The Robindock Wedding
1: Cannon Rake and a Happy Ending
“Cannon, you look good for thirty-four. You have a toned stomach, you don’t have any wrinkles, and your dick still works, which I sort of want to taste today.” Gary Rosetti, my masseuse on Third Street in downtown Templeton, Pennsylvania, rubbed oil into my dick’s skin with one hand and toyed my firm balls with his other hand.
“No tastes today, young man,” I said, instructing him, enjoying his work on my cock, knowing that my one-hour session with the stud would have a happy ending, desiring his services.
Gary was forty, single, bald, showed off brown scruff on his unshaven cheeks and chin, and had the most beautiful green eyes on planet Earth. His massage business was called Hands on You. He owned and operated the business for the last twenty years, had a degree in reflexology from Temple, and charged his clients
including me
one hundred and seventy-five dollars an hour. A client could receive a professional massage from the Italian, a blowjob, rimming, or a ride on his ten-inch long dick that just happened to be cut. For an hour of service, one could also poke Gary’s bulbous bottom with a latex-covered dick or a dildo, whatever the mood entailed. Almost ninety percent of his clients were queer men, but a few straight women somehow convinced him to be their masseuse, although he never felt comfortable offering females sex, which he didn’t.
Clients were always welcome to visit his studio apartment on Third Street. The place was not as tidy as it could have been and showcased two Sierra professional beds and a shelf of massaging products, which consisted of Biotone lotion, lavender oil, and EO body moisturizer. Three massive windows overlooked the downtown area of Templeton and part of Lake Erie. We were ten floors up, hidden from stares and gawkers, and one floor down from the penthouse, where I believed a lesbian mystery writer resided, name undisclosed at this moment for fear that I have the wrong woman.
I didn’t mind that studly Gary was bare-chested when he worked my torso and dick during my sixty minutes of service. Gary had a hairy chest that was trimmed with expertise. His navel was dented just right, and sculpted abs lined his belly region. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on the man, which only made him more handsome. Snug shorts outlined his dick and balls. He was edible for all the right reasons, diligent with his work, rolling one of his palms up and down my hard cock, and pressing his fingertips into its pumping veins.
“We’ll give you the happy ending you need, Cannon. You just lay there and relax. I want you to have the best service there is because you pay me top dollar, plus a healthy tip, every time you visit.”
I considered the man a therapist of sorts for the last six years while being his client and friend. Never had we become lovers or boyfriends. Rather, I often obtained advice from him about everyday problems and emotional conundrums. Not only could he loosen my muscles with his palm-presses and fingertip-pushes, he was quite apt at sharing advice with me about finances, one-night affairs, hair gels, phrases in Italian, and favorite cocktail recipes.
During his handwork, using slow strokes on the erection between my legs, which was sending vibrations of euphoria through my body, he studied my relaxed frame for the thousandth time. His gaze scanned my clean-shaven chest and plump nipples. Although I wasn’t a beefhead by any means, one who lived at a gym and consumed nothing but protein as food, I was toned, thin at two hundred pounds, six-two, and tried to fill my body with nutrients instead of junk food from fast food joints. I knew that the man had had a longing crush on me for the last four years, enjoyed my body and personality, and was quite taken by me, perhaps even in love with my mussed black hair, narrow sideburns, bottom-of-the-ocean blue eyes, and pink-red lips, which he often told me that he had wanted to kiss
Truth was, Gary was into more clients than I could count according to his tales. He was sexually active with various men in Templeton, along Lake Erie, and surrounding cities in northwestern Pennsylvania. I didn’t want to label him a man of unrefined notions, but it was hard not to. Frankly, I didn’t mind sharing his professional hands with other men, happy endings included, but not his emotions. I made it quite clear throughout our relationship that we would never have one-on-one time with each other’s hearts or become romantically entangled. Falling for each other was unnegotiable and a waste of both our times.
My session with the man continued, payment was issued thereafter, and I left his studio apartment with a smile on my face, relaxed and unloaded. Outside his apartment building, I took in the end of May, enjoying the scent of lilies and springtime niceness, noticed that it was almost ten o’clock in the morning, and that I wasn’t going to be tardy for a scheduled meeting with my boss, Lorraine Banter. 2: Wedding Peeks
Lorraine Banter was a conniving, dangerous, heinous, and stunning bitch who I believed would have carried the title of President of the United States of America had she not enjoyed consulting brides and grooms about their future wedding days. She was thirty-six, tall, blond, and quite the cliché pertaining to her businesswoman looks. Lori, as she liked to be called, was the founding mother of Wedding Peeks, an online website for brides and grooms to use as a tool to create their perfect celebratory weddings.
