Erotic massage diary
I learned the art of massage from J., a new age woman who studied at Easalen in Northern California. J was older, tall, thin and gave very good, very sensual massages. J. maintained her lifestyle by doing private massage and most of her clients were women; I think by her choice. She also had male clients, but even though they paid her more, she didn’t seem to enjoy working on them as much.
The first time J gave me a massage, it was my first experience of getting a professional massage and I became extremely turned on. J was not at all disturbed by the sight of my erect penis, she made no move to cover my erection, nor did she say anything negative. To my surprise, she held back that arousal giving me one of the best blowjobs I’ve ever experienced.
J took her time during the massage, teasing and occasionally touching my cock until I was ready to explode, pulling it until I was ready to beg her to touch my cock hard. J was skilled and at the height of my lust and frustration she bent down and took my cock deep into her mouth and throat. She went down to the base, swallowing as she thrust deep into my throat to the hilt, then sucking and pulling her lips back to my glans. It was an incredible climax and I almost passed out from the intensity of it. Looking back now, I believe she imparted some of her power and mastery of the art of massage to me at that time, similar to the way I hear the Yogi Masters imparting their knowledge to their students.
The massage parlor had men working on men, women working on women for about 20 years. In the early 1990s, a few therapists changed things. They asked permission to cross massage. It caught the attention of hoteliers and legislation was passed allowing cross massage on a trial basis.
In the beginning, I was very aware of the whole gender thing, male and female, and I did my best to be professional. Yet there was something about my touch, something that turned women on, whether that was my intention or not. Maybe it was J’s training, maybe it was just my hormones, but I was aware that women were exotic creatures and not just pieces of meat. I massaged them with an attitude of devotion, as if I were given a special opportunity, and used the best combination of pressure, music and technique I could. My clients would respond to this and I received more requests than most other therapists.
For whatever reason, most of the women I’ve worked with respond sexually.
The first time this happened in the hotel was during a half-hour massage shortly after we started doing cross-gender. I don’t remember her name, just her face, hair and exquisite body. I will call her M.
M was a stunningly beautiful girl who had been a cheerleader. Long, dark brown hair, olive skin, and beautiful muscle tone — her presence was believable. She was so physically attractive that it almost took my breath away when I entered the small massage room. All I could do was stammer the instructions for her to undress and mount on the table.
Since it was only a 1/2 hour massage, I started with M lying face up on her back. I put a support under her knees, slightly spreading her legs, then I put a rolled towel under her head, wanting to make her as comfortable as possible on the table.
I began her massage with slow, firm strokes, working under her neck and shoulders, pulling and kneading the long muscles of her lower back. She made little noises of pleasure and I noticed that her nipples looked erect under the thick towel. I worked her shoulders and then a little on the front of her chest and pecs, being careful not to let my hot, oily hands slide all the way down her chest. Her skin was olive with fine pores that made it silky and a joy to touch. My heart was racing and I resisted sliding my hands under the towel and holding those big, firm breasts.
M must have sensed my desire to touch her because without any warning she pulled the towel draped down her flat stomach, fully exposing those two delicious breasts. They were beautiful, firm, with large brown areolas and fully erect, large nipples. I thought my heart was going to explode and I was conflicted by a variety of feelings. My sense of “professionalism” said, “This is wrong,” my manly essence said, “Everything is fine.”
True, after years of thinking about it, I didn’t have the strength to pull that towel back and cover her breasts. Her feminine “muscle” was too strong and I didn’t have the strength to resist what was being offered to me.
I moved my hands down to her breasts and they felt even better than they looked. I took a deep breath, squirted some almond oil into my palm, warmed it up by rubbing my palms together, and proceeded to massage her amazing breasts. They were firm and I was gentle as I kneaded her flesh in my hands, trying to swallow each breast with both hands. My touch was gentle and firm with just a little extra pressure to see if she would respond to a slight amount of pain. She didn’t, so I circled my palm around her nipples and felt the pressure of her erect flesh against my hand.
I could feel her heart pounding and, noticing how her breathing quickened, I quickly lowered myself to her feet, conscious of time. I only had half an hour, and I didn’t want to be late or late– that would draw suspicion from the attendants who greeted M as she returned to the women’s section of the spa. It added to my tension and pleasure to touch this beautiful and sensual creature and I didn’t want the experience to end.
I turned M. over and worked her calf and thigh muscles, using long, slow strokes and the deep pressure I had learned so well from my former teacher. M responded by clutching her pelvis on the table, her way of silently telling me that everything was fine. table with a circular motion. The room was filled with an air of hot and humid sexuality and I could see a thin sheen of sweat on her shoulders and back. The towel had fallen unnoticed on the floor and I could faintly smell clean female sex, a faint aroma of aroused flesh and wet pussy.
My desire to penetrate M was fierce, it took an enormous amount of control not to unzip my pants and pull her back onto the table, back where I could take my throbbing cock to her wet, soft pussy. I didn’t though, there was no way I could afford to take that liberty with her body. Instead, I continued to massage the backs of her thighs and M continued to thrust her pelvis into the mass, jerking her ass into the air as she orgasmed in a series of thrusts and jerks, her body experiencing a strong climax.
I leaned over and whispered:
– You are a very beautiful woman and you have a beautiful sexuality. Thank you for allowing me to share this with you.
M didn’t say anything and I left the room, saying I’d wait for her in the lobby when she was ready to go back to the spa.
As I waited outside the room, a thousand thoughts ran through my mind. No one was waiting outside the door. My penis was back to a more manageable state. My underwear prevented the semen from showing on my pants. I felt good, vital, sexual and very alive.
When M walked out of the room, she must have felt the same way, there was a stunning sparkle in her eyes, a tiny smile and she was perfectly calm. It wouldn’t have been said that just five minutes before, the same beautiful woman was writhing in orgasm on my massage table.
