Beauty may lie in the eye of the beholder but sex sure as hell lay lurking in the ass of this horny wishful thinker as my handsome hunk of a physiotherapist gave me a therapeutic massage. His name was Gianluca and I'd only met him by chance after asking around for a good masseur. I needed to be 'ironed out' as, being a writer, I get very tense after bending over my computer 6-10 hours a day. A straight friend of mine recommended him to me, so at the beginning I was on my best behaviour and was the asshole of discretion. Still, I was pleased to see that he had a firm athlete's body even if it was mostly covered by oversized shirts and baggy pants which unfortunately seem to be the fashion nowadays.

At first he wasn't too enthusiastic to take me on as he had 'a lot of people on his books.' He also made it quite clear that he was a physiotherapist and not a masseur but would do his best to 'fit me in and straighten me out.' This meant I had to be available whenever he was available which wasn't always easy. He told me he usually worked with football players and athletes but could pass by sometimes on his way home from a sporting club. This was usually after seven in the evening.

Many a night I was 'all undressed with nowhere to go' as he would often cancel an appointment at the last minute. I got to be quite philosophical about it, as I knew he was busy. He was also very professional and extremely thorough. Rather too formal for my tastes but, as they say, beggars can't be choosers. And he gave one hell of a good massage.

We started off with me sitting on a chair while he worked on my neck and shoulders, which were the parts of my anatomy he considered most in need of attention. Then he gave me a full body massage. He didn't have a worktable as he travelled around on a motorbike so we made do with a mattress on the floor. When he started on me in November, we were experiencing a pretty bleak winter so I turned up the heat; first because he invariably arrived freezing cold from his trip on the motorbike and second because I usually ended up half-naked on the floor.

I hate it when people tell me what to do so I hadn't given him instructions or directions. Therefore I wasn't quite sure what I should be wearing. I just waited to find out where his hands would lead him. It was more fun that way. So the first two sessions I was in a t-shirt, boxer shorts and loose pajama bottoms and stripped off as we went along. He didn't say much during the massages so I decided to put together a cd compilation of Dexter Gordon, Gerry Mulligan and Chet Baker mixed with a soupcon of Krall. As the weeks went by, I discreetly turned down the lamps and lit a few candles, as he seemed to like the soft lights and sweet music. I also offered him a drink but he wouldn't accept anything except a glass of water and that only after he'd finished. As I said, he was very professional and super formal. And always called me Mr. Smith.

Of course, you may well ask why I didn't find someone who could have given me a bit of sex to go with the sax but I was rather nervous about having strangers in the house; afraid they would rip me off after they'd rubbed me down. So, for several weeks, I persevered with my erotic fantasies (and wishful thinking) as Gianluca pounded and pummelled away at me. Anyway I couldn't imagine a rent boy or a so-called masseur giving me such a great massage.

Christmas came and I gave him a very generous Christmas box, which kinda broke the ice a bit. He even accepted a glass of wine to drink my health but still insisted on calling me Mr. Smith which made me feel both anonymous and ninety. However, he did say that he would have more time in the New Year so we could see each other twice a week. Not so good for my pocket book but great for my physical well-being. By the way, I'm sorry if you're getting horny and itchy, and even impatient, but this is a true story and true stories sometimes take a while to unfold. And it took Gianluca quite some time to unwind I can tell you.

Came the New Year and he began to relax just a little bit and became vocally more intimate. Said he liked my apartment and asked for a copy of the music. He also asked if I'd ever been married and told me his girlfriend was pregnant. We were now well into our seventh week but I was a long way from seventh heaven, although I was getting there. Slowly, very slowly. I had a feeling that if I played my cards right he might be up for grabs, his girlfriend being in her seventh month and all that. I decided to throw caution to the winds and asked him if I could take my shorts off and if he would massage my glutes. I tried to make it all sound reasonable by saying I found it a little strange that he massaged me from top to toe but always skipped my butt. He acquiesced and even went so far as to pull my shorts down for me as I lay face down on the floor. As I felt the shorts slip over my ankles, and was hyper-conscious of his cool hands making their way slowly up my legs towards my butt, I knew that soon, very soon, all my Christmases were going to come at once. Not quite yet though. Shit. He even massaged my butt 'professionally' and moved on. My dick, buried in the mattress like a discarded sock, grew hard at his touch but that's as far as things went. To make matters worse he cancelled the next appointment twenty minutes before he was due to arrive. Said he was at the dentist and not feeling so good. I knew he was telling the truth as I could hear the drill in the background. I wanted to tell him to come anyway so we could do some drilling of our own but of course I didn't. I had to wait almost a week before I saw him again. It was a filthy night and he arrived soaked to the skin. He said he'd been to the dentist again and was feeling 'pretty woozy' but he didn't want to let me down a second time. I gave him a towel and told him to go to the bathroom and dry off.

When he came back he'd stripped down to t-shirt and shorts. I arranged his wet things over the radiators and gave him a hot drink. I was pretty hot myself by now as, after two frustrating months, I was finally able to see the shape of his body, and what I saw I liked. We pursued the same ritual. I lit the candles, dimmed the lights and put on the cd he liked best. I had made many other compilations and varied the tracks but he seemed to prefer the first one. As usual I sat on the chair as he massaged my neck and shoulders. However, this time he gave me a heady head massage. It was great. Greater than great actually. I'd never had one before and just couldn't believe what I'd been missing.

After a while I felt something even firmer and harder begin to grow between my shoulder blades. I didn't say anything but shivered. And it wasn't with cold for I could feel his hot cock through the flimsy material of his cotton shorts. Ever a man of few words, he didn't say anything either but quickly spread the mattress on the floor. My head was swimming and my dick brimming. Fortunately he had his back to me and couldn't see the shameless protrusion trying to make its way through the silk sheath of my pajama bottoms which I somehow managed to manipulate over my erection as I lay down on my stomach. I left him to do the rest. He peeled me like a grape. I wasn't wearing any shorts so it was sheer heaven as I felt the soft silk slide slowly over my butt, slither like a sigh down my thighs and depart like a snakeskin from my ankles. He basted me with baby oil and started to work his way up my body. As usual, his fingers worked magic but I was willing his 'wand' to make contact too. In fact I waited and waited for him to touch those vital parts of me that had been vibrating in pathetic anticipation for over two months but the bastard proceeded to give me the same attention as usual. Even so I did get the feeling his fingers were working their way rather further between my thighs than at other times.

"You're doing a great job." I said, voicing my appreciation.

"You're massaging parts of me you never got to before."

"Must be the effect of the anaesthetic," he replied.

"Whatever you do, don't let it wear off," I said.

He continued rubbing in the body lotion and drove me absolutely wild as he manipulated my butt. He dug his fingers in real deep like a gardener stirring up the soil and I was pretty stirred up myself by now as this promised to be something more than a professional massage. Soon my 'gardener' was making noises like a satisfied pastry cook kneading dough. I knew he hadn't had sex for quite some time and was making my ass pay for it. And I was ready to pay to the last farthing. He was crouched right over me and only inches away from touching me with the dick that I knew, from the heat still in my shoulders, was pulsating like a Geiger counter in his shorts. Then suddenly he stopped.

"I'm still feeling pretty woozy," he said. "Mind if I rest up a while?"

For a split second my heart stopped and my dick dropped but when he began to lower his body onto mine I quickly understood that his idea of 'resting' was putting his entire weight on me. I lay still for a moment unable to believe what was finally happening. He rubbed himself against me in time to the music. I didn't miss a beat and wiggled back to let him know I liked the tune he was playing. Then Dexter Gordon's sax let out a plaintive wail in the background. The song was a Billie Holiday classic, "I'm a Fool To Want You," and I knew she was right but just didn't care.

I measured his dick with my butt cheeks and it felt nice and big. And hot. So hot. His hands worked round to explore the front of me and my pecs perked up like a pair of percussion instruments as he put just the right pressure on my nipples. He began to squeeze them, gently at first, and then with insistence as he ground his groin into me until my butt sizzled with the heat of him. My ears began to ring and my eyes to water and I could feel the pre-cum oozing through his shorts and making my dick react accordingly. Now it was my turn to feel woozy. I seemed to be coming physically and mentally and he wasn't even inside me yet. Dexter Gordon was working up to a crescendo and so were we. I thought, "If music be the food of love, play on." And we did. I knew at this stage it was condoms, not combos, we should be thinking about but I didn't want to ruin the magic of the moment. My mental message must have reached him loud and clear as he lifted his body just enough to let his dick emerge from the slit in his boxers. I arched my butt like a cobra and he was inside me quicker than you could say Dizzy Gillespie who, by the way, had just taken over from Dexter Gordon.

The candles had burnt down and my butt had burnt out before we finally took a shower together and I was able to get my hands on him and do a little massaging of my own. I was filled with new energy after he'd charged up my butt batteries and made butter churns out of my ass. I wanted to show my gratitude and have him coming back for more.

As you can no doubt imagine his body was magnificent naked. Like a statue chiselled out of stone. But it didn't take long for his edifice to shudder and crumble as I scrubbed his bubble butt with my tongue and set to work sucking his marble balls and pylon of a penis. Soon I found myself with a mouthful of creamy stroganoff, which he then rounded off with an unexpected side dish of juicy dick massage. I nearly flipped as those magic fingers finally took a firm grip on my manhood. This was the kind of physiotherapy I'd been working up to since November.

There was no music this time. Just the happy, slappy rhythm of his hand running up and down my delirious dick and the slosh of jizz and soap on my ass as he pressed himself against me and began to jerk me off. As usual he took it slow and kept me on the verge of madness. I wanted it to be over but I didn't want it to stop. I bit my lip and clenched my butt and willed myself not to come too soon. Something told me that this was what he wanted. And I was right. But many a time I was just a pubic hair's breadth from shooting my load. Somehow he kept me 'half cocked' but still on the boil until, to my joyful surprise, I realized he'd grown hard again. He entered me hell for leather just when I was at the end of my tether. I let it go and let it flow. The combination of his heaving hand and thrusting dick brought me to such a terrific climax that I wailed, whined and finally roared like a chorus of horny trumpets. This sent Mr. Smith, and all formality, sailing out of the window and made Callan, and what seemed like a gallon of cum, hit the ceiling. He let out a holler of satisfaction himself and we both knew in that instant that there had been a step change in our relationship.

He left promising to come back before the week was out. As I closed the front door, I felt supremely happy. So he was going home to his girlfriend. So what! I knew he'd be back to my butt like a homing pigeon. Probably even hornier than he was today. I looked around for something to occupy my mind --- and also to take it off my burning butt. I decided to make another compilation. Even better than the one before. I wanted our next jazz session to be super hot. Or did I mean cool. I smiled at the thought of it. Cool jazz and hot jizz. What a horny cocktail. The future looked bright. Jazz and jizz on a regular basis, plus a great massage. What more could a guy ask for?