The Old Man's Parting Gift Pt. 01

Sitting back on my calves, I wipe the sweat off my brow with a loud sight. It's been horribly hot all summer but today in particular is a scorcher. I cracked open all the windows first thing when I arrived but only the monotonous sound of cicadas is flowing through, sometimes interrupted by the occasional car engine. I feel like I'm slowly being baked in a giant, stuffy oven.

At least, there's no garden. Mowing the lawn in this heat would have killed me for sure...

I wring out the dishcloth, savouring the coldness of the water and, resisting the urge to plunge my head in the bucket, start scrubbing again. I'm almost done cleaning the flat. Only that one stubborn spot remains. I feel like a Victorian urchin, down on my knees and scrubbing the floor with both hands like my pittance was on the line. Even though I'm only wearing a thin t-shirt and some shorts, I'm still sweating bullets.

"Oh dear, you're still working hard!"

The master of the house comes back from the kitchen, holding a platter on which a jug of orange juice and two glasses are balancing precariously. I stand back up and run to help him, taking the platter off his hands despite his complains. He tells me to put it on the coffee table and invites me to join him on the couch.

Wearing his usual pants and shirt, he doens't seem affected by the heat whatsoever. I've met him throughout all the seasons and his fashion never changed. Before I can propose my help, he grabs the jug and fills up the glasses to the rim. I guess I'm being too cautious. There's still some vigour in these old bones of his.

"It's store-bought" He explains while offering me a glass. "I can't squeeze them myself nowadays, with my arthritis and all..."

He looks down at the hand holding his own drink. It's quivering slightly, creating small ripples in the orange juice.

"When it gets real bad, there are days when it feels like I may has well be handless.. My fingers shake so much I can't even button my clothes or eat anything without spraying half of it on my laps."

"Store-bought is fine" I assure him, feeling a bit uncomfortable. "I just need something cold to drink, I feel like my own blood is boiling!"

"Let's cheer to your 18^th birthday then! Here, welcome to the first day of the rest of your life, sonny!"

"Well that's a cheerful way to put it!" I laugh while clinking class with him.

My eyes linger on his sinewy hand, sprinkled with age spots. The texture of old bark comes to my mind.

"You sure were thirsty" He comments as I put my already empty glass down. "You shouldn't down a cold drink like that in one, it's bad for your stomach. Especially in this weather."

"It's alright, I have a pretty strong stomach" I say patting my guts with feigned pride.

Despite constantly trying to watch what I eat, I feel like I gained weight again lately. Trying to push my complex at the back on my mind, I stand up to go finish my chores. I lift my arms to stretch but a pinching sensation around my shoulders make me wince with pain.

"You alright, sonny?"

"It's nothing, sir. It's just... my back has been killing me lately. I tend to tense up when I'm nervous and I've been kinda on edge with all the college and moving stuffs."

Spending the last 15 minutes on all fours to scrub his floor clean probably didn't help either but I keep that remark to myself.

"Ah, then you're in luck, sonny! No tense muscles can resist my massage! Here, sit back down and let this old man works his magic on you!"

The offer ironically makes me tense even more.

"It's ok, sir" I hasten to mumble in an anxious tone. "You don't have to..."

He brushes me away with a wave of his hand.

"I know I don't have to: I'm doing it because I want to. Come on, don't be shy, kid! I'm offering you a real deal here: I'm an expert. Back when she was alive, I use to give my wife a massage every night: no matter how tense she was, she always melted under my fingers in less than 5 minutes."

He slides deeper in the couch and invites me to sit in front of him, in between his skinny legs. I can't find a way to get out of this without sounding impolite so I end up yielding. Reluctantly, I sit on the very edge of the couch. I keep my legs squeezed together to take as little space as possible but they still end up grazing his own limbs.

My body language betrays how uncomfortable I am: arms on my laps, fingers interlocked, I'm leaning forward as much as I can without looking like I'm trying to keep away from the old man. I can feel the heat of his body irradiating behind me nonetheless.

"Relax" He says and I wonder why he's speaking so low. "Don't worry about a thing, you only have to let me take care of you..."

His bony hands grabbing my shoulders give me a little start. I'm not really the kind of person who enjoys being touched by a stranger like that. I'm also very aware of how sweaty I am. My t-shirt is even sticking to my back. He doesn't seem to mind however and start massaging me. I'm surprised by the strength of his grip. I believe he used to be a steel worker? Guess that's what they call tendon strength...

"You're so tight..."

His thumbs dig deep into my upper traps and I can't help but to groan a little.

"Bear with it, sonny: it's the good kind of pain."

He's right. As he keeps kneading my muscles, I can feel some of the tension dissolving. I change my position at once, this time leaning back to offer him a better access to my back. His hands are relentless: stroking, fanning and pinching my back through my t-shirt, varying the pressure and the motions.

His assurance wasn't just a brag: this feels amazing. Every time his fingers find a new knot, I hold my breath to endure the sharp pain, knowing I will soon be rewarded by an amazing feeling of liberation. I close my eyes to enjoy it even better.

"So... looking forward to start college?"

"Kinda... I'm a bit nervous actually. I tend to get easily overwhelmed so I kinda dread all the work and all the new people. Don't really know what to expect, you know..."

My every few words are punctuated by a deep, guttural breath.

"I used to be like that too. The first semester was really tough actually, I even considered quitting... but I powered through and eventually, it became easier... well, let's say bearable."

I hear his words without really listening to them. I know it's selfish but right now, I can't focus on anything but my blood flowing as my muscle fibres are being twisted and loosened up.

"First time living without mummy and daddy too, right? Looking forward to it, I imagine?

"Yeah, I can't wait actually! Although I feel a bit guilty for leaving my parents behind... My mom in particular seems to have a tough time with it."

"There's no point feeling guilty for living your own life. You have to discover this world your own way, to experience new things, taste new flavours, make some mistakes and some memories... These two often walk hand in hand."

He manages to release a particularly nasty knot. I moan loudly in relief. Too loudly. Feeling my cheeks turn red, I mumble some bashful apologies.

"Feels that good, eh? I knew you would enjoy this."

He keeps massaging me like nothing happened but I have a tougher time forgetting how sexual my moan did sound.

"You're getting stiff again" He points out. "Relax. I told you I used to massage my wife for decades. I can assure you sonny: there's no sound you can make tout could surprise me."

His hands glides away from my back to grab my shoulders. He squeezes each head of my deltoid before going down my arms, stroking them up and down gently. This feels... odd.

"We were married for 40 years, my wife and I. This probably sounds silly to kids from your generation but she was my high-school sweetheart. She was the first woman and the last. Can you believe that? For 40 years, there was no other women in my life or in my bed."

I can't help but notice he keeps putting more emphasis on the word "women"... also he's kinda rambling. Every time I visit him, he talks about his departed wife like that. He must really miss her. I saw a picture of them when they were younger. She was a looker alright but he was just as dashing. In fact, if he had been 30 or 40 years younger, I would have enjoyed this massage even more.

He suddenly brings himself closer. Surprised, I look over my shoulder. He's almost glued to my back now. This can only make massaging me harder. He gives me a big smile and I don't have the heart to ask him what he's doing.

"I can't remember the last time I gave a massage." He sights. "I really, really miss it."

His hands fly back up and starts kneading my traps again. He's using a lot more strength than before.

"Your eyes go bad, followed by your ears... but no matter how much your joints starts aching, you never lose your sense of touch. It's the one thing that remains unchanged as everything you knew and loved slowly fades away... Your sense of touch. it's amazing, truly amazing..."

I can feel his breath on my neck. He's applying even more pressure on my traps now. My whole body is moving along with his surprisingly powerful strokes. It's not painful yet but he's definitely going overboard. His hands are closing down on my neck, the tips of his fingers are already crazing my throat. I suddenly get scared.

"Sir? Sir, you're hurting me..."

His hands release their grip as if my skin had burnt them.

"I'm so sorry, sonny" He apologies at once. "I guess it's harder to gauge this kind of things with old age... You alright?"

He sounds sincere if a little confused. I start feeling sorry for him.

"Yeah, sorry... I think I overreacted a bit there."

"No, it's better to tell at once if you feel uncomfortable. Well, anyway... massage's over! You can go and tell the next customer to come in!"

He giggles at his own joke and pat me on the leg, signalling me to leave.

"This was amazing, sir" I say, stretching myself. "I feel like a new man!"

Reinvigorated, I finish my chores in record time. After I put everything away where it belongs, I come back to the spotless living room. The old man hasn't left his spot on the sofa. Sipping his orange juice, he's watching some game show on the TV.

"I'm all done, sir." I say, giving him the receipt. "I already filled in everything, if you don't mind signing..."

He takes the paper from my hand and after starring at it for awhile, sign it. It may be my imagination but he seems reluctant to do so.

"I'm going to miss you, sonny." He confesses, giving me the receipt back. "You did a damn good job."

"Don't worry, there are a lot of other competent people at the agency."

"But how many of them are boys, uh? They always send me girls... I don't have anything against girls mind you, it's just that I feel more comfortable around boys."

I don't know what to answer to that. I try to take the receipt but his fingers won't let it go. He's looking at me like he's seeing me for the first time.

"You're a mess" He says abruptly.

"In general or right now?" I ask, an eyebrow raised.

"Right now, obviously!" He smiles. "Look at you: you're drenched with sweat!"

"It's fine, I only need to take the bus for 20 minutes anyway..."

"You think I'll let you leave in this state? That's out of the question! Come, take a shower before you go. No, no, I insist!"

Turning a deaf ear to anything I may say, he grabs me by the hand and brings me to the bathroom. Before I can do anything, I find myself in my underwear.

"I can't lend you my own clothes" He explains while gathering mine in his arms. "I don't have anything a young man like you would want to wear but don't worry! I'll hang your clothes on the balcony. With this sun, they'll be dry when you're done taking your shower!"

I think he's just being nice. He's a very skinny old man and I... I could use to lose a couple of stones. Basically, there's not way I could fit in his clothes.

He disappears in a flash, leaving me to my own device. Well, it's not like I'm unfamiliar with my surroundings. I've cleaned this bathroom many, many times. It's a "wet" type of bathroom: there is no shower unit or curtains, the water is evacuated by a drain in the floor. The small, square-shaped, tiles of the floor always reminded me of a public swimming pool.

I open the cabinet to fetch a towel but something falls on the floor as I do so. It's a small box. I take a look at it while picking it up: it's... viagra. I'm surprised a man of his age still has a sex life. The box looks brand new actually. I hesitate to check if he already used some of the pills but eventually put it back where its belongs without looking.

Closing the cabinet, I catch my reflection in the big mirror hanging above the sink.

Yeah, I definitely put on more weight... The old man was right, I am a mess.

I turn around and twisting my neck awkwardly, inspect my back. The vigorous massage left some red marks there and there but otherwise, it doesn't look any different than this morning. It does feel quite different however. It's like a weight I didn't even know existed has been lifted off my shoulders.

I raise my arms up and start drawing circles in the air with my fists. My back definitely feels a bit fatigued but in return, I don't feel any sort of impingement whatsoever. Feeling great, I get caught up in the moment and start flexing in front of the mirror. I may be fat but my arms still have some sort of muscle definition... as long as I flex hard enough.

The old man chooses this exact moment to come back.

"By the way, I forgot to..."

Like someone had cracked a whip over my head, I come to attention.

"It's ok, sir." I mutter with embarrassment, my entire face blushing. "I know where everything is so I just... helped myself. I hope it's alright with you?"

"Of course, of course, you did well. Sorry for intruding, sonny."

He's about to turn heels when his eyes suddenly dart on my underwear.

"These are wet too!" He cries out to my horror. "Give them to me, I'll put them to dry with the rest of your clothes!"

"Uh? N... no, it's fine, sir. I don't..."

"Don't be silly, you're going to get fungus on your balls if you keep those on!"

Taken by surprise by his peculiar choice of words, I drop my guard. The old man jumps on the occasion and, moving at an astonishing speed for someone his age, manages to strip my underwear off me. I could feel his fingers grazed my junk.

"There, there, see there was no reason to make a fuss" He says, twirling my underwear around his finger. "You know where the soap is: take all the time you need, sonny."

He doesn't leave at once however. Instead, he stares me up and down, a strange glint in his eyes. Slouched over, my hands clasped in front of my crotch, I'm frozen in place, completely eaten up by self-consciousness.

Out of the blue, he suddenly slaps my ass. I jump with surprise, squeaking. He answers with a hearty laugh.

"Ah, young boys these days!"

He's still laughing when he closes the door behind him. I run to go lock it. Left alone, I take time to process what just happened. My hand is holding my asscheek in disbelief.

Was that... Did I just get sexually harassed by a client?

I check my ass in the mirror. It's a bit pinkish... Actually, no. It's the same colour as the other cheek, my ass is just pinkish by default. The clap was pretty loud though, it's crazy it didn't leave any mark. I guess he's as good a spanker as a masseur. I wonder... Did he use to spank his wife for 40 years too?

"Fuck that!" I snarl at my reflection. "I'm not going there. Let's just wash up quickly and skedaddle."

Taking a shower was actually a great idea, I'll give the old pervert that. The cold water feels divine on my skin. I just stand there for a moment, enjoying the feeling of freshness, before reaching for the soap.

Cleansing my body, I can't help but to reminisce about the massage. Never in a thousand years would I have ever imagined that I could enjoy something like that so much. As my hands go down my groin, I can feel my blood flowing down with them and my cock starts swelling.

I should be weird out by the fact I'm being aroused remembering the touch of an old man but my 18 years old ass is already too horny to care about the specifics. All I know is: I'm getting turned on, my dick is growing and I have a whole bathroom to myself...

At this exact, precise, moment: the door bursts open. Again. I'm so startled I almost lose my footing on the wet tiled floor. My hands flying to my crotch to hide my dick, I quickly turn around to face the corner. Glancing over my shoulder, I see with befuddlement the old man rushing to the toilet.

"I'm dearly sorry sonny but I really need to use the bathroom! At my age, it's hard to hold it in, you understand... What? The lock on the door? This thing's been broken for months now. I decided to not fix it. Imagine if I were to fall on the floor and couldn't stand back up when the door is locked..."

Huddled in my corner, I'm at a loss for words. There's no way... he must be doing this on purpose! My heart is beating so hard against my chest I'm pretty sure the old man can hear its drumming over the splashing of the shower. I can definitely hear him relieving himself.

Please, go away already...

To my horror, I can feel my erection growing stronger. My dick clearly misinterpreted the pressure applied by my hands while they were trying to hide it. By the time the old man is done peeing, I'm fully erect.

This is so fucking awkward. I hate being alive so much right now...

The old man flushes and without warning, the water turns to ice. Chilled to the bone, I jump out of the shower with a very high-pitched, pathetic cry of surprise.

"Oh so sorry, sonny! I forgot the plumbing here is terrible."

Frenetically rubbing my shoulders to warm myself up, I stare at him with resentment... A feeling quickly replaced by horrified surprise. His pants and underwear are still down around his ankles. I barely notice his pale, bony legs. My eyes go straight to his limp dick, dangling from a snow white bush. That's when I realise: not only am I peeking at the old man but I'm also flashing him in the process.

Feeling every cells of my body cry in agonizing embarrassment, I do a 180 so quickly my feet make a swooshing sound on the wet floor.

"I'm so sorry, sir! I didn't mean to... the cold shower... I just..."

His laughter cuts me off.

"Relax, sonny! It's not like I walked on you fucking my wife or something! You saw my dick, I saw your dick; let's call it even."

Still giggling to himself, I hear him pulling his clothes back on. I don't have the heart to join him. This is easily the most humiliating moment of my entire life. I just want to dissolve into foam and disappear into the drain for ever.

His hand landing on my shoulder sends my heart close to failure.

"Although, I must say... that water must have been real cold, eh?

I open my mouth but no words come out.

Did he... Did he just roast the size of my...

His hands slides down my back and without any shame, give my right buttcheek a good squeeze. By instinct, I jump out of his reach, completely stunned. My reaction makes him burst into laughter again. Toying with me is clearly fucking hilarious to him.

"Ok sonny, I'll let you finish whatever you were doing in my bathroom before I came in. Just tell me through the door when you're finished: I'll bring your clothes back."

He doesn't wait for an answer and closes the door behind him for the third time. I stand motionless for a moment, eyes fixated on the door, half expecting it to open again. My asscheeck is pulsating, it's like I can still feel the grip of his fingers.

What was that about? Was he really just having a laugh or... No, that's impossible! He is way too old for...