I've had several folks ask if my "Massage Mat" story was based on real-life experiences. I take those questions as compliments, but fortunately I have experienced no real-life incest; the work is a complete fantasy. The questions did get me thinking, though, whether I could write a story based on a real-life experience. It was harder than I thought!
Here, for your amusement, is a story that draws on a real life experience of mine. I'm concerned that it sounds too much like a "what I did on my summer vacation" report than an erotic story, but it might be exciting to some because it's based on a true "drunk college girl" experience. Only the names have been changed to protect the guilty.
And no, I don't do stupid things like this anymore.
During my junior year of college, I went on a study abroad trip that included a week in Cyprus. We went during the winter semester, so I think we got really cheap rates at a great resort hotel. Everything was pretty deserted, except for German tourists that seemed to be everywhere. We had a tour guide for the week named Michael. He was English, he spoke fluent Greek, and his job was to show us the historical highlights of Cyprus. He also was in charge of our transportation and making sure we were comfortable in the hotel.
The faculty member who was leading our group was pretty hands-off, so we had a fair amount of free time to enjoy the resort and generally to explore on our own... there wasn't a lot of supervision of our activities outside of school-related tours and discussions.
Over the first few days, I was thrilled to notice that Michael seemed to be paying special attention to me. He seemed to make an effort to sit with whatever group I was with at lunch and dinner and would make an effort to talk to me on bus rides and during walking tours. I found him very attractive—he was very good-looking and knowledgeable (this is a big turn-on for me), and he had an enchanting accent and way of expressing himself when he talked. He was a bit older than I—this was his first job after college (or "university" as he said)—and that was also attractive to me. I certainly didn't try to fend him away.
On the fourth day we headed out early for a tour of yet another Byzantine rock pile. As we passed the front desk of the hotel, there was a sign, "Massage today. Special 30 Euro." Clearly the place was hurting for business.
Michael said to me, "that's a great price for a resort massage—we should get one when we return." I smiled and nodded, knowing that I would never spend 30 Euros for a massage.
We spent the day looking at another collection of ruins that looked like all of the other rocks we had visited (the sights of Cyprus were not the highlight of experience there). We also got caught in a cold rain—it was a pretty miserable day for everyone, and even Michael's attempts to lighten the mood didn't help much. When we got back to the hotel everyone was feeling pretty tired and yucky.
As we trudged in, Michael came running up to me and said, "Now you really look like you could use a massage."
I told him, "Michael that sounds great, but I just don't have the money to spend on a massage right now."
"That's not a problem," he replied, "I'll treat you to one."
I protested, but he assured me that he could negotiate with the people at the spa. I finally gave in (ok, it didn't take much salesmanship on his part) and we went down to the spa area. He must have used some fancy Greek at the reception desk, because he came back to me smiling.
"We have two one-hour massages for 45 Euros total."
"Awesome work," I told him, "you're a genius."
"Yes," he said, "there's only one small nuance—they think we're on our honeymoon, so you'll have to play up a bit." My estimation of his genius plummeted. After the initial shock wore off, though, I decided it could be fun.
"Ok, but no funny stuff...hubby," I teased him.
We went in to the locker rooms and undressed, and I got a quick shower and soak in the mineral bath before my appointment. The massage was so good that I nearly fell asleep. When it was done, I felt better than I had in a long time—very relaxed and mellow. I put on the comfy hotel robe and went back into the spa area to meet Michael.
He had just finished his massage and looked totally relaxed. He was talking with the woman at the reception desk, and when I walked up, they started made several sidelong glances at me. Then they burst out laughing.
"Ok, what's up?" I asked.
"Well, I was saying how it was a shame to put on our wet, muddy clothes after such a relaxing massage. The receptionist said that they would just send the clothes up to our room, and we could go up in our robes."
"Um. 'our room?'" I inquired. "I've got my own 'our room' with Keeley, remember?"
He pulled me away from the desk. "I know," he protested, "but I got us a special rate with this honeymoon story and I think we should carry it through. Here's what we can do: I'll give them my room number and collect the clothes when they bring them. You can come later and pick up your clothes. No worries."
"Ok, that sounds like a plan," I replied. This was getting interesting.
"Brilliant. Let's say you come up to my room in an hour."
I headed up to my room to find that I had left my room key in my dirty clothes. Keeley had headed out for unknown adventures of her own, so I was out of luck. I figured that my best bet was to get my clothes and key from Michael—it was his job to help us in these situations anyway—so I headed up to his room. I knocked on the door, and he answered it in a t-shirt and jeans. He looked surprised (but pleased...) to see me 45 minutes early and still in my robe, but I explained what had happened.
He thought for a minute then smiled. "I have the perfect solution," he beamed. "You will accompany me to the patio bar where we will have a civilized beverage whilst we wait for our clothes to be delivered." Then he added slyly, "to OUR room." I didn't have a snappy comeback, so I let that pass.
We went down and had a glass of wine and chatted. He was a great conversationalist and had many stories of his travels and adventures with tour groups. We ordered a second glass of wine, and he took out a pack of cigarettes and offered me one.
"No thanks," I said, "I don't smoke."
"Blast," he scowled. "I do enjoy a smoke when I'm drinking."
I told him that I didn't mind if he smoked, so he lit up and we continued to chat. After a bit, I worked up the nerve to try a cigarette for the second time in my life. While I puffed amateurishly and tried not to cough I noticed that the conversation seemed to have stalled.
"Is something wrong?" I asked.
"No," he said. "I don't mean to be awkward, but you are quite fascinating, and especially so when you're smoking a cigarette."
"Fascinating? How?" I asked.
"Fascinating. You capture one's attention don't you know," he answered, continuing to gaze at me. I felt myself flush, but found myself gazing back at him. We spent several intense minutes looking in each others' eyes without saying much. Finally we finished our wine and went back to his room to see if the clothes had arrived. They had—along with a bottle of wine.
"I thought that we might want one more glass, so I had them send along a bottle just in case," Michael said innocently. "Of course, I don't want to keep you out past your bed time," he added. I took a glass.
"I'm already up past my bed time, but I don't really care at the moment," I said, wondering if I was getting into something I shouldn't. I decided that I probably was, but I didn't really care about that, either.
Michael poured the wine (already opened and chilled...this place was really good), and we continued to talk. After another glass or two of wine I thought to myself that I could probably fall in love with Michael given half a chance. Then I got really sleepy from the wine and relaxing massage...
When I awoke, I was lying in bed with my robe on—but I knew that I wasn't in my own room. I sat up suddenly and heard noises in the bathroom.
"Keeley?" I called.
"No, it's me." I heard Michael's voice. He came out and put some small packets on the bedside table and explained, "You just winked out in the chair over there, so I got you into bed. I'm sorry you were startled."
"That's ok," I said, "too much wine, I think."
"Yes," he confirmed, " I was noticing the same thing. Let's just go back to sleep."
He gently pushed me back down on the bed. I offered no resistance, and he got into the other side of the bed. As I was falling asleep, I wondered if this was a good idea. Actually it was a great idea....
I woke again a short time later, but this time I knew what was going on. I heard Michael's breathing and could tell he was asleep. I rolled over with my back to him and snuggled down into the covers.
A short time later, I felt him rest his hand on my arm in a very innocent, almost protective way. I smiled to myself as he cozied up to me. I enjoyed his touch and wondered if he would do anything else. He began rubbing up and down my arm, tentatively exploring whether I would accept his caresses. I nuzzled back against him to give a little encouragement, and he became a bit bolder, moving down onto my leg and thigh.
He slipped his arms around me and pulled me back against him. I felt him begin to do the guy thing, humping his erection against my ass (this always reminds me of a little dog I had that would rub his crotch against people's legs...but I digress...) I said nothing, but wiggled back against his hard cock.
He began to kiss my neck and ears while letting his hands roam still more freely over my body. I undid the sash of my robe, and he immediately slipped his hand underneath the material, rubbing my stomach, then moving up to my breasts. Finally.
When he lightly stroked my nipples, I thought I would pass out. He continued his kissing on my neck, as his hands freely explored my upper body. At last, he headed southward and began to caress my thigh, moving ever closer to the Promised Land.
Just when I thought he would begin touching me, he let his fingers dance lightly through my pubic hair and around to the inside of my other thigh. He continued to tease me, moving from one thigh to the other, lightly brushing my bush as he moved back and forth. When my moaning told him that I could stand it no longer, he began to stroke my mons, moving ever closer to my throbbing clitoris.
When the contact came, it was electric. I instantly went from, "I'm still not 100% sure about this" to "I need to fuck right now." I felt completely uncorked and needed him badly.
He kissed his way up to my ear and whispered, "You can just lie on your back when you feel ready."
When I was ready? Was he fucking kidding? I had been ready for the past four days. I slipped my arms out of my robe and laid back. Michael removed his clothes and got a condom from the bedside table.
"A good guide is always prepared for emergencies," I whipsered, gently stroking his balls while he put the condom on.
For the first time, I got a look at his cock. It wasn't the largest one I'd ever seen—quite the contrary—but it was clearly fully functional. He got into position, and entered me quite easily. I remember thinking that there was a virtue to less endowed men: one could be penetrated without feeling as overwhelmed as I had with my ex-boyfriend.
He was small enough that when he began thrusting, I clenched my inner muscles, trying to get more sensation. That was a poor tactical move on my part—within a few strokes he grunted and I felt his body tense as he climaxed. It was a bit of a letdown, but he was so sweet and considerate that I didn't want him to feel bad. He pulled out and we hugged and kissed. He was very apologetic, but I assured him that everything was ok.
I was desperate for more, but he was already getting drowsy. Somehow, though, the combination of being very aroused and the residual effect of the wine gave me a crazy inspiration. Necessity is truly the Mother of Invention.
"Michael, do you still have those cigarettes?" I asked sweetly.
"Of course, love," he replied, "Why? Do you want one now?"
"Yeah, I think I'd like to try one after sex." I figured I would find out just how "fascinating" I could be when I smoked.
He bolted up and got the cigarettes and lighter. Fortunately, the concept of non-smoking hotel rooms had not yet made it to the Eastern Mediterranean. I lit a cigarette and puffed gently while we talked. Michael didn't smoke; he just gazed steadily at me as though hypnotized. Before I had finished the cigarette, he was wide awake and once again ready for action. Apparently, I could be pretty damn fascinating.
I giggled. "Well, that was quick. You look ready for round two." Putting the cigarette out I said, "I guess that accomplished its purpose, huh?"
He smiled, but his face was set and his eyes were fixed on me like an animal sizing up its prey.
"You look like a man on a mission," I teased gently. He quickly put on another condom and moved back on top of me with a firm sense of purpose. Again, entry was accomplished effortlessly. I silently prayed that he would last long enough to finish the job for me this time.
His small cock made the sensation very vague and diffuse—it was like looking at a distant star at the limit of one's vision. It took a huge effort of concentration for me to focus on the sensation and to get my arousal past the early stages. I closed my eyes and squeezed my internal muscles again, rhythmically contracting and releasing.
Finally, I began to see my star more clearly. I felt my nipples go fully erect and a familiar ache began in my groin.
I kissed Michael and whispered, "Can you do it harder?"
Immediately he began banging against me firmly. Oh, yeah. He really had me seeing stars now.
After a few more of his intense thrusts, the distant star had neared to the point that I was in its gravitational pull—I began to feel my body's reflexes taking over. I opened my eyes to see Michael looking down at me with a sense of wonder.
"God, you are beautiful," he whispered.
All I could manage to say was, "You're going to make me come. Don't stop."
The effect on him was magical—I felt his cock enlarge and he started fucking me like the stud of the century, pounding me for all he was worth. He may not have been huge, but he knew exactly what to do when a woman told him she was close to orgasm. As he felt my climax begin, he let go almost at the same time. We collided with the star and melted into each other. Perfection.
"You are so beautiful," he repeated.
"I believe the word is 'fascinating,'" I replied, kissing him.
We continued kissing for quite some time—God, he was such a sweet guy—then we slept together a bit longer. Finally, I showered and headed down to my room still wearing that damn the hotel robe. Fortunately, Keeley had been out late and was dead to the world, so I managed to get into my own bed without incident.
For the next few days, Michael and I made the most of our brief interlude. When we parted at the airport, Michael shook hands with everyone in the group, but we gave each other a big hug.
I sat alone in the waiting area, looking at pictures of Michael and occasionally flipping to his contact info safely stored in my phone. Keeley came over and plopped down next to me.
We sat silently for a while then she cleared her throat and asked the question that only a friend could:
"So. Did you sleep with Michael that night?"
"How could I get in any trouble?" I responded with a wink, "I was under the close supervision of our tour guide at all times."