Hitting the Rhodes
Lying flat on the bed, legs slightly apart and my face buried in a hole, I let out a few melismatic moans, interrupted, intermittently, by the odd guttural grunt. They’ve found that elusive sweet spot between pleasure and pain. Harder? Ooh, yes please. I wonder if I should have disclosed my safe word (supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, in case you’re curious), but there is no need. As our session reaches its too-soon climax, this much is true: I’d love to come again. Not like that, you filthy animals!
During a recent, pre-Omicron getaway to Rhodes, in Greece, I was rubbed up the right way by a bone-cracking, knot-pulverising, limb-twisting, full-body Swedish massage that was pretty darn euphoric. And this is coming from an emotionally repressed gay man (yes, another one) with intimacy issues, who doesn’t like to be touched unless highly intoxicated. That being said, I
