This is my second story about my experiences during the few months I spent at an inpatient drug rehab in my early 20s. The first story is here Thank you for your interest. I haven’t thought about this part of my life for a while and while I initially just planned on sharing about the massages, I’ve been flooded with memories about the other people and just the weird shit that was so commonplace there.

The next day after getting the massage from Andrew that turned into one of the most intense (and shortest!) handjobs I’ve ever received, I woke up feeling strange. Thinking about it got me instantly hard and horny, and I jacked off in the bathroom twice that morning while reliving the memory. I also felt ashamed because I had never thought of myself as being interested in sexual experiences with men, even though I had a few exploratory experiences with another boy when I was younger. This ultimately led into a few years of being more sexually open to (mostly unhealthy) experiences with older men as I tried to find my place in the world, or at least my own skin.

The rest of that day was more or less routine. This meant a few hours smoking cigarettes and listening to the other guys bullshit while we played spades. One older white client, Mike, told some almost certainly untrue stories about his time doing “black ops” for the US government, and how he witnessed his best friend getting his head blown off during “the ensuing firefight” after a few of them caught the best friend’s wife cheating on him with another special forces operator. Apparently this was one of the reasons Mike couldn’t stop drinking. Stories about running the streets and getting high were always the most popular, followed closely by sexual bragging. One of the Mexican ex-cons, Luis, described how he would cook up a big dose of heroin and fill a couple of syringes to keep in a case in his jacket pocket. Then, when he was out at a club and needed a shot, he could just pull one out, shoot it up, and jam the used needle into a stucco wall or doorway, like postmodern art. He also talked about how after a few years it just turned into two spoons in the morning, two spoons at lunch and two spoons to go to sleep.

The gay clients had their own stories. Most of them were HIV and were trying to recover from crystal. I heard about getting fucked raw by men they never saw, going to the white party, and getting liquid solutions of crystal squirted up their asses before marathon sessions of sucking and fucking. One of the paying clients was a career guitar tech who had worked for a bunch of well known heavy metal bands. He told stories about how groupies would suck his dick on the side of the stage for a promise to introduce them to the band. He also talked about how he would use a nine-volt battery to get women off by putting one contact on his tongue and the other on their clit. I’m still not sure how that works because the sensation I get when I lick a battery is not sexual at all. Later that day, I was kicked out of Ronnie’s workout crew because I had been too sore to come to the last few sessions, and in a separate incident I saw two prison guys get into a fight where the winner pulled the loser’s pant and underwear off and left him laying on the basketball court dazed and half-naked. They both got picked up by the police soon after.

The day after that Andrew offered to give me another massage. Even though I was feeling a lot less sore, I told him it would be great and he said he would come by my room around 9:30 that night. Although Andrew had enjoyed a single room for some time, the facility was getting a little more crowded and he had a new roommate who was a little strange, so being in his room didn’t make sense. I had a roommate too, John, but Andrew didn’t give it much thought.

John was an older white ex-prisoner with a walrus mustache. He said his nickname was “prof” or “the professor” because he was very good at cooking meth. He told me he not only knew however many recopies to make meth itself, but he also knew a few different ways to make a number of the necessary precursor chemicals. He seemed very serious about his recovery and changing his life. I remember the first night I got there; he turned to me while I was getting ready for bed and said “you know in this room, you don’t have to be ashamed to get on your knees.” I remembered every prison movie and “don’t drop the soap” joke I had heard during my life, and thought he was telling me I had to blow him, but instead we both kneeled at our beds and prayed for God’s wisdom and strength to stay clean and sober another day. Really, he was a nice guy and I always felt he was looking out for me a little bit.

Getting back to the story, Andrew came in and mentioned to John that he was just going to give me a sports massage to ease my sore muscles, and John respectfully rolled on his side and read his book with his back to us. The room lights were off and John was readying with a little book light which was mostly blocked to me and Andrew by his body. Andrew kept up a light chatter about how bad his roommate smelled and what a weird guy he was while he was massaging my biceps and shoulders. After a little while he moved down to my abdomen and legs again. This time, instead of lotion, he brought baby oil which felt a lot warmer, and didn’t absorb into my skin as quickly.

Because John was in the room, I wasn’t sure what kind of massage to expect, and so I left my boxer shorts on.
While still talking about his roommate, and how the food had gotten worse over the last few weeks Andrew reached his oiled hand up the leg of my shorts and started rubbing my cock. He was still giving me a regular massage with his left hand while he stroked and tickled my balls with his right. Then he squeezed the base of my shaft, making my cockhead rock hard, and brought his other hand over to lightly caress and stroke the head. It felt so good, but I was petrified that John would sense the change in massage techniques and roll back over, or even worse, shine his miniature reading light on us.

Thankfully, John did neither of those things, and if he was aware there was some monkey business happening, he didn’t let on. Andrew then poured more baby oil onto his hand and my cock, which was now sticking out of the slot in my boxers, and started stroking me in earnest. This time, maybe worried that I would cum quickly again, he jacked my cock slowly. It was excruciating. When he got to the top of the stroke, with just the head of my cock in the bottom of his fist, instead of lifting his arm or wrist higher, he would just squeeze hard and my cock would squirt out – like those inverted water wiggly toys are designed to slide out of your hand when you get a grip on them. That was too much for me, and after 10 or so oily strokes I came silently. He blocked my ejaculation with one cupped hand, while softly squeezing my cock with the other hand.

My shorts were a mess, and I needed to go change, so I loudly declared that I was going to take a quick shower before coming back to go to sleep. Andrew reminded me that it was always a good idea to drink a lot of water after a massage so I said I would do that too. As I was leaving, John said, “now I need to relax before bed too,” and Andrew started walking over to his bed. I made sure to stay in the shower for a good 25 minutes before going back to the room.

I never talked about this with John, but I noticed for the rest of my stay he would make comments every now and then that alluded to his sexuality. Like, when talking about a pretty female client who just walked by, he might say, “seeing her reminds me why I’m mostly straight.”

Andrew and I didn’t talk about the massages, and while we stayed friendly and hung out, nothing sexual ever happened between us again. We said goodbye on the day I graduated from my 60-day program, and I haven’t seen him since. When I think back, I still don’t know if he was hoping I might reciprocate, if he was getting off on giving me handjobs, or if he just took pity on a little white kid whose dick was just waking up after a chemical-induced hibernation. In any case, while this was only two incidents, it turned out to be a formative sexual experience for me. I now love watching videos and reading stories about men giving other men massages that turn into something more raw and sexual. Writing these stories and reading the comments has been an arousing experience on its own.

I didn’t have any more sexual encounters in rehab, although I definitely had a few after I got out and was newly clean. I’ll write about those next.