I was born with an ear for music.

Even after football practice derailed my formal flute lessons, I learned a couple of new pieces every year. By the time I turned seventeen, I had a self-taught repertoire ranging from gospel to jazz. So, when an evangelical Korean family rented a Summer cottage near ours, my dear Mother volunteered my services as an unpaid music tutor.

Su-Yun was about my age, and would have been a knockout if she weren't so painfully shy. I spent two-hours a week teaching Su-Yun breathing, intonation and dynamics with her Korean Mother always hovering in the next room. 

In early August, I arrived to find the Korean Mother's car missing. As it turned out, she had called to cancel the lesson (no proper chaperone), but my Mother neglected to tell me. When I knocked, Su-Yun answered looking a little confused.

After a moment's hesitation, she invited me inside. "Follow me," she said leading me by the hand down a narrow flight of stairs. The basement had been set up for some kind of physical therapy with a massage table and some simple exercise machines.

"No flute lesson today. So, I give you present," Su-Yun told me, pointing to the massage table. "My thank you for helping me."

I said it wasn't necessary, but Su-Yun was adamant.

"I go out, you take off everything but underwear and get under sheet," she instructed. "I study sports massage. You will not be disappointed."

A couple minutes later, I was stretched out on fresh towels with a thin sheet covering my back and my brief-clad ass. "I'm ready, Su-Yun," I called.

To my surprise, she didn't touch my skin directly, but massaged my neck and back and legs through the cotton fabric. She wasn't exaggerating, her touch was firm and confident. There was an elusive quality to her technique, a kind of soft intimacy that I'd never experienced before during a massage. It was as if through the skillful use of her hands, Su-Yun had found a way to fully express herself.

She began with my neck and shoulders and gradually worked her way toward my feet. The way she kneaded the sore muscles of my upper back was so relaxing that I must have drifted off to sleep.

When I awoke, it was because she was firmly squeezing and pressing my glutes. Apparently, she wasn't happy with something, since she stopped and told me, "Too much material. Remove underwear."

In a fluid motion she reached under the sheet and her fingers found the elastic waist band. "Lift hips," she instructed, patting my butt for emphasis. Somehow she slid my briefs over my hips and down my legs with her hands barely grazing my skin.

Su-Yun nonchalantly tossed them on the pile with the rest of my clothes, repositioned the sheet, and returned to work. I hadn't realized how tense my glutes had become, and her hands did wonders to relax them. Soon I was drifting off to sleep again while she worked on my thighs and knees.

A new sensation brought me back to consciousness. Su-Yun was massaging my feet, pulling on each toe, one at a time, and squeezing pressure points I had no idea even existed. She used a perfectly placed knuckle to send a bolt of pain through my foot that gave way to an intense sensation of warm relaxation.

After stretching my Achilles tendons and hamstrings, she spread my legs as wide as the table would allow, and began working up my legs, this time with feather light touches. Su-Yun had already reached my upper calf, when I realized that she was no longer massaging me through the sheet. Rather her fingertips were directly caressing my skin. And call me crazy, but I swear she was deliberately trying to arouse me.

As she reached my thighs, I sensed the first stirrings of excitement between my legs, and was thankful that my cock was pointing downward, so if I did develop a full-blown erection, it at least would not become uncomfortably trapped between my stomach and the tabletop.

With her hands under the sheet, Su-Yun was working higher and higher along the inside of my thigh and my balls began to tingle in anticipation of being touched. But, of course, she wouldn't do that.

But then she did.

The first time it was so slight as to be entirely accidental. When I didn't, complain, on the next upstroke, it happened again. Only this time the contact was firmer and lingered a faction of a second longer. It went on like that for stroke after excruciatingly arousing stroke.

At first, I tried to stifle my moans, but as her fingers began to actually reach along both sides of my balls and squeeze softly, I exhaled with a deep sigh of satisfaction.

Su-Yun responded by focusing her touches exclusively on the ultra-sensitive skin of my testicles and perineum, with the entirely predictable side effect of producing a raging hard on. Which meant that yet another erogenous zone, my cock head this time, was within range of her talented fingertips.

She began to alternate between rolling my balls with gently vibrating fingertips, and swirling her fingers over every exposed millimeter of my cock. My sighs were merging into long, loud groans and my breathing was coming in shallow bursts.

I hadn't exactly lusted after Su-Yun that Summer. But there may have been times that she featured in my masturbatory fantasies as I visualized how her small, but perfectly proportioned body might look like without clothes. Once or twice, I may even have imagined her tiny, virginal fingers caressing my cock and balls. That it really was happening, that this beautiful Asian girl was stroking me with such a practiced, erotic touch, was now exciting me beyond the power of any fantasy.

Somewhere in the distance I heard Su-Yun's voice. "Lift hips," she was saying for the third of fourth time, removing her fingers from between my legs long enough to press upward on my hip bone.

I followed her instructions, pulling my knees closer for support until I felt my cock lift entirely off the table top, hanging free in the gap created by my elevated butt.

I was thankful for the sheet, thinking how ridiculous I would look to Su-Yun with my ass up in the air and my cock and ball sack swinging free.

Except my cock was not free for long. Reaching back under the sheet, Su-Yun's right hand gripped my cock even as her left hand resumed her methodical manipulation of my balls.

At first she stroked my shaft with her thumb and forefinger in a little "O," which just happens to be the way I prefer to masturbate myself. But as my cock began subtly twitching and my hips began a slow undulation, I felt her grip shift.

First one hand wrapped around my cock, then both. With that began pumping up and down in an unmistakable milking motion. In my brief sexual career, I'd been on the receiving end of my share of hand jobs. But nothing prepared me for this.

There was something about kneeling in what was, in effect, a "missionary" position that amplified every sensation. That coupled with Su-Yun's sublime control of her fingers, their pressure and speed of movement, made this moment beyond anything in my experience.

My hips were no longer merely undulating as she milked my cock, I was frantically fucking her tiny hands with long, hard thrusts. With each stroke, a wave of of hot pleasure radiated outward from the tip of my cock. From my toes to the top of my head, every nerve in my body screamed for release.

At the very least I wanted to share these sensations with Su-Yun. Trying to lift an arm to reach behind me was awkward at best, but I did manage to place my open palm on Su-Yun's thigh a few inches below the zipper of her jeans. Without interrupting the tempo of her movement along my cock, Su-Yun grabbed my hand and gently moved it back to the table.

"I do work, Jason," she whispered as her grip tightened and the speed of her milking motion gradually increased. On a dairy-farm field trip, I'd watched in fascination as a girl a little older than myself explained how she could use her fingers to mimic the way a calf sucked its mother's teat. Apparently she knew exactly what she was doing, because within a few seconds, little explosions of white milk were rattling around in the bottom of her metal bucket.

Now Su-Yun was using a remarkably similar technique on my hyper-engorged cock. In addition, every once in a while, she would reach back, take my balls in her fingers, and give them firm squeeze. Just as I was beginning to feel as if my entire body was about to explode from an overload of sexual stimulation, Su-Yun's finger reached beyond my balls to my little bung hole. A moment later, her fingertip was probing where no one had ever probed before.

"Cum for me, Jason," she commanded. "Cum for Su-Yun."

Whether it was her words, or the sensation of her warm breath in my ear, her exquisite milking of my cock, the way her finger probed my virgin prostrate, or all of those things, at that very moment the most profound ejaculation of my young life rose within me. The sensation of orgasm did not originate in my balls or my cock, rather it seemed to involve my entire body. When the first pulse of semen shot from my recoiling cock, it was as if my entire essence, everything I ever was or would become, was expelled in a series of uncontrollable spurts.

I screamed in a raw, primal expression of unbearable pleasure and pain. Su-Yun covered my mouth with her hand in a vain effort to muffle my ear-shattering wail. 

With that, I collapsed on my stomach and the world went black.

I returned to consciousness aware of the pleasant sensation of warm lips brushing against my cheek and a cool cloth lying across my forehead.

Somehow, Su-Yun had rolled me onto my back. My cock had lost some of its tumescence, but was still erect, although it now pointed skyward. There was cum everywhere, on my thighs and stomach and chest and soaking into the towel that was now under my ass. Su-Yun leaned over me, and nuzzled my neck and cheeks while her fingers gently caressed my face.

"You okay?" she asked with genuine concern.

"Yes. But I've never… never felt anything so intense before."

Su-Yun smiled and placed a chaste kiss on my lips. "I'm glad," was all she said.

"How? How did you learn to do this?" I wanted to know, gesturing to my still quivering cock and the shiny ejaculate that coated everything on or near me.

"A girl's secret," she whispered, helping me to my feet. Again, I tried to engage her physically, cupping her ass cheeks in my hands while my lips searched for hers. But Su-Yun would have none of it. Twisting out of my grip, she pushed me with a girlish giggle toward the bathroom.

I showered alone and when I stepped out, my clothes were neatly folded on the countertop. In the basement, the massage table had been stripped and cleaned. Su-Yun was waiting for me next to a basement door that exited through a small garden onto the lakefront. She stood on her tip toes, placed a kiss on my cheek, and held the door open as I walked into the sunlight.

The flute lessons continued until late August. Su-Yun never mentioned the massage, or even acknowledged in any way that it had happened. She was a demure and dedicated music student who practiced hard and made steady progress.

As for the massage table in the basement and Su-Yun's insanely talented hands, to this day they remains as mysterious to me as the ephemeral notes of an Asian flute solo drifting on the night wind.