When I was posted in Paris for a few months, Jason would bring over some paperwork from London for me to work on. He would usually come on a Friday and then stay for the weekend - which gave me a chance to know him better and to show him around the city I most loved. Whilst visiting the Eiffel Tower, he got excited because he recognised a football player who was the captain of the national team. Although I really disliked football and had no idea who he was, I asked him to pose with Jason.
One evening Jason told me how embarrassed he was about the size of his dick. I thought he was going to show me, but he did not go quite that far. I reassured him that size did not matter, and later, I noticed that there was certainly nothing remiss about his balls.
After telling me about the size of his manhood, he then told me that he had never been to a massage parlour. With the aid of some face cream from the bathroom, I decided to rectify that omission and began giving him a long massage. It lasted so long that he fell asleep - or at least he pretended to be asleep. When I moved his boxer shorts down a little, to massage the base of his spine, he raised his hips so I could slip them down to his ankles. I then spent a lot of time working on his perfectly-formed buttocks and knew he was enjoying it by the slow moans he was giving - but he was still pretending to be asleep, either save any embarrassed, or having to admit to himself that he was enjoying it. When I stroked between his cheeks I thought he might stop me but instead, I felt him shudder and his muscles contracted. He had ejaculated, so I pulled up his boxer shorts and finally managed to go to sleep myself.
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