Me and Him and the Pre-Op Tranny

Thinking of him, of what he did, of what we did, it’s like it’s all happening again, the breathing, the heartbeats, and my cock is hard, even after coming twice today. You know what my fantasy is, I say to him while he’s massaging my calves. What is your fantasy? he says. His voice low, his accent strong, Russian, his hands never pausing. I say: My fantasy is you and me in a threesome, fucking pussy together. Very good, he says, pressing into my thighs, my cock hard against my stomach. Even on my way to the gym today, even after jerking off, my cock gets hard, feels heavy in my shorts, just thinking about him.

Sasha is a masseur I see a couple of times a year. He is beautiful in that Eastern European kind of way, his flesh solid, a bit of hair on his chest. He has bulk, is meaty. He’s wearing a tight white vest, navy blue shorts. His arms are thick. His body, his whole body, everything, the flesh, the chest, the cock, everything, just the thought of him, his skin, his face, hair, nipples, there to see, as he takes his vest off and I hand him my towel, my locker key, and he points to the massage table and the hole at the top end of it, for my head, and says something like: As usual.

His colour, his voice, his laugh, the sound of him, his touch, his hands on me, the way he… avoiding and coming close, teasing – is he teasing? – his sweat, because he’s sweating now. We’re halfway through and I am on my back. Can I touch you? I say. Where? he says. Pause. To utter this is not. To touch, just skin, that’s all I want, all I want from him, not cock, not love, not his mouth on my, nothing, just to touch me. I say: I don’t want to come.

A cock massage? he says.

How much will you charge me? I say.

Twenty pounds, he says. Only twenty pounds. Not one hundred and fifty.

We’d talked about him and me having sex with a pre-op tranny and apparently (he tells me this) that’s what they charge for a session, an hour. They might want double for a threesome. He’s up for it. He would do it with me. Me and him and the pre-op tranny. She-male, he calls her. It’s the best, he says. Something to lick and something to suck. His hands on my cock, oiled, up and down, gently, held, everything is this sensation between his palms, rise and fall.

Have you always been into she-males? I say.

Information is the aphrodisiac, knowledge given. You ask and you’re granted. No secrets. Nothing withheld. The thrill of the insurmountable unknown, of longing to know and never reaching the bottom. Desire ends when there is nothing left to discover, nothing to find out, the death of curiosity. And while he strokes my cock I stroke his back, gently, the way, earlier, he’d stroked my chest, standing behind me, pressing down from above onto my pecs, kneading them, his palms sliding over my nipples.

You like my tits? I say.

Of course, he says.

Would you like them to be bigger?

Of course.

His back is smooth, he is sweating, and there’s soft hair in the curve of his back. I rub a small radius of flesh from my position on the table, on my back, my cock in his hands, one hand then the other, a kind of milking. God, I say, I love the way you touch me. What, he says, your cock? Yes, that, but also everything else, just your hands on me. I love that. Even writing this is like living it again, my cock hard, remembering and being and wanting, simultaneously. In the moment it is all true desire, all truth, nothing is done just for the moment, nothing out of greed or need. I don’t question anything, don’t imagine that the twenty pounds he’s charging me for a hand-job is anything more than what one should ask for and what one does ask for when one is giving someone a massage and something more enters the equation.

I’m enjoying my slight obsession with Sasha. I’ve been intrigued and turned-on by him for a couple of years now. I like his weirdness, the way he evades personal questions, but then softens up, become vulnerable and answers whatever I ask. I want to seduce him, to keep seducing him, for this to be about seduction, to never having him, for him to be someone to seduce, not someone seduced.

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