An American Indian

Caleb was surprised by how nice the massage parlor was. He tried not to act like a New York elitist; that was not easy to do here in Broken Arrow. It was a nice little town, but it looked like a village as far as he was concerned. There were few cabs, no Thai restaurants, like two black people in the whole city; there was no live theater, at least not while he was here; there was a university, but it didn’t seem to have much impact on local culture.
So he thought the massage parlor would be some low-rent dive. When he saw the Asian women who scurried about in beautiful kimonos, he wondered if he had made a mistake — was this a brothel? He had called and spoke to the front desk. Of course he didn’t ask directly if it was a brothel, they would never have said yes anyway. But he asked about their services, and it sounded like a real massage parlor.
He acted as flamboyant and twinky as possible, just to be sure. He didn’t want any awkward situations with a Chinese woman trying to give him a handjob. He wasn’t positive the girl at the front desk was familiar enough with American culture to get that he was gay, but he gayed it up to the best of his ability. Caleb had always been a pretty blatantly gay man, so he thought he had gotten his point across.
Now he wasn’t sure it was worth it at all. It might have been better to just use the back massager he had gotten for Christmas last year, but he had never really liked it. He genuinely needed a massage — his shoulders were tight, as they often were. His doctor had recommended an occasional massage, which usually worked.
“Sir,” said a gruff, deep voice. Caleb turned around and his jaw dropped. There was a man in front of him — not an Asian man, an American, an Indian, it seemed. “Quanah,” he said by way of introduction. Then he nodded towards the rooms in the back of the massage parlor, and Caleb followed.
Caleb was shocked for a couple reasons. First of all, Quanah was a man; he was not Asian; he was unlike everyone else who worked here. Even more than that, he was sexy. He was ungodly hot, Caleb thought. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with long, straight black hair. His jaw was square, his cheekbones high, and he had a thick scar on his neck as though someone had tried to decapitate him.
He led Caleb down the hall, wearing a tight pair of jeans that framed his ass. He wore a plain brown shirt that ended at the shoulder. He looked more like he was on his way to job as a farmworker than a masseur, Caleb thought. Had he come into the wrong place after all? Maybe Quanah was the owner, not a masseur?
“Lie down,” Quanah said. It was impossible to tell whether he was happy with this or not — he looked rather like he was already bored of this massage.
He certainly had that American Indian taciturnness, Caleb thought, shivering a little with delight. Quanah had on a sleeveless shirt, so his lumberjack-like biceps were plainly visible. Caleb wanted more than anything to kiss them, but it was obvious Quanah was straight.
“I have trapezitis,” Caleb said. “That means my shoulders are-“
“I know what it means,” Quanah said, glaring at him. “Lie down.” After flipping on a stereo and waiting for New Age music to fill the air, he rubbed oil into his hands. His powerful biceps glistened with baby oil as well, or maybe it was sweat, Caleb couldn’t tell from where he lay on the massage table.
Caleb gulped and laid on the table as ordered. Had he offended Quanah? His brown face was still, like he was thinking about something very important and paying no attention to Caleb. Caleb settled into position on the table.
Laying on his belly, Caleb couldn’t see Quanah. He felt tense though. Quanah was not a very good masseur, Caleb decided before the massage began — he seemed almost hostile. He wasn’t sure he could relax at all. This was not the kind of environment that he usually found in massage parlors. Masseurs were supposed to be kind, friendly, evoking a calm and relaxed atmosphere. Quanah seemed as likely to chop him up with a hatchet as give him a massage, but Caleb was too scared to consider leaving.
But then the New Age music became a bit louder and more engrossing, and the smell of burning sweetgrass filled the air. Caleb felt a momentary surge of relaxation. He had been through enough massages that he was primed to feel the tension melt away when the atmosphere approached that of a more typical massage parlor. He sighed as Quanah finally touched his skin, and calmness flooded his system.
The feeling only intensified as Quanah’s strong hands began kneading Caleb’s back. He was a good masseur, Caleb realized with a start. He sighed. The tension began to drain from his shoulders.
Quanah’s hands were callused and rough, beneath the massage oil he used. He felt like a roughneck, Caleb thought, like he should be working on an oil rig, not in a massage parlor. But since Caleb was gay and Quanah was sexy, he didn’t mind at all. The extra friction from his finger pads actually made the massage feel a little better, he thought.
His hands moved down Caleb’s back and Caleb had an urge to remind him that he really just needed shoulder-work. But Quanah either forgot or didn’t care, and Caleb was rather enjoying himself. Quanah’s hands worked the flesh of his ribs and his lower back, and he even got close enough that Caleb felt Quanah’s breath condensing on the back of Caleb’s neck.
Then Quanah’s hands reached Caleb’s ass, concealed only by a towel. Caleb shivered with anxiety at the realization that Quanah wasn’t stopping. As a flamboyantly gay man, Caleb certainly had no reason to tell Quanah to stop touching his ass, but he was shocked just the same.
When the towel came off, the warm air made the sensitive skin of Caleb’s ass pucker. The sparse short hairs there stood on end, and Caleb’s whole body quivered with desire.
Much to his surprise, Quanah didn’t just rub his cheeks a bit and move on. A lot of masseurs did that. Instead one of those big, rough hands worked its way between his cheeks. Quanah grunted, but didn’t say anything.
Caleb moaned and blushed as Quanah’s finger teased the rim of his asshole. Caleb’s back arched. He wondered for the first time if Quanah’s machismo, his gruff exterior and his Indian stoicism masked homosexuality. He wasn’t sure — both Indian culture and Oklahoma itself were different than anything Caleb had known before, so he had no idea how gay men acted here. Maybe this was normal, he thought.
Caleb was so relaxed that when Quanah turned him over, it was like dead weight. He just flipped Caleb onto his back. Caleb’s lean, pale body trembled, his bare dick sticking straight up. Quanah frowned as though he had expected to see a vagina.
Then before Caleb could say anything, Quanah kneeled between his legs and swallowed his dick. His dark eyes flashed upward at Caleb, who moaned. Quanah’s craggy face vibrated as he licked Caleb’s shaft and produced copious spit.
There was something almost machine-like about Quanah’s blowjob, Caleb thought, like he had scientifically determined the best way to get Caleb off and was now following through on the plan. Caleb writhed, his climax already approaching even as he leaked his first drops of precum.
But before he could cum, Caleb guided Quanah’s head down. Quanah licked Caleb’s shaft and then suckled on each ball in turn. He licked Caleb’s smooth sac (Caleb shaved his crotch bald every week) and the first hint of a smile appeared on his face.
Seeing his dark eyes only reminded Caleb how shocking this was. Quanah was as straight-acting as any man Caleb had ever seen. He had rough skin and ropy muscles; he wasn’t hairy, he was too Indian for that, but he had a swarthy complexion, and a few colorful tattoos covering his chest and back. Most prominent was a large eagle — not a bald eagle, but some other kind Caleb didn’t quite recognize — whose wings outstretched from his back, up over his shoulder, to end over his heart.
His mouth moved back up to Caleb’s cock, and he sucked with fervor and abandon. Spit dribbled past his lips and down Caleb’s shaft, pooling there on this bare balls. Quanah let out a low, slow growl, not loud or even especially passionate, but in comparison with his otherwise silent demeanor, it was a compelling sound that made Caleb shudder with anticipation.
“What, uh…-?” Caleb intended to ask what is this? But his mind was distracted by pleasure coursing through his veins, and he couldn’t form the last half of his sentence. It didn’t matter, he thought, since Quanah didn’t seem likely to answer anyway.
Then Quanah pulled off his cock. He looked at it like it was his final meal, and licked its shaft as he stroked it. He spat onto his hand for lubrication — he didn’t spit like a gay man, Caleb thought, he spat like a baseball player or a redneck.
“I, uh… I can’t pay you for this-“
“I am not prostitute,” Quanah said. He glared at Caleb. Despite that, his tone was flat, with no indications that he was offended.
“Oh. Okay, it’s just-“
“I am not prostitute,” he repeated, this time sounding angry enough that Caleb gulped and fell silent.
Quanah climbed up onto the massage table with more limberness than his big body suggested. His broad muscles barely fit up there, but he easily stood around Caleb’s body. He continued to glare right into Caleb’s eyes as though frustrated, and one of his hands wrapped around Caleb’s throat.
For a moment, Caleb panicked. Maybe this was a case of gay rage, he thought, and Quanah was going to kill him because he knew that Quanah was gay. But that didn’t seem likely — ‘masseur’ was hardly the ideal job for someone who wanted to accentuate his heterosexuality, and in any case, Caleb knew Indian culture approved of gays. It didn’t make any sense for an Indian masseur to be a self-hating gay.
“I am not prostitute,” he said again, this time squeezing Caleb’s neck just a little bit. He hovered above Calebs’s crotch, his tight brown ass resting there. Caleb’s dick spasmed and jerked as though trying to find a hole to penetrate.
“Oh, uh, okay,” Caleb said. “I’m gay. I’m sure you figured that out. I, uh… it’s okay to be gay. There’s nothing wrong with that.” Shut up, Caleb, you’re babbling.
Quanah nodded as though he had been waiting to hear that. He leaned in closer, keeping his hand on Caleb’s neck, and kissed him on the lips. He was still crouched over Caleb’s body, his flexible limbs stretching to reach Caleb’s face.
Hesitating, Caleb clutched Quanah’s back, savoring the feel of the corded muscle like coiled rope, and he fingered that eagle tattoo. Then he thrust his tongue into Quanah’s mouth. They both moaned together, though Quanah’s was a low, barely audible sound that made Caleb’s back shudder.
Then he lowered himself down, letting his ass land right on Caleb’s cock. Caleb moaned as his dick disappeared inside the big Indian, who closed his eyes and moaned, the first sound he had made since this began.
Quanah’s craggy face winced a little in pain, but he mainly remained stony as he rode Caleb’s dick. He stroked himself off as well, until Caleb took over, playing with Quanah’s dick with one hand and hefting his balls with the other.
He was uncut, which Caleb liked. He wondered if that was normal for an American Indian. Caleb stretched out the man’s foreskin and played with his sensitive head, which made Quanah writhe above him. Quanah’s muscles flexed all at once.
The first few drops of Quanah’s precum dribbled down Caleb’s hand. He brought his fingers to his mouth to suck on them, only for Quanah to beat him to it. In the end they both sucked Caleb’s hand clean, as Quanah’s heavy balls dragged on Caleb’s smooth belly.
There was a knock on the door, and Caleb gasped. He held his breath.

A Japanese woman’s voice filtered through the doorway. “Quanah? Quanah? Do you have a client in there?”
His voice was clipped and strained, whether from pain and pleasure at being penetrated, or from annoyance at being interrupted, Caleb didn’t know. He scowled. “Yes,” Quanah said.
There was a long pause. Caleb wondered if the Japanese woman knew what was going on in here, or suspected it at least. Maybe that was why it took her a long time to answer.
“Mrs. Tucker is here,” the woman said. “She said she has a massage scheduled with you,”
“Yes.”
“She asked me to make sure you have… uh-“
“Yes.”
“The coconut oil, and uh… She asked if you did your tongue stretches. Maybe that was a joke? She laughed-“
“Yes, Yang, that is fine. Tell her I will be ready shortly,” Quanah said. “Tell her to prepare herself. She will know what that means.”
The Japanese woman outside waited a long time before leaving, without saying another word. Quanah looked momentarily embarrassed. Caleb had trouble focusing with the pleasure of his cock throbbing in Quanah’s tight ass — but Caleb did realize what was going on: Quanah must have sex with all of his clients, or at least many of them, apparently including at least one woman.
“Are you, uh… going to have sex with her?”
Quanah didn’t answer, but from the stoic stare he produced, Caleb suspected the answer was yes. Was he embarrassed because it made him look like a slut? Or because it made him look bisexual? Or some other reason.

As Quanah began lifting his hips again, using his entire body to ram his ass up and down on Caleb’s dick, Caleb felt the man’s erect nipples. They kissed again, and Caleb stroked Quanah’s hard cock.
“Are you going to be able to cum again? With her, I mean?” Caleb asked just because he wondered if he was only going to eat her out — maybe that was why she had asked about his tongue. But he was too aroused to be articulate, so his point wasn’t clear.
Regardless, Quanah didn’t answer. He put his hand back around Caleb’s throat and growled, “Stop talking. I will do my job.”
Caleb didn’t need to be told twice — he didn’t want Quanah to get annoyed and stop. In any case, his climax approached and Caleb moaned. His balls crawled up in sac, as his hand in Quanah’s crotch felt his balls do the same.
They both finally reached orgasm at once. Caleb had an animated reaction. He blushed and gasped; he yelped; he bit his tongue so hard he drew blood; his fingers clenched into claws that clutched at Quanah’s nipples and the tattoo of an eagle that hovered above his heart. Quanah threw his head back, his long hair flowing in front of his face. The crags of his cheeks and chin shook as they both vibrated in sync with each other.
The sound that emanated from Caleb’s mouth was so loud he was sure the Japanese masseuses heard it, but nobody responded outside the room. Caleb writhed, his throat clenched as the most powerful orgasm of his life wracked his mind and body.
“Oh, god, Quanah!”
Hot cum coated Quanah’s insides just as Quanah’s own load sprayed right over Caleb’s chest and mouth. The flavor of his juice coated Caleb’s tongue, and he licked enthusiastically, getting every drop that he could. His muscles flexed all at once, while Quanah’s entire body rippled, from his stoic face down to his tattooed chest and trunk-like thighs. His smooth flesh was dappled in sweat, and a loud euh jumped out of his throat — it wasn’t much, but Caleb suspected it was as powerful an orgasm as Quanah had had in a long time.
Then Quanah pulled himself off. He stretched as he got down off the massage table. He walked stiffly to the counter, where he withdrew a tissue and wiped his ass clean. His powerful cheeks jiggled and he threw the used tissue in a trash can. Then he frowned at Caleb.
“You are done,” he said. He crossed his arms over his chest, accentuating his pecs and that eagle tattoo, which rippled as his skin shifted. His bare cock shimmered with remnants of his cumload. Caleb got up, intending to put his clothes back on, but found himself sinking to his knees in front of Quanah.
It was just because he was so used to being a bottom, Caleb felt he needed to worship that cock. He hadn’t even tasted it. He kissed the tip, and licked it down to the root. Quanah sneered a little as though surprised, maybe a bit annoyed at the delay.
“You are done. The massage is complete.”
“Oh… okay,” Caleb said. “Well, that was… uh, good..” This has been a sudden transition, he thought. He was still feeling aftershocks from his orgasm as he hurriedly put on his pants. He could feel Quanah’s awkward stare, glaring at him for not getting his clothes on quickly enough. Caleb was unsure of what had just happened. “Was, uh… was that okay? Is that what you always do?”
Quanah scowled. “You have your massage, sir. Please leave.”
“Oh, I just-“ Caleb started towards the door. His pants were on, but he still carried his shoes and his socks, and his shirt was draped over his shoulders.
“Hush. You may return if you wish,” Quanah said. “Ask for Quanah.” He shoved Caleb outside and slammed the door shut. Caleb was so shocked he stood there for a moment, then headed towards the front door.
Mrs. Tucker, Quanah is ready to see you now.
Mrs. Tucker was a plump, yet still attractive white woman with dark hair and a thick ass. Caleb was sure that was who she was because she hurried back as soon as the clerk said her name, and she had a slightly embarrassed blush on her face as though wondering if everyone here knew what went on in the backroom.
Caleb smiled. He was so surprised by what had happened that he hadn’t noticed until now that his shoulders felt better. He grinned. He’d have to get another massage from Quanah next time his shoulders felt that way. He was glad he’d found a good masseur here in Broken Arrow.
And you thought this town would be boring…