That which we most want

Jesse dug the heel of his little palms into the soft tissue on either side of his old friend’s spine, just as Cynthia had taught him. Sitting astride George like a cowboy upon his faithful steed… though in a much tighter outfit than the hero of your average old Western. He could feel the slight shifts of movement between his thighs as the larger boy relaxed into the tension-relieving work of those small hands. The thrill of this positioning not lost on a sissy to whom any bodily contact as close as this would inevitably turn sexual. Suzy’s daddy had fairly recently invited both young femboys to participate in an amateur race of ‘pink jockeying’, which involved them both riding upon a man in much the same way; though with a securing method that was a lot more... penetrative. The chaotic, bouncing ride over various obstacles, all for the enjoyment of a crowd of drunkenly betting rich folks, had been surprisingly fun. Though pulling one’s self free of the dildo-saddle afterwards was a sore and shaking affair.

The confined erection that the sissy was already experiencing was not helped at all by remembering such hijinks. Cyn had always said that such natural reactions were nothing to be embarrassed by, and in fact were further tools to focus the experience of their clients. Any female masseuse was expected to utilise her breasts as softer applicators of pressure or the lathering of oil, but noticeably erect nipples were considered an encouraging sign of professionalism and love for their work. Likewise, a reassuring lump at waist height was a 'polite compliment' about the customer's unveiled body.

Jesse’s compliment for George was growing by the second, though the embarrassment every time he stretched forward and felt it gently bump against the other boy's skin was near paralysing. He had to start talking quickly, and distract away, before the silence became deafening.

"George…" The sissy squeaked, pushing into the broad shoulders of the young man in question. "We've been friends for a long time, haven't we?”

His friend seemed half asleep, tired after a long day of physical exertion mostly for the advantage of strangers. He yawned out an answer, though… sleepily bowing to the polite, if pointless enquiry.

“Sure… Back since you were still the little scrapper tryna keep up with all of us in gym class…”

Memories of huffing and puffing around one sport or another; utterly confused why everyone else seemed to shoot up toward the sky, while he remained shrimpy and spindly; flashed up in Jesse’s mind. He had fought and fought and fled the idea that he would simply never receive such a growth spurt. It all seemed so silly now… and the pitying, snide looks he’d earned from other classmates made so much more sense. They’d all known where he was heading… so why had it taken him so long to grasp it?

He motioned for George to turn over, settling himself down upon a set of abs in the process of becoming perfectly sculpted and applying a little more oil to his soft, dainty fingers. Behind his little bottom he could almost supernaturally sense the presence of that thick, meaty limb he had been gifted a vision of earlier. He tried not to obsess over it. Tried to drag his thoughts away from a **** enquiry as to whether it had grown swollen and throbbing from his attentions so far… But, if he just scootched his way back a little. Let the thong-like architecture of his outfit’s lower half offer a cozy valley for things to settle into back there…

The sissy had to drag himself back into the processes of working through his target’s muscle groups, one at a time. This was supposed to be a proper practice of his techniques. It was supposed to be about the client’s needs, not his own. ‘If they just wanted to fuck you, they’d pay for that instead’ had been one of Cynthia’s first pieces of advice. Every massage salon on the high street offered the option to skip all pretences, business was business after all.

“W-why did you hang out with me… back then?” Jesse found a way through his flusteredness: to ask the question that had always plagued him. He had not been popular, after all. Had not really had any friends beside Betsy. The combination of his shyness and that gigantic chip on his shoulder over his size and shape, had meant that any attempts at conversation usually met curt, sharp dead ends. Yet, George had persevered… in that breezy, casual way of his. One of the most handsome and approachable pillars of masculinity choosing to take time to work through the prickly defences of one of the most grumpily fragile and effeminate. Some deep, secret part of Jesse had possibly always hoped there was a very specific reason for that…