tom-o-finland-sailor-1.jpg

Standing naked in the sunlit, dusty studio at the top of the large house that stood at the top of the tree lined Kensington Street, I cast my eyes over the figures, their gentle faces staring back at me, each one so perfect, so real in it’s portrayal of the human form. On the wide antique desk in the corner of the room lay large tattered anatomy books filled with beautifully detailed drawings of the various bones and muscles in the human body and intricate descriptions of their role and function, an incredibly complex machine stripped down to it’s bare parts for analysis by the artist, in this case, a sculptor…

Five and a half months like this, stood in a twisted contraposto pose, gripping the short wooden rod that was suspended by rope from the rafters of the ceiling. We had thought carefully about this pose, the artist and I, for many weeks beforehand. As a model you have to make sure you can actually hold the pose for days and weeks and months on end. This figure was to be sculpted in clay, life size, and then cast in bronze. He would last. He would remain. Many years after my bones have turned to dust, he will remain. A legacy. An homage to a prisoner.. a soldier… I try to fill this pose with all the emotion I can. Every morning doing pushups and sit ups to try to get my body as tight and knarled as I can.

Each day I watched as she stroked the clay, forming an ever tightened surface, every more detail appearing through the dark grey mud.. The figure slowly coming to life like Victor Frankenstein’s monster, but this time without the stitches but feathers that would eventually fall down around him, cascading as they pierced his skin. The ropes growing ever tighter as he struggling against his bonds… Frozen in time…..

I think of her work so often as I am performing a massage.. I think of he time and care and attention to detail as each muscle is gently and carefully crafted and sculpted. I try to follow the contours of the body, moving my hands slowly but with confidence as I mould my palms to his shape.

Men’s legs are such powerful and sensual structures, their shape so subtle and yet each curve such a beautiful thing to explore. Sometimes I close my eyes and I love myself in the shapes, the form. I feel that energy emanating from the root chakra as my fingers approach his hole.. And then, slowly gently, with plenty of lube I carefully being to open that ring of muscle, easing my way inside to find that pulsating mound of his prostate.. With the other hand I gently stroke around his balls and the root of his cock wanting him to experience the powerful sensations from both inside and out…

As a top, I often grow hard, my aching shaft sometimes brushing against his finger tips. Sometimes resting in his hand. I am by no means huge but I think the straightness and thickness of my member makes it seem much bigger. Perhaps it is that I shave my balls and clipper the hair that grows about the veiny shaft. They seem happy in any case to have such a sturdy hand rail to hold onto. I like a client to know that I enjoy massage, I take my own pleasure in this dance of my hands over his skin. It is a performance in many ways, it is the creation of something beautiful. An experience, unique each and every time. I do as I feel each time, sometimes with eyes shut, sometimes with eyes open breathing deep in concentration.. It changes every time.

I work my way down to his feet, the point at which his body connects with the earth and for me the most vulnerable and beautiful spot on a man’s body, his soles.. At first I press and hold my thumb against the soft skin, allowing him to get used to the pressure. And then slowly stoking down adding more and more pressure. Always accompanied by satisfied groans of pleasure from the top of the table.. I feel so much from a man’s feet. His pleasure, his fear sometimes his regret, his sadness… So many emotions pulsing through his body. It is such a privilege to touch someone in such an intimate way.

As he rolls over I hold the back of his neck for support and gently lay his head back onto the pillow. Tracing my finger tips over his erect nipples, I pause and circle the hard tips of pleasure, and then allow my hands to trace lines down his belly to his balls. Not yet touching his cock, already aching and dripping pre cum from his head, I gently stoke his balls and tickle his perineum that beautiful spot just between his balls and his ass.

I am not fond of quick rough hand jobs, the “Rub n’ Tug job” I call them. A man’s Lingam (penis) is to be admired, adored, touched in the most respectful way. Always with empathy and tenderness. I hold the sides of his shaft between my thumb and fingers and begin to vibrate my hand, I was a cellist for many years remember.. This gently shaking awakes his shaft, prepares it for the massage.

A watery mixture of J lube and a little oil is perfect for cock massage I find. I pour a generous amount into my hand, then placing the bottle between his thighs, I hold my hands above his cock allowing some of the silky fluid to pour over his shaft and balls, before rubbing my hands together ensuring they are wet and slippery. And then it begins….

What happens next…. Well, you’ll have to come and try for yourself…. x

Advertisements