Travelling Tales: The Blind Masseur

The Blind Massage sign posted on the wall of an old decrepit building attracted my attention.  It had been a long day walking the streets enduring the unrelenting heat of Kuala Lumpur.  My legs were aching and a massage seemed like a pretty good idea to me at that moment.

So I booked the masseur to come to my room in the late afternoon just before dinner time.  After making the booking, I headed straight back to my hotel in the Bukit Bintan area, had a quick shower and then took a short nap.  I must have fallen into deep slumber when I heard the door bell ringing.

Wrapped in a towel, I barely had time to get dressed but ran to open the door to welcome my blind masseur.  He walked in with the aid of a walking stick.  "Hello, sir, my name is Rafik," said the early middle aged man, his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. He felt for the chair and propped his cane against it. 

"Do you like lotion?" "Sure," I replied.  He felt around in his small bag, took out a small bottle and asked if I was ready. Self-consciousness hit for a moment and I stood with my thumb hooked in the towel. Something felt mischievous about stripping before a blind man.  He was not looking at me or anything else when I pulled the towel away. I looked down at my body, the folds of my stomach which partially hid my hanging penis and balls, and then stretched out on my bed.  

Rafik slicked up his hands with the lotion, sat and settled beside me and began to feel along my back.  His fingers were a little rough and scratchy, but he had a deft touch, unlocking the day's strains and aches from my tired body.

Rafik's blindness was relaxing – it removed all male competitiveness, all sense of being judged or needing to hold myself well. I melted into the sheets, allowing my stomach to spread a little. Being naked before the blind was liberating.  I needn't worry about what my body looked like.  Rafik, on the other hand, faced the wall with a tired, bland grin, lost in his own thoughts.
  
He caressed my feet and pushed his hard fingers between my toes, along my soles, around my ankles and up my calves, squeezing the muscles. One after the other, he lifted my legs and bent them back, pressing my heels towards my arse, then spreading them back out, gently stroking the backs of my thighs.

To my disquiet, blood began to stir to my nether region, especially when Rafik ran his rough, stained hands around my buttocks, grabbing them and working them in slow, wide circles, my anus blinking a little with each outward push.  Had he not been blind it would have been embarrassing.

But he could not see, so I felt sort of relaxed, kind of protected, and it was surely just an autonomous side effect that my cock was growing uncomfortable under my stomach.  It was fully erect and hard.  I peered back and saw that Rafik was as neutral as ever, unseeing, just doing his job. So I adjusted myself, lifting my pelvis a little to make room below. Nevertheless, it honestly felt weird to be getting a hard-on from the manipulations of a blind man.
 
"Sir, please turn over," he said.  I rolled over, my heavy throbbing cock springing up and bouncing as I settled. Rafik remained, of course, oblivious.  I left my eyes opened and studied the man. He was in his mid-40s.

Then my attention turned to myself.  I looked down at my jutting cock, marvelling at how only I knew it was there.

Rafik squirted more of the lotion onto his hands and slid them along my arms and chest. I worried his elbow might bump against my  erect prick.   He moved back down to my feet, working his fingers in slow, firm lines up to my knees.  He pushed hard and worked the front of my thighs, up and down and back to my feet.  Then he lightly slapped my inner thigh, cupping and rubbing.

I stared in amazement at my prick which had refused to calm down but instead was getting more excited by the touch of the blind man.  This was not supposed to be an erotic experience, I mentally convinced myself.   I willed as hard as I could for the blood to drain away. I closed my eyes and thought of mundane stuff but nothing seemed to help.  

When I opened my eyes , I saw my erection straining up just centimetres from Rafik's hands. My thighs drifted apart, spreading as he pushed his palms up along them.  My breath grew fast and shallow, my chest tight. Rafik matter-of-factly did his work, smiling blandly beneath his impenetrable shades.
"Feels good," I said, alarming myself in doing so.  "OK, sir," he said, pressing on.

His hands slid up my thighs, palms pressing in, and I spread wider, liberated by his unseeing. I felt the air conditioner's cool breeze gust across my perineum.  One of his thumbs grazed my scrotum and the base of my cock. It meant nothing to him – his expression was rock steady. But pre-cum was beading at the head of my prick, jewelling like a liquid pearl.

I had an urge to grab his hands and slap them on my wanton prick, but that would have violated his professionalism and worse still, his physical handicap.  His hands began to work on the flesh around my hips and loins, millimetres from my swollen frustration.  Still his expression was unchanged.

This was going too far. I was losing control; my balls tightening.  As he pushed up again, I wiggled my ass to one side and his hand brushed my scrotum.  Damn it, I thought, just give me a fucking hand-job. There is not even any need to work up a sweat or get too committed. I thought to myself - there's no need to grab a fistful and jack it or anything like that, all you have to do is touch the tip and I will cum.
But Rafik was absolutely professional, discretely bypassing the penis to press my lower abdomen, slowly curling from the navel down to each thigh and back again.

As Rafik dug his rough fingers into my flesh, drawing from the outskirts of my pubic hair down towards my knees, my mouth went bone dry. My head whipped from side to side as I tried to stop my body from letting go.  But things were beyond my control and I gasped softly, almost apologetically,  as I thrust my hips upward and surrendered.  My dick started pulsing as jet after jet of sticky, white cum ejected from the tip of my cock.

I was shocked by the eruption.  My mouth hung open, my fingers clawing the mattress. Rafik's only reaction was a slight flaring of his nostrils. His head was closer to my cock so perhaps he probably could smell the sharp tang of semen.  After I saw his nose twitched at the release, my eyes rolled back and then I too was a blind man, one with cum his stomach and chest, a blind man writhing on a grimy bed as the masseur kept on with his work, folding forward to stroke the loins, each push somehow coinciding with a gush from my cock.

"Thanks, Rafik," I said as casually as I could. "That's fine."

"Yes, sir." He removed his hands, stood and felt his way to the bathroom.

I lay, legs spread, cock relaxing.  Finally I felt relieved.
 
When he had washed his hands and returned to the room,  I paid him his fees and he shuffled out with his bag and stick, thanking me for the appointment and saying to book again with reception if I wanted.