Kasem’s Kitchen

The next week, I was feeling a little deflated when my massage was about over, because Kasem had already done my back and now had me turned over. If he was going to give me what I thought was a Bangkok special, it should have happened by now. I was panicking. Could it be that I hadn’t tipped him enough the previous session? That I had somehow insulted him? But then, while he was massaging my chest and belly, he started talking about that kitchen again and lamenting about the exorbitant estimate the family had been given for reconstruction of this very necessary section of their home—it could come to almost as much as 30,000 baht (only some $115, but more than most rural families could make in a year in combined income).

I suddenly realized that only one hand was massaging my chest and belly now; the other hand was rubbing my inner thighs and eventually worked its way to my engorging cock. I drew in my breath with a hiss as I felt the foreskin of my cock being pulled down to the rim of my glans and an oily finger beginning to massage my mushroom cap, mixing oil with the precum that started to bubble up and rubbing it around the cock head. A finger was trying to insert itself into my piss slit. I arched my back in sensual pleasure and tried, quite unsuccessfully, not to groan, as Kasem proceeded to rub oil all over my cock and balls and slowly jerked me off. Once again, we both pretended that nothing was happening beyond the usual sports massage.

I tipped Kasem an extra 100 baht and left thinking, “Ah, this must be the Bangkok special massage. Much more than all right!”