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"Hi, my name's Ben, am travelling from Australia next weekend and am keen to know if you have any spots available in your next massage workshop?" What does that even mean? Anyway, my chub in my shorts was already telling me to get involved so I messaged the site through their "contact us" link. It went on to explain that each Saturday evening, there's a facilitated massage workshop where you will learn basic techniques through a hands-on approach. I stumbled across an ad that read "male massage workshop" which I clicked on. This time I started searching on the web for male massages in London, there were heaps, so many more than there are in Melbourne. I'd be lying if I told you I have never deliberately searched for a male masseuse in a faraway country and pre-booked ready for when I touched down. This love started way back in school when after a hard game of rugby, the coach would always make us get a rub down to get the lactic acid out of our muscles. I've always been a lover of massages, from women, men or anyone that can get into my muscles and make me feel like I'm floating.
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I'm staying in the heart of London just off Oxford Street and know the area well. I decide because of the long flight, I will leave early and have the weekend over there. Next week I'm off to London for a project that I need to check in on for three days. Sometimes the hotels are awesome and sometimes the cities are even better. Airports, delays and airplane farts from the crap food quickly take the thrill out of it. My job as a commercial building engineer gives me plenty of travel, after the first year though, the novelty wears off. Cara thinks this is hilarious and loves to rub my ass when I'm deep inside her, it's like she's holding on tight and pulling me in deeper. It's big, not just perky or bubble, it's the thing that stops me being able to wear most shorts or pants because I split them as soon as I bend over or squat down to pick something up. I'm covered in hair with a pelted chest and hairy thighs and ass, and speaking of ass, that's the thing that I am most uncomfortable about. I've kept my rugby players body from high school days and workout at least five times a week to stay in shape. Hey folks, I'm Ben, if you have read my other first cracks at sharing some of my real-life stories, you'll know I'm 32, married to my beautiful wife Cara and have these occasional and increasing urges to muck about with dudes.