Two Filipino Massage Therapists

Allow me to begin with this preface: I'm going to outline two different experiences with Filipinos. Both of these occurred years apart in two different cities, so whatever the similarities that pop up just happen to be a coincidence. I've had many encounters with Filipinos through the years beyond these.

 

When I lived in Washington, D.C., I found a massage therapist who would come to my house. At five-foot-six, he rarely wore more than shorts, a tank, and flip flops.

Finely crafted, his body stood out as a specimen of perfection. Every muscle perfectly outlined, completely visible, and just gorgeous. While he provided an excellent massage experience, for an extra 20 bucks, he'd be completely naked.

Obviously, he was an exhibitionist, but with a body like his, he needed to be one. I know I'd show it off. And while I could never compare myself in his league, his own fetish served him well. He got off on "white men larger than himself."

His massage sessions remain to this day the marker I measure every single massage I have had since those days. From the moment he walked in the door, a sexual voodoo exuded from him. He could whip up sexual tension between us.

While his bodywork provided significant therapeutic effectiveness, he built the session into an amazing sensual effect. For example, as he would stretch my leg, one at a time, his mostly flaccid cock with its piercing would tap at my asshole. And my thigh would be against that incredible chest.

You know how some "massage" ads talk about "mutual touch." In the most passive sense, you could let him do all the work and he would assure your body touched his and his yours.

Near the conclusion, he would squirt copious amounts of grapeseed oil into my crotch area and climb onto the table, laying on me. Sometimes he'd grasp my cock with his respectable six-inches (at full hardness now) and other times, with sophisticated control, his body would grind against mine.

Of course, at this point, I took the opportunity to not be so passive at the mutual touch. His incredibly and naturally smooth body against mine, moving at a natural rhythm, creating waves of pleasure. Without any penetration, this man could whip me into a sexual frenzy that would cause among the most intense orgasms ever.

My normal load is pretty large. What this hard-bodied but incredibly talented man could inspire out of me usually doubled the amount.

He would never cum. And no penetration ever happened. But his sexual, sensual experience has never been equaled. I doubt it ever will.

My second experience occurred years later, after moving to Atlanta. I hoped against all hope that I might find another massage therapist who could do half of what my muscular Filipino had done. Using Craigslist.org, I posted requests for a liberal massage therapist, interested in a little more than massage.

Here's the thing, my post did have specifics of wanting that therapeutic skill. I still wanted my cake and to eat it too. I never mentioned Asian or Filipino or anything.

The ad got posted several times with a different collection of responses. And I did try out several men, some of which were remarkably talented. But none ever measured up.

One day, I received a vague e-mail with a tiny attached photo of an absolutely beautiful bubble butt clad in red briefs. It started a dialog with a very normal-sounding name of Mark -- my own.

Over a series of months and with few details scattered in our communications, Mark would eventually reveal he was part owner of a spa in a nearby community. It took a long while for me to get the name and location with any clarity. When I finally did, I took a deep breath and called.

The woman who answered confirmed that a massage therapist named Mark worked there and I booked an appointment.

When I arrived and checked in with the lovely, long-haired Slovakian woman behind the desk, I didn't know what to expect. But as the five-foot-three, shy young man rounded the corner to shake my hand, I knew that my experience would be a good one.

Mark's demeanor tended toward a kind of shyness -- or it was my initial thought. And that day began a kind of relationship. Well beyond business and remarkably intimate. I might explain those experiences in another posting soon.

Unlike the hard muscles covered by smooth skin, Mark's body (as I would eventually see it) seemed to be covered by a delicate layer of baby fat. By no means was he out of shape. It gave him a quality that allowed our bodies to mesh together in so many more ways. His five-inch pecker jutted straight out from his body to a point, usually with a glistening drop of precum. His body, while largely smooth, also contained more hair around his cock, in his pits and the crack of his ass -- significantly more than muscle man.

Our first session only allowed me to see him shirtless, but other sessions would get more intense -- so much so that the 90-minute massages that I scheduled would be 90 minutes of sex.

Several months would come before Mark and I would discuss his heritage. When that discussion did come, he asked in his quiet whisper where I thought he was from: "The Philippines." I answered.

A shocked look crossed his face: "No one has ever guessed that."

"Well, was I right?" I responded.

"Yes," he smiled.

I promise to write more about Mark and the other massage experiences I've had.