For me, getting a professional massage has always been a sexually arousing experience. I guess it's easy to see why -- there I am, naked on a table save for a small towel while a member of the opposite sex rubs oil all over my skin.

I've been getting massages on a regular basis for a while now, usually once a month or so. I regularly go to the local school of massage, where they let their advanced students give massages every Wednesday and Saturday.

I go there, rather than to another massage parlor, for two reasons. One, it's cheaper, about half the going rate for an hourly massage. And two, because they are still students, the therapists-to-be are almost always young women, usually in their early 20s. What can I say -- if a woman is going to be touching my naked body, I'd rather it be a young one!!

An unavoidable consequence of these sessions, at least three-quarters of the time, is Mr. Happy's unannounced presence. Like I said before, it's a sensual experience.

Usually when I'm on my stomach, the arousal is fairly mild, although I do greatly enjoy having my buttocks oiled up and massaged. But it's when I'm lying on my back, towel over my lap, that things really get interesting.

By state law, massage therapists have to keep the actual genitals covered throughout the session. They'll move the towel to the side a little bit to massage the upper thighs, usually bunching the towel in a couple layers on top of my groin. Inevitably, there's a little bit of incidental contact -- sometimes just the edge of the towel brushing my testicles as she rearranges it, or (if I'm lucky) the barest brush of skin on skin if her fingers get too close to the edge of my balls or the base of my cock.

As you might imagine, my cock tends to spring to life from these ministrations, creating what must be an apparent bulge in the towel. I guess that aspiring therapists are taught to ignore it, because no one has ever left the room or scolded me for being a pervert during what is clearly a non-sexual massage.

Since the fronts of the legs are about the last body part to be massaged, when the therapist leaves the room to allow me to get dressed, more often than not I'm left with a raging hard-on. So, I do what any red-blooded male would -- I literally take matters into my own hands, sometimes using a bit of the massage oil left behind. The massage therapists always tell me to relax and take my time getting dressed; they think the massage is so relaxing, I might not be able to stand up right away. Well, I usually do take 5 or 10 minutes by myself in there to relax, just not in the way they think!!

Anyway, I went to the student clinic on a recent Wednesday morning for my 11:00 appointment. I was running a few minutes late, so they had the room all set up for me. My therapist today was a young woman I hadn't seen before; she introduced herself as Ashley as she led me to the room. I glanced her up and down as she opened the door -- early 20s, "girl next door" looks, about 5'2", long blonde hair down to near her ass, and what seemed to be a very nice bod under the white scrubs she was wearing.

"You've been here before?" she asked me in a heavy Southern accent that I found adorable. When I responded yes, she smiled a killer smile and said, "Great. Just get undressed and lie on your stomach with the towel covering your butt, and I'll be back in a few."

I followed her instructions, folding my clothes and setting them on a chair. It was always somewhat awkward to climb onto the table and cover my ass with the small towel, but I managed to do so. Just before Ashley came back in the room, I reached underneath myself to rearrange my dick into a more comfortable position -- the mere sight and sound of Ashley had already started things happening.

After she came back into the room, we made a little chit-chat as she started oiling up my back. I don't usually like to talk much during a massage, it sort of inhibits the relaxation. But Ashley's voice was so entrancing, I didn't mind.

Slowly though, the pace of our conversation slowed, and I really began to focus on the feel of her hands on my body. She had strong hands, deceptively strong for her petite stature. She kneaded my back, working deep to get at the muscles below. When she reached the top of the towel at my tailbone, she flipped it over and folded it back, exposing the top of my ass cheeks, and continued the massage.

She next moved onto my legs, starting at my calves, and I felt my aches just melting away. She worked the oil into my skin with long, firm strokes, moving up my left leg. She folded the towel over to the crack of my ass, completely exposing my left cheek, and worked in long strokes from my ankle all the way up to my waist. It felt heavenly, and I moaned softly, a combination of contentment and building excitement.

After repeating the process on my other leg, she covered my rear completely with the towel and said it was time for me to flip over. As therapists usually do, she stood at one side of the table and held the edge of the towel, intending to hold it in place as I rotated to my back.

Normally, I turn over facing away from the therapist, to avoid giving them a direct look at my cock and balls. But, for some reason, I was feeling an exhibitionist streak that day, so I turned towards Ashley, my semi-stiff cock completely visible if she had happened to glance downward.

She continued the massage on my chest and shoulders, and I felt twinges each time her hands passed over one of my nipples. She then moved her hands lower, massaging my stomach, and coming dangerously close (in my mind, at least), to the top of the towel. It felt like my almost fully erect cock was just an inch or so below the edge of the towel.

Ashley moved around to the side of the table again and folded the towel over to expose the front side of my right hip. In doing so, she piled the excess fabric directly on top of my cock, and I felt it harden fuller from the indirect contact.

She finished my right leg and moved over to the other side of the table, leaving the right side of my pelvis uncovered. She did the same to the left side, exposing my hip and bunching the fabric up in the middle. So, I was in effect wearing the terrycloth equivalent of a "banana hammock" as she worked on my left leg.

Ashley's hands moved in smooth strokes up my leg, her right hand dropping over to massage my inner thigh. With each stroke, she came high enough up my leg to brush against the towel, which in turned slid against my tightening balls and the base of my prick.

I gasped softly the first time I felt it. Ashley paused. "Does this hurt? Are you sore?"

"No no, it's fine," I said, and she resumed her stroking, each time causing the towel to rub against my aching balls. My dick was a steel rod at this point, and I felt a peculiar coolness underneath my testicles. "Are my balls completely exposed?" I wondered. Without sitting up and looking, or putting my hand down there, there was no way to tell.