to sink in.

"Fine, whatever. I'm tired of this, Trey." He hung up.

I hated it when he got that way. I had to just suck it up and wait till his libido was in danger of exploding before he'd choose to touch me again. That usually only lasted a few days, but I really didn't enjoy the passive-aggressive shit. The fact that I was regularly turning down advances from clients didn't help the fact that my boyfriend used sex as a weapon. Ok, so the relationship had more than its fair share of problems, but at least I had a boyfriend; I wasn't alone.

I sighed as I bit into the U-Turn bar. "Another chemical dinner; I love my life." What I really wanted was a Big Mac.

*****

I got to Room 669 at a couple minutes after eight. I had a change of clothes in my bag and the rest of my stuff was on the table-cart. I wasn't prepared for the man who opened the door. He was only wearing a towel, which wasn't all that unusual; what was unusual was that he was absolutely gorgeous. I don't mean the GQ gorgeous; those guys are too artificial. Jeff was the tall, blonde, muscled but not a gym slave; hairy and friendly smile kind of handsome. He was my idea of the perfect man. I was gritting my teeth and cursing at the fact he was a client. I hoped that God couldn't be so cruel as to make him gay and counted my blessings that he was a straight man and off limits.

He smiled. "Prompt and honest, that's a nice change."

I raised an eyebrow as he stepped back and let me wheel my table in. "Honest?"

He laughed. "You wouldn't believe how many therapists I've hired off the web turned out to be anything but what they claimed."

That made me a little nervous; only gay or bi-curious men cared whether a male therapist looked like his pictures. Closing the door, he just smiled and went to the desk. "Here's the intake form."

I checked it out. He'd taken the time to initial all the signature points, put down some stress medications, listed high blood pressure as a condition, and made a point of fully signing the understanding, consent, and privacy policy areas. Clients who went to that much trouble with my forms, which are extensive, usually want legitimate massage. I sighed inwardly with relief.

He smirked at me as I folded his forms and put them in the pocket of my carrying bag. "You weren't kidding; you need that shower."

I laughed. I knew I was pretty ripe. Grabbing my clothes bag, I smiled. "I'll get the shower and then set up the table."

"I've had enough of these that I could probably set the table up while you're showering."

I wasn't fond of anyone touching my table, but it was unlikely he would hurt anything. "Sure, if you want. You don't get a discount though." I grinned at him before I disappeared into the bathroom.

I had just gotten out of my clothes when there was a knock. "Hey, Trey?"

I immediately grabbed a towel, fearing he'd open the door; he didn't. "Yeah?"

"What height do you set the table at?"

I relaxed. He did seem to know something about these things. "Three from the top."

"Ok. I'll be on the table when you come out. Do you want me face up or down?"

"Down, I can adjust the face cradle when I get out there."

"Will do." That was all there was to it. I chastised myself for my paranoia and showered quickly. I’m not at all shy about my body; hell, it's one of my calling cards and best advertising for my training business. I may sound obsessive, but I just don't think it's appropriate for a client to see me nude. They aren't going to get any, so why tease them?

I got back into the room; all clean and dressed and stopped to admire the sight. Jeff was about six-foot-two; my guess was about two hundred and twenty pounds with only about fourteen percent body fat. Ok, my body fat hovered about nine to ten, but fourteen on a desk-jockey in his late thirties was nothing to complain about. I snapped out of my admiration and went to the bed. He'd set out the lotion, oil and cream from my bag and had figured out how to run my MP3 player. Hell, Brian had never managed to use the thing correctly and he was an engineer. That had me feeling a warm spot in my gut, which I pushed aside. "Lotion, oil or cream?"

"Cream, it doesn't seem to stay as greasy and helps fingers not catch in my hair." He did have hairy legs, arms and chest, but his back was almost hair free. Again, I countered my impulse to think about how close to my ideal he was. I snapped on the waist belt for the cream and adjusted the face cradle for him. He'd already put a bolster under his ankles. I wished my other clients were as well trained.

"If I go too hard or do something you don't like, just say so and I'll adjust." He grunted an affirmative through the faceplate and I started. He was a great client to massage. Not only was his body responsive to my touch but he was also a moderate-moaner. My two least favorite types of clients are the totally silent, stiff guys who never indicate if you're doing things good, bad or if they even cared, and the guys who don't fucking shut up. Jeff was the happy medium. He moaned when I hit a tight spot or did something he liked, but otherwise just stayed quiet and enjoyed the massage. I know that sounds a bit sexual, but massage is an intimate business and feedback is important. Not to mention, I like my sex partners to talk dirty to me; that was something I discouraged with my clients.

I worked his ass a bit longer than was necessary, but he didn't seem to mind. In fact, I picked up the subtle signals that if I were to drift a little further than was professional, he wouldn't object. Jeff wasn't obnoxious; some guys almost push their ass up against your hands in hopes you'll catch the hint. He didn't make any moves to encourage me to "cheat", but I knew I could have done just about anything I wanted; the signals were there. That was so tempting; two years with Brian had left me aching for a chance to Top. I'm a versatile guy, and though I do prefer bottoming, I don't like a constant diet of it. Brian was a consummate top. I think he'd have lost his male identity if he ever let me near his ass. Some times I think gay Tops are more sexually insecure than straight men about things like that. I stayed professional, though my thoughts were anything but. I kept pushing aside images of sliding my long, hard cock between those cheeks and giving him a prostate massage he'd never forget. I was pressing down my pant leg and dripping a little despite my attempts to think of Dr. Ruth naked. By the time I had him turn over; I had a very damp stain in my jeans. Seeing him in full glory didn't help matters.

Many guys, straight or gay, get hard during massage. It generally has nothing to do with sexual desire; it's just a relaxation and blood flow response. Guys aren't touched enough in "sensual" ways that are non-sexual, so our bodies respond the only way we know how, we sport wood. Clients who work with me for a while eventually lose that immediate reaction to the intimacy of touch; I think it balances them out so they can be more expressive without it being sexual.

Jeff chuckled as he slid down to put his head on the main part of the table. "Sorry about the tense muscle; it usually happens during a massage."

I laughed. "No problem, most guys have that happen. You can relax that one after I leave." What I really wanted to do, when I started working the ball of his foot, was slide my hands up and take possession of his nine-inch love muscle. It looked good enough to make my hole itch a little. Damn I was having a problem. I seldom had difficulty keeping my thoughts from down right raunchiness during a session. Sure, I've gone home a lot of times and had Brian fuck me senseless because I was horny as hell, but this was a lot more intense.

I made it past his crotch without doing any of the erotic things that had been flooding my brain and got to his neck and shoulders. I concentrated on them, releasing the knots and working out the tension. Pulling his arms over his head, I had him hold onto me behind my waist. Ok, I know that sounds a bit kinky, but it's a practical way to work the upper arms and the connections where the pectorals attach. It also allows me to have them hold on so I can stretch them a bit. Most clients love that. Jeff's fingers lingered a bit on my lower back after I'd stretched him, tracing my muscles lightly as they moved up to stroke my lats. God that felt good. His eyes were watching me as I had the impulse to lean in and kiss him. I shuddered and took a breath before gently pulling his hands away and putting them at his sides. My pants were about to bust at the seams.

He closed his eyes and moaned when I worked his chest. He apparently had worked out earlier that evening for his pecs were flushed and tight. Like with his ass, I lingered a bit longer than necessary on his chest. Did I mention I'm a chest and ass man? Give me a great chest, a tight ass and some respectable arms and I'm pretty happy. Put those on a package like Jeff and I was on the road for disaster. I finished the massage by inducing a still point at the base of his skull. It was a quiet time and he slipped away completely; his body trembled a couple times as the last of his tension wicked away.

All in all, it was one of the better massages I'd ever done. We'd talked in email several times and I knew that intellectually we were very compatible as client and therapist. We just clicked on so many levels that I hardly had to think to know what he needed done. My problem was, something about him clicked with me too deeply; it was more than physical attraction and that scared the shit out of me. I stepped out of the main room to let him get off the table and put on some cloths or a towel. I washed my hands again, hoping to make the trembling go away. I needed to get out of there. When I came back in, he had a robe on and was pulling out his wallet. "Ninety-five, right?"

I nodded and stripped the table. "Yep; I hope you feel better."

He groaned. "That was one of the best massages I've ever had."

I smiled. "I get that a lot."

He looked at me seriously. "You deserve it. You've got the touch and the intuition. I could use some of your cards; you wouldn't believe how many people ask me for referrals to doctors and therapists. You take insurance?"

I nodded and handed him the stash from my day timer. "Yeah; I hate the new HIPPA Laws but insurance really makes my month." His fingers lingered against mine as he took the cards. There was a tingle that ran from his touch all the way down my spine and to my groin. I pulled back quickly, a little too quickly, because he noticed.

"You ok?"

I nodded. "Yeah, just a long day and an early morning tomorrow."

His eyes studied mine and then dipped to notice the long, hard line running down the inside of my pant leg. He couldn't have missed the dark, wet stain in my jeans. "You sure?"

"Yeah." I was breathing a bit harder as I finished packing up my stuff and took the money.

He was standing close when I turned to say goodnight. Not in my face, but definitely just within the comfort zone. "Trey, could I call you some time?"

That was not a request for another session. He wasn't pushing, but I saw sincere interest in his eyes. I'd had dozens of men make plays for me in their rooms. Jeff wasn't. He wasn't asking me to stay; he was asking me if there was a chance for more than a professional relationship. My libido screamed "yes," but my mind knew better. "Jeff, I admit, I find you attractive, and under other circumstances I'd go for you in a heartbeat."

"But…" He had a knowing smile on his face. At least he didn't look hurt or disappointed.

"But it's illegal. Part of the code of ethics for therapists is that we cannot have personal relationships with clients. Blah, blah, etc. and so forth." I swallowed. God I wanted to kiss him. "If I did, how would you be able to trust I wasn't fucking any of my other clients?"

He sighed and stepped back. "I take it that calling for more appointments, or to get some training sessions, wouldn't be a good idea."

My heart sank. What I wanted, for the first time with any client, was for him to push the issue. I think if he had taken me in his arms and kissed me I'd have ended up on my back with him riding me to oblivion. I'd never had it that bad for anyone, client or not. I didn't even fuck on first dates; I would have with him. I nodded. "I don’t think it would be good for either of us."

He shrugged and handed me my money. "Could you email me some suggestions for other therapists and trainers to look into?"

I smiled. "I'd be happy to." That was a lie. I wanted to keep him to myself. I wanted him in my bed and against my body, but that wasn't going to happen.

We talked about nonsense for a few more minutes, neither one of us wanted me to leave. I did leave, feeling like an asshole. I also wondered why I hadn't mentioned the fact I had a boyfriend as one of the reasons I couldn't see him socially. I didn't start kicking myself till I got home.

Brian's stuff was in bags and boxes in the living room. I stared in disbelief as he came out with his suitcase. "What are you doing?"

He looked at me like I was the lowest thing in the world. "I'm tired of playing second best to your clients, Trey. They get more of you than I do and I'm sick of it."

We'd had that argument before. Brian never could accept that I wasn't fucking my clients. He'd seen me rebuff the advances of training clients and had accused me of only doing so because "he was there." I thought we'd gotten past that, but trust was never one of Brian's strong points. I had just passed up the perfect guy to return home to my asshole boyfriend trying to brain fuck me again. "So, where are you going?"

"Tim's."

I blinked. "Tim Mathews?"

He nodded. "At least with Tim as a roommate I won't be home at night jacking off."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Tim had been after me for months. Then I started thinking about it; he never really pushed hard for me to give in, most of his actions were to tease me and then tell me that I was too good for Brian, or that someone else was better for me, usually him. It suddenly dawned on me what he'd been trying to say. I snarled at Brian as he grabbed some of his bags. "Finally found a guy who could push your pussy ass down and teach you what it is to be gay?" Tim was a major Top. There was no way he was letting Brian anywhere near his ass. For Tim, you'd have to be bigger, badder and stronger to top him. It was a dominance thing. I doubted I'd have a chance at his ass, and I was a hell of a lot closer to being able to take down Tim than Brian ever would be.

Brian scowled at me but didn't say anything. That told me what I needed to know. I reclaimed his key before he walked out with his last bags; I told him he could get anything else that weekend. He closed the door and I sat down feeling empty. Two years in a relationship, even if it wasn't all that great, was a hard thing to have ended so abruptly. I went to bed having dreams that alternated between abusing Brian and finding lustful satisfaction in Jeff's arms. God hated me.