CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The next couple of months were tough. The winter break wasn’t over so there wasn’t much opportunity to expend energy in training. The first team were on a working vacation in Portugal and most of the juniors were allowed to go home for a break. I did go over to England for a week to see my old man but was pretty morose. I spent a lot of time talking to my mother on the phone—she was a lot more sympathetic than dad—but there wasn’t much she could do other than counsel me to get over it. I even wrote a long letter to my ex-girlfriend in Ohio, Robin, who I hadn’t seen in a year in half and was now in college.

When the season renewed I was back to playing with the reserves. It was difficult to concentrate and I also had an ankle knack that wasn’t healing quickly, which limited my playing time. There only good thing that came out of that was spending more time in physical therapy, though even that involved a weird incident I’m not even sure I want to write about.

I was getting massages two or three times a week, so it was inevitable that I ended getting Milena Szabo to work on me again. The first time nothing happened; Milena, who I had found out was Hungarian, got the knots out my back and legs and ‘rolfed’ my weak ankle. If she noticed the slight stirring in my loins she ignored. In fact, during the whole session she didn’t say a word.

A couple of weeks later I went into PT in the late afternoon. Milena and a dark-haired man were doing paperwork in the office area in the corner of the therapy room. Both were wearing starched white medical jackets. I noticed the man’s nametag—Gustaf Szabo—and made a comment about that.

“I am Milena’s husband,” he explained in careful English. The couple spoke rapid-fire to each other, in Magyar or Hungarian I suppose, and then I was led by Mrs. Szabo behind one of the partitions.

I lay on my front, wearing just a pair of training shorts, and Milena’s strong hands kneaded by shoulders and neck, then moving down my back and stretching it out. Her fingers probed deep into my muscle mass and I felt myself relaxing, almost drifting off. Unlike the previous massage, on this day Milena was much more talkative. She asked which part of England I was from, and I explained where I had lived there, but that I had grown up in Ohio. After I asked she told me about coming to Germany from Hungary and training to be a physiotherapists.

I rolled over onto my back. Milena leaned over me and massaged my shoulders again and then my pecs. I could see beneath the crisp smock, a yellow blouse and behind that a white bra. As she worked my body her breasts swelled in the tight cups.

Milena then started working on my feet, stretching my toes. She was still leaning down and looking between my legs I stared in the crevice of her cleavage. She kept talking, looking up at me and surely aware I was looking at the valley between her breasts.

I asked her how long she had been married. She nattered on about meeting her husband during her professional training, how they were both refugees from Budapest, and how they had courted and been married for three years. By this time her fingers were digging deep into my thighs where my shorts began. She had run out of things to say about her husband.

“Haben Sie eine Freundin noch gefunden?” she asked. Had I found a girlfriend? I didn’t want to get into the whole saga with Beate.

“Ja… Aber ich habe sie verloren.” Yes, but I lost her.

“Es tu ich leid für Sie.” Milena said she was sorry for me and cupped my balls. I could feel her weighing then in the palm of her small but strong hand, pressing them together not hard but firmly.

“English you should teach me…” she observed. Her fingers had grasped the root of my hardening penis and the ball of her thumb pressed into the dimple at the base on my pubic bone.

“If English I have work other place I can go…” Milena continued. She released by gonads and pulled down the waist band of my shorts, exposing my hardening prick. She looked at wantingly.

“I should try to teach you English I said.” Milena’s lips wrapped around the head of my cock. I could feel her sharp teeth gripping the base of the mushroom shaped head. Her eyes were open and staring at me, and then flicked toward the opening of the cubicle.

“The grammar and work order in English is different from German,” I observed as Milena’s oral ministrations made me fully erect. “So instead of ‘English you should teach me’ it would have been more correct to say ‘You should teach me English’. And instead of ‘If English I have work other places I can go’ you could say…” I paused as her tongue twirled on the sensitive flesh of my pee-hole, “something like, ‘If I knew English I could work in other places’.”

Milena released my prick from her mouth. Her hand continued to stroke the base up and down.

“Help me please. So much rules languages I have in my learning. It is…” She was looking intently at the drops of fluid emanating from the tip of head and smiled. Her hand continued to stroke the base of my cock. “If is… Verwirren… that is the word in German. My head is full of tongues.”

She smirked and used one of them to lick the drips oozing from me.

“It’s difficult to keep so many languages straight,” I prattled on. The blowjob Milena was giving me was different. Her mouth only engulfed the head, gripping it firmly between her lips and teeth, and letting her tongue swirl over the bulbous head. “I think ‘Verwirren’ is confusing, or mixed up. What other languages do you speak?”

Milena released my prick from her mouth, and started stroking it fast. She took a deep breath. “I speak Hungarian, French and German. And English. My husband Gustaf speaks only German, and a little Hungarian that I have taught him. You can say anything you want and he will not understand. Keep your voice normal, and just talk.”

She engulfed the head of my prick. I was initially shocked and speechless. Milena glared at me. I started speaking the first thing that came into my head… The Pledge of Allegiance. Milena started working harder on my erection, using her mouth while still stroking the base which she had firmly clasped in her hand. My balls began to ache.

I was about halfway through when she released me again. “Please, you must finish quick. He will become suspicious if we are here too long. Also, I would like to taste you in my mouth.”

She winked and went down on me. I felt the sharp edges of her teeth on the sensitive underside of my prick-head. Her hand was moving up and down the length of my prick like a pile-driver. Come was swelling up. I reached the end of the pledge. I noticed her English had improved markedly.

“It is almost time,” Milena said, breathing slowly and deeply. “You have the biggest penis I have ever sucked. Now I want to see how much semen you can put in my mouth. I want you to explode. But you must keep talking.”

“We hold these truths self-evident…” I began again. I tried to thrust more of erection into Milena’s mouth, but her head bobbed upward so only the head entered. I could feel my climax nearing, and so did the Hungarian. Her hand speeded up, masturbating me faster, while her tongue and lips pulsed over the radiant head of my prick. The first shot spattered into her mouth, followed by three or four other globs. I could see Milena’s swallow each explosion.

Milena continued to suck and milk the last drops from my softening penis. Finally she released me from her mouth. She used a towel to clean me. She also called for her husband to bring some bandages. He came into the cubicle just as she pulled up my shorts and covered my groin. Professionally she wrapped my weak ankle while her husband admired her work.

* * *

After that I came to hope that I would be assigned to Milena’s care when I needed physiotherapy. Unfortunately there was never any guarantee that I would Milena, or even that she’d be in the mood for some of her special “therapy.” She did give me head another time.

We’d been talking in German and English and she coming to the end of working over my body. Then she pulled from under her towels a book, a novel in English. “Lesen Sie dieses,” she said and opened the book randomly.

I read it out loud, in a conversational tone, while Milena gobbled up my limp prick. After reading a paragraph she broke free and asked me whether I’d read the author and if he was famous. When I started to answer she started sucking on my now-hard dick. This went on for three or four minutes. I would read or say something for twenty or thirty seconds while Milena worked by hard-on with her mouth. Then she catch her breath by saying something inconsequentially in normal flat voice, pumping my erection while she did so, before capturing the head in her cheeks.

She would never let me insert more than the swollen head. She would nip its tender underside with her small sharp teeth, while her fleshy tongue swirled and probed the rounded sphere and pee-hole. When I came I felt it flush to the back of her throat. It was an unique technique, concentration her oral skills to only the tip.

* * *

I said something weird happened. I guess it was pretty strange that physiotherapy would include getting blowjobs from a married masseuse. I had queried my roommate Frank, in a roundabout way, if anyone else were getting such oral favors but he just shook his head. But the weirdest thing was the third time I got head.

It was two or three weeks later and late one afternoon. There were three masseuses—Milena, her husband, and this Greek-looking woman—when I came in with a teammate. The Greek woman took my companion while Milena seemed to get into an argument with Gustaf. Eventually she broke the discussion off, though she seemed reluctant.

As she turned to me I saw her face was bruised, like she’d been slammed into a wall. “Kommen Sie,” she ordered.

In the booth I asked her what happened.

“He hit me…”

“Who”

“Da Schwule.”

Before I could ask who that faggot was Milena opened her smock, pulled back the cup of her bra, and squeezed a nipple into my mouth. This was the first of many surprises: for the first time I was touching her sexually. I sucked and nipped her teat and felt her nipple harden in my mouth. Already she was rubbing my crotch, making me hard.

She was talking in German about the last soccer game she had seen the seniors play. They had lost 2-0 at home the last weekend. My cock was now released from my shorts and she was stroking the foreskin over the head. Her nipple was bursting and I pulled my attention to its lonelier twin, pulling back the light-blue nylon cup with my teeth before pressing it between my lips.

I felt her thigh with one hand, on top of her skirt. She spread her legs slightly inviting me. Soon I was rubbing the crotch of her panties, and started talking nonsense in English when my touch caused her gasp. She pulled aside her panties and I stroked the puffy lips of her sex. With one hand still stroking my erection Milena started to rub her clit with the other while I probed between her labia with my index finger. She started rocking against me, harder and harder, while stroking her clit faster until she orgasmed in a sharp exhalation.

I removed my finger from her cunt. It glistened from her wetness. I sucked it dried and felt her taste, salty and tangy, on my taste buds.

“That was nice,” she said, rearranging her clothes. She was slightly sweaty and picked up a towel to wipe her face and moistened hand. She pulled backed strands of thin black hair from her face. She looked down at my prostrate body, and then placed her mouth over my prick.

In seconds she had me fully hard again and her tongue was whirring around the purple dome. I thrust my hips upward, trying to force her to take more of my meat, but Milena recoiled. I ran my fingers through her hair and tried to force her to take more of my length. She broke free.

“Keep talking in a normal voice,” she said. She placed the soiled towel over my face. “Yon itt,” she called out.

I couldn’t see anything but could feel her hot breath course against my swollen cock before being swallowed into her hot moist mouth. Milena was a tongue queen, using her oral muscle to coax drops of pre-come. She broke free and said something rapid fire in a language I didn’t understand and then toyed with the dome of my cock again. I started reciting something in English so it would appear that we were having a conversation.

After thirty seconds, with me feeling the first tinges of climax, she released by cock and started speaking again, this time in German. Then I felt the head of my cock in the hot moist cavern of her mouth. For the first time more than just the bulbous head penetrated. I could feel tight lips embracing the circumference half-way down the length of my hardness and started pumping up-and-down. I reciprocated and started humping back and felt the mouth sync into my urgent rhythm. After just three or four thrusts I exploded, instinctively thrusting against the mouth that refused to let my prick go.

Even after my spasms subsided I felt the suction on my cock. I could feel the swelling dying while at the same time the urge to harden up. Milena lifted the towel from my face and leaned over and brushed her lips against mine.

Then is dawned on me. Who was sucking my cock?

Startled I looked down. Gustaf pulled his mouth off my cock and spat my come over my torso. He started shouting at me in a harsh dialect, laughing at the same time. Then he stormed off, with Milena trailing behind.

* * *

Shit. I didn’t know what to think. What was this guy’s problem?

I mean I had gotten head from Milena, who was his wife, but this was a weird way to exact revenge. Plus it had all these ramifications about my own sexuality. I man had given me a blowjob—did that mean I was gay? I didn’t know it was Gustaf… I knew from previous experience that most of the work had been done by Milena, and if I had known would I still have come?

It took a while for me to get my bearings.

A couple of days later I asked Frank about a couple of things Milena had said—“Yon itt” and “Schwule.” He had no idea what the first word of phrase meant, but then he felt out the translation for the second.

“Schwule…” he mused. “It is a man who like other man.”

“Like a queer?”

“Queer?”

“A homosexual.”

“Yes a homo… Did someone call you that?”

“No, I just heard some woman call her husband that.”

Frank just laughed.