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Male-Male Testicle Massage

So I heard through the grapevine that there’s this fellow who does a wonderful testicle massage. While I consider myself mostly straight, I was told I really ought to make an appointment with this guy, his work is supposedly fantastic.

So, I made the appointment. He was to come to my house on Friday at 2pm. I waited the three days until Friday with mixed, but rather strong feelings. One was a bit of fear. What did I get myself into? The other was absolute horny excitement.

Finally, 2:10pm Friday, a knock on my apartment door. He came in, dragging a massage table and sheets. I closed all the curtains, and told him we have to be quiet. I didn’t want my neighbors to know exactly what was going on. If they thought I was getting an ordinary massage, that would be good enough for me.

This fellow was about 5’10’, about 60 years old, balding, a touch on the heavy side, and as ordinary-looking as can be. Not a sexual turn-on by any stretch of the imagination, for me, at least.

He had an assuring personality. I don’t know why exactly, but I calmed down right away. Perhaps he used some hypnotic suggestion to help me get in the right state.

And so, he started with about 10 minutes of what was an ordinary, although somewhat perfunctory massage. While I was on my stomach, among the other things he did was brush his fingertips over the back inside edges of my thighs. This gave me a semi-hardon.

When it was time to flip over, I was concerned about him seeing me partially erect. He assured me. ‘Most of my clients get hardons at various parts of the massage, and any state at any time is absolutely normal. Some have erections even before we start. Some stay soft the whole time.’

So, after flipping over-totally naked by the way, and him seeing my hardon for a few minutes, I became totally OK with it, as he worked on my arms, shoulders, feet, and worked up my legs. The hardon became harder, probably mostly because I knew what he was here for-a testicle massage, after all!

And then, slowly, ever so slowly, he essentially tickled my sack. But it wasn’t ticklish. It was, well… wonderful. The tickling lasted a very long time, several minutes at least. I don’t think I’ve ever been so hard without having my dick touched directly.

I noticed that the tickling became a bit firmer. Yes, hmmm, he was fondling my balls. He was very gently squeezing each one at the same time, one in each hand. Sort of a pulsing method. Beautiful! I’ve never felt anything quite like it!

But he wasn’t done yet. He told me that he would slowly squeeze harder and harder, and I was to let him know how much was too much.

It was a very complete testicle massage. He handled them this way and that. Generally one in each hand at the same time. Generally symmetrically, but sometimes in an alternating pattern. Often the pulsing, but all sorts of other rubbing and squeezing. Sometimes, he did hit that limit at which I had to say, ‘ah, a little lighter, please.’ But, I was surprised how much squeezing I could take. And, like the expert he evidently is, he never hit the sensitive spots that would have been painful.

And then it happened. Without him ever touching my penis, I ejaculated! It was one of the most amazing orgasms of my life. And afterward, I was still hard and wanting more.

He didn’t give much more. A few minutes of very gentle fondling as I cooled down. He helped me get up, thanked me, collected his $120, and was gone-just like that!

I jerked off just moments after he left and came again.

The next day, I noticed something that I can only call a ‘healthy glow’ feeling in my balls. It’s like I notice they are there-I can feel them. It’s almost a horny feeling, but no, something different, almost a feeling of youth or some kind of special fitness. Go figure! $120 is a lot, but I went ahead and called him to schedule another appointment for this Friday.

In summary, I can say it isn’t really a sexual thing. It’s more like sensual. Very sensual. It wouldn’t have mattered who gave me that massage. Could have been male or female, any age, any weight, etc.

He never explicitly said so, but I believe his attitude is that it is a theraputic massage, one for health, and if the client happens to enjoy it on another level, well, that’s just fine with him. And if an ejaculation happens, it is just part of the process.

If you ever have a chance to get a testicle massage from an expert in the field, I highly recommend it!

Like Temple Grandin

My wife and I were in bed discussing this and that before we planned to fall asleep, as usual. We have settled down to where we don’t need to have sex every day.

I was talking about Temple Grandin. She’s a high-functioning autistic woman who has revolutionized the ranching business by designing more humane equipment for the treatment of animals. One of her best-known inventions is a squeeze frame. If you put a cow in a frame that wraps around their body and holds them firmly, they seem to calm down during whatever you have to do to them.

I once talked with a large animal veterinarian who told me cattle will sometimes eat barbed wire. They require surgery to remove it. He’d put a cow in a squeeze frame, and do the surgery on the side of the animal’s belly without anesthesia (or maybe with something topical on the skin), and the animal calmly just stood there and put up with all the action inside it’s belly.

She learned that from her own experience. While she didn’t enjoy being touched by other humans, she did discover that having her mattress or blankets wrapped firmly around her body calmed her. She designed a special bed that wrapped her tight.

As I was telling my wife, who knows I suffer from insomnia, she wondered if that might help me. She suggested she put her hand firmly over my balls as I try to fall asleep. I said “Sure,” and she did so. I also put my hand firmly against her vagina.

There we were, laying with each other’s hands on our genitals. She was kind of cupping my scrotum firmly. Not firmly enough to hurt. Far from it. But comfortably firm. Her hand was so warm and nice. Of course I had an erection in no time, but we both ignored that.

The next thing I knew, light was streaming in through the curtains. I had fallen asleep quickly and peacefully with her holding my scrotum, erection and all. Of course by morning, her hand was no longer on me. I didn’t even know one could fall asleep with a hardon.

Now we do that once or twice a week. Anytime I’m feeling rattled by the day’s events, or she’s a bit upset by something, we do that for each other. It’s wonderful.

How to Find Out if a Friend is Gay

Someone on Quora asked, “How can you find out if a friend is gay?” I’m assuming the question was because the writer would like to become involved with a potentially gay friend, but was afraid of consequences if his guess was wrong.

Here’s what I wrote:

You might ask something like, “Are you offended by gay people?” or “What do you think about the LGBTQ movement?” The answers should be interesting. Keep in mind that some gay and bi people are so closeted that they’ll pretend to be offended, maybe even say disparaging remarks.

If that scares you, try asking about a gay character in film or on TV, like Kurt Hummel of Glee. Like, “Did you see Glee? What did you think of Rachel Berry (a straight person)? How about Finn Hudson (also straight)? How about Kurt Hummel (gay)?” If all you get is generic responses, you could go a step further, “Did Kurt being gay bother you?”

I think you can take it from there!

Tantric Tease

I go to this woman for a tantric tease

On Tuesday mornings I go to this woman. She’s a massage practitioner. When I started with her, it was just ordinary. Oh, it was nice, but ordinary. For the first few weeks, I kept my guard up, which means I kept my penis down. Whereas if I hadn’t been careful, I might have had an erection.

Then one week, while she was working on my back side, I did have an erection. Like an adolescent, I willed it to go down but of course it wasn’t happening. She asked me to roll over. I couldn’t keep the little towel on it, so she saw my condition. She said nothing, ignoring my erection, hidden under the little towel again. Although, at one point, she did work her hands under the edges of the tented towel, touching my upper thighs, which was electrifying. My erection persisted all the way through to the end of the massage. While she sat at her little desk doing the little bit of paperwork, I had to remove the towel to put my clothes back on. She did glance at me, saying only, “That’s a sign that you’re healthy.’

The next week she asked whether I felt the need for the towel at all. I kind of did. It made me feel more secure somehow, but what did I tell her? Right, I said ‘No, I don’t need it.’

Maybe it was the lack of the towel that set me off, but I was erect right from the start of the massage. She acted entirely normal, as if an erection during a massage was the same as having ears. It’s just the way people, or at least men, are.

Same thing the week after that, except she brushed her fingertips over my scrotum a time or two, and once, I felt her fingertips touch my penis for a brief moment. I wondered whether that was on purpose.

The week after that things really changed. It was business as usual for 58 minutes. Then at the end, she literally focused on my genitals. She lightly massaged my balls for a good two minutes. As she did so, she started squeezing harder and harder. It started to hurt – not very much, but it was verging on uncomfortable. I was like, “Woah'” but she said it was good for me, and told me that I’d feel especially invigorated for the rest of the day. My penis was so fucking hard I can’t even express it. It was as erect as it had ever been in my life. Putting my pants on was difficult.

Helen was right. I did feel especially invigorated the rest of the day. My balls felt, for lack of a better explanation, pleasantly heavy. I could sense their weight in my scrotum. But more than that, I was pleasantly, but not overly horny, and I felt more aware. Sounds were more interesting, colors were brighter. I swore I’d never stop going to my Tuesday 10am appointments. Helen was magical.

The next week, it was the testicle massage again, but this time, she started handling my penis too. It wasn’t quite a handjob, and I left frustrated. At the point she finished, I really wanted to ejaculate. Needless to say, I took my happily heavy balls home, stripped in my bedroom and jacked off big time.

This went on week after week, but the end of the massage was evolving. Now, the main massage was lasting about 40 minutes, and the entire last 20 minutes was devoted to the genital action. Now, the handjobs were real. However, I never ejaculated. Helen was an expert. She could take me right to the point where orgasm was inevitable, but she knew exactly when to stop. Sometimes she’d let go in the nick of time, and my penis would pulse and wave in the air with a couple of dry contractions, as if I was going to cum, but I didn’t. At the end of each session, she tells me not to jerk off for at least six hours. I obey happily, because the bright sparkly way I feel after her treatments is just amazing. I wouldn’t want to wreck it.

And that’s the way it has remained to this day. She calls her technique ‘The Tantric Tease.’ She tells me that if I were to ejaculate, her treatments would be something sexual and illegal. But as long as she does what she does, it’s entirely ‘non-sexual.’ I doubt her interpretation of the law, but I’m not going to say anything!

Sword Swallower

I went to a vaudeville revival convention a few years ago. Dancers, musicians, jugglers, mimes, clowns, ventriloquists, comedians, and others attended. I fancied myself a bit of a magician, but it was more a hobby than a profession.

I didn’t know anyone, and I wasn’t even sure they’d let me in, but they welcomed me with open arms. Four days in, and I felt very accepted. I was becoming one of them, seemingly a big, happy, if somewhat weird international family. Most of the people knew each other from years and years back. They grew up in the business together. They’d meet at various theaters and so on. I noticed they were a very horny, sexual lot. There was frequent innuendo and outright sexual discussion. I gathered a lot of intercourse and other activities went on in the hotel rooms among these people.

So one night, a sword swallower, a guy named Jeremy Blue, was going to do a private show. I was invited, along with like a hundred other people. Everyone was saying that it was going to be a very unusual show, with something more than sword swallowing.

So, we’re all chit-chatting in the audience, when the curtain opens, and out comes Jeremy with a tray of various sword-like things.

True to form, he did some real geeky sword swallowing. Now, I’m not really a fan of such things. It’s not a magic trick. It’s real. Sword swallowers have trained their throats to accept foreign objects, and they really do stick metal things down through their esophagus right into the stomach. The thing that was cool, is this guy had a great onstage personality. He was truly funny. You didn’t have to like sword swallowing to enjoy his show.

Next, he did some things with fire. Putting out balls of fire in his mouth. Spitting flames, juggling three flaming balls.

Then, a hush came over the audience. Many of them evidently knew something I didn’t.

Jeremy started doing a striptease on the stage. I thought it was a joke, but he kept going until he had not a stitch on. Not only that, he was more naked than most, explaining that he didn’t have any hair except on the top of his head because it would interfere with his fire show tricks.

He proceeded to rub fire wands over his stomach, chest, and even his face. I couldn’t help noticing that he was growing an erection during this process. He seemed totally unabashed, like an erection on a stage in front of a hundred cheering performers was normal, an everyday occurrence. I was shocked, but somehow fascinated, maybe even delighted also. Now, I’m not gay, but I do appreciate the human body, whether male or female.

He stopped, lit what looked like a wad of cloth on fire, and held the flames under his balls for a very long time. I don’t know why that didn’t burn him. He put that out, and seemed to be done with fire.

Now, he grabbed one last implement from his tray. It looked like a miniature sword. He handed it to someone in the front row, and it was passed around. I got to touch it for a moment. It was indeed a miniature sword, about fifteen inches long, with an additional six inches of a small handle. The edges were not at all sharp. In fact, it was highly polished stainless steel in a sort of oval shape. Somewhat like the handle of a fork, but tapered toward a dull but pointy end.

The small sword came back to the stage, where Jeremy rubbed it with something. In a moment, the smell wafted from the stage down to us in the audience. It was rubbing alcohol. Then he rubbed it with something else, oil I assume. All the while, it never occurred to me what he might do with such a thing. I was too focused on his ongoing erection, which he had continued to ignore during this whole thing with the little sword. He continued to tell funny jokes. Then, he sat in a chair, and the whole crowd leaned forward to see better. A big TV screen lit up behind him, so we didn’t have to strain to see what he was going to do next.

And what he did, sent me into a masturbation frenzy back in my hotel room right after the show. He slowly stuck that sword into his peehole. Eventually all fifteen inches disappeared into his penis, while he was explaining how it felt going past his two sphincters. Did you know there are two urinary sphincters? I didn’t. One is voluntary, the other involuntary, he explained. He left it in a moment, then started masturbating with it buried all the way to the handle. He announced ‘I’m now orgasming.’ We could all see his muscles throughout his body tensing and we could see his penis and perineal area pulsing on the monitor, but nothing came out. He stayed stationary for a couple of minutes. It seemed to take quite a while for his orgasm to end. Then he slowly withdrew the little sword. When the tip came out of his peehole, it was followed by a couple drops of semen. He put on a robe, accepted his very enthusiastic applause with a big smile, and the curtain closed.

I’m no sword swallower, and I value my life, so I’m not going to experiment with Jeremy’s urethral trick, even though the thought has occurred to me. But I hear the urethra is very prone to infection, as well as physical damage, so I’ll stick with ordinary masturbation – while I replay in my mind what Jeremy did, thank you very much!

Surrogate

Like you, my wife has quit putting out. And she’s only 47 years old. Dang!

Well anyway, a week before my 48th birthday, she asked what I wanted.

I immediately said, “Sex.”

She got all huffy, then settled down, explaining for the millionth time, it was her ‘hormones.’

Whatever, right?

Then she asked, “What if I get you a surrogate?”

“You mean like a whore?”

“No, not at all. Maybe like a proper sex worker, or a therapist or something?”

We both fell silent, because even though the idea was certainly attractive, I couldn’t imagine any practical way it could work.

The discussion was forgotten. A week later, on the evening of my birthday, our niece LuLu was over for dinner. I was almost sullen. So far, my birthday had been uneventful, and the last thing I wanted to do was to have to sit down to dinner with this young girl with whom I had nothing in common other than her course of study.

She did seem more bubbly and sparkly-eyed than normal, which is saying a lot for her. She’s thin and naturally active, almost hyper-active.

We talked about her schooling. She was studying to be a psychologist. I felt honored in a way, because that is my profession, and I liked to think part of her decision to pursue psychology was due to me.

Then she floored me by announcing that she was planning to focus on sexuality. I almost choked on my bite of potato.

In her non-stop, active way, without hardly taking a breath, she went on to say that she’s a big advocate of sex as a way to heal many of society’s ills, and especially personal ills. She clarified, saying masturbation was one of the best outlets a person can allow themselves, and went on to expound on the benefits of wanking.

Despite our age difference, and my wife sitting right there with us, I became fascinated. And, I can admit, I felt a stirring in my pants, as I was imagining this young woman involved in the activities she was describing. Obviously, she must masturbate frequently, since that’s such a strong part of her belief system.

As I was pondering that, and LuLu stopped for an odd moment, my wife interjected, “So you like to masturbate a lot?”

“Oh, yes,” she freely admitted.

My wife didn’t stop there. Turning to me, “And you masturbate quite a bit too, don’t you?”

Geez! That was embarrassing. How does one answer that? But, figuring how forthcoming LuLu was being, I went ahead and admitted that I do wank quite a bit.

The conversation intensified, until finally, with my wife’s help, LuLu had us engaged in a game of strip poker. But it was just her and I. My wife then went into the den to watch TV or something.

I was naked first. Although embarrassed in a way, I was becoming OK with the fact that I was displaying an obvious erection to this young girl. Looking at those luscious tits, how could I resist?

I didn’t know where this was going, but of course I caught on early that it was my birthday, and this, being here with LuLu, was somehow my wife’s present to me. Furthermore, there was so much talk of masturbation that I pretty much knew I wouldn’t be fucking LuLu. Frankly, as pretty as she was, I didn’t really want to. But anything else would be absolutely OK with me.

She wanted to see our jetted tub. My wife and I have a big jetted tub in our bathroom, and before long, LuLu and I were luxuriating in the warm water. I started to follow her lead. She was rubbing her pussy with one hand while conversing with me. So, I started touching my flagpole of a penis.

We were laying in the tub facing each other. Me at one end, her at the other. Our legs overlapped, her feet coming almost to my crotch. After words of encouragement about how big my penis is (it’s only an average 6 inches), and how nice it looks (it’s just an average penis), she scootched forward a bit, and placed her feet gently against my balls, as I widened my legs as much as I could in the tub to allow her better access. She then started kind of grabbing my penis awkwardly between her feet. Finally, with only her feet, she jerked me off, until I released big jets of semen into the water. As I had one of the strongest orgasms of my life, she cheered. Before we left the tub, as my penis was reducing in size in post-orgasmic glow, right there in front of me, as if it was the natural thing in the whole world, LuLu rubbed herself to a series of strong orgasms.

Shortly after our bath, she went home. My wife welcomed me in bed with lots of kisses (but nothing else), and asked, “Did you like my gift?”

Surprising Kid

Surprising Kid, Sexual Memoir

This boy was a great kid. Raised well. Quiet and polite. Good-looking too. You don’t have to be gay to admire the look of tall, skinny, blond boys of Nordic descent who wear their hair long.

I’ve known his mother for quite a while. In fact, we dated back before he was born.

Now, having just graduated from high school, he didn’t know what he wanted to do. She was secretly relieved he didn’t want to go to college, because after his father left, they were in poverty and she could never help pay for his education. She hatched a plan, which turned out quite well, and all she had to do was one thing. She suggested he ride with me for a week.

I wasn’t at all interested in having a kid tag along, but I did it because it seemed important to her.

Monday morning, I pulled up in front of their shabby little garden apartment and he met me promptly in front with an eager greeting. If he was reluctant to participate in his mother’s experiment, he didn’t show it to me.

It was a half-hour drive to the first appointment. Trying not to offend him, I let him know in no uncertain terms that he was to be as invisible as possible. I figured the last thing my clients would want is to deal with an 18-year-old kid. Other than that, it was mostly small talk on the ride.

We got there and he helped me drag the air conditioner out of the truck, and unboxed it while I set up the lift and removed the old air conditioner from the motorhome. I appreciated the help. Maybe dragging him along wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

I had asked him to be unnoticeable, but what was the first thing he did? He started a conversation with the motorhome owner. The client seemed to like the kid. It kept the client out of my hair while I finished the installation, and so that, too, turned out alright.

We went to the other appointments of the day – trailer brakes, a generator that wouldn’t start, and sealing a roof. Driving between jobs, the kid told me he admired my truck. It is something I’m proud of, and so it was nice to hear him speak about how much he thought it was cool. He went on to call it a ‘Swiss army knife’ of vehicles. It’s true. Although the truck is big, and sometimes annoying to take into narrow driveways or to park in tight places, it carries a lift, welding equipment, and every tool you could possibly need in the RV repair business.

The week wore on. Having the kid around turned out to be good. He was helpful. He would just do grunt work, such as spreading cat litter on an oil leak and sweeping it up, without even being asked. He was intelligent too. For instance, I’d be on a roof, and without me requesting it, he’d climb up the ladder with a 7/16″ wrench, handing it to me right when I needed it.

I have to admit too, I had been kind of lonely rolling around in that old truck by myself. I enjoyed the chatter between jobs.

Until one day, he stopped me dead in my tracks by asking whether I ever masturbate.

We were at a traffic light at the moment he asked. I think I turned red in the face, and was concerned that the people stopped next to us saw me, maybe even heard him ask the question. Geez! How does one answer that?

I must have formed three or four answers in my head before I finally said, “Well, sure, doesn’t everyone?”

Slowly, he wedged masturbation into several conversations during the next week or so. I gradually opened up becoming more used to these conversations, even enjoying them. Secretly, I had jerked off the past several evenings, remember our conversations. He had admitted having phimosis, and seemed to want to know how ‘ordinary’ people jerk off.

I acted like I knew what that was, but didn’t have a clue. I tried to look it up on the internet that evening, but couldn’t remember the word. I tried “flamotis” and all sorts of things, and so didn’t find an answer. I was very, very curious. What could possibly be wrong with the kid’s penis? Or was it something affecting his semen production? Something about his balls maybe?

The next day we had a case where the client wasn’t around. I was replacing the CV joints in a classic old GMC motorhome. I admitted to the kid that I didn’t know what phimosis was.

He said, “Here, look.” With that, he stood up, unbuckled his belt and lowered his pants and underwear. He grabbed his penis pulling it forward and showed me.

My heart leapt into my throat. I would not have expected that reaction. I was suddenly feeling very horny, and from a kid, an 18-year-old boy! Who knew that I had any homosexuality in me at all? Oh, sure, I goofed around with the kids in my neighborhood when growing up once or twice. I remember giving and getting a couple of blowjobs. They were alright. I kind of enjoyed the experiences, if also feeling guilty about them. Mostly, I played with the girls as I was growing up. I knew much more about pussy than dick and by the time I met the girl who became my wife, I was already experienced in the ways to please her. I still miss her. To this day, I’m afraid of small cars.

But I’m getting off topic. There he was showing me his penis. He acted as ordinary as if he was showing me a pocket knife. My heart was unaccountably racing. I didn’t understand what he was trying to show me. I saw a nicely formed uncircumcised penis, with the foreskin totally covering the tip, and coming to a point.

I had seen uncircumcised penises before. Who hasn’t seen some online porn involving an uncircumcised guy? He must have seen my confused look so he came right out and told me: “The foreskin doesn’t pull back.” He demonstrated by pulling his foreskin somewhat. I was starting to understand. So that’s phimosis. The foreskin covers the tip of the dick and can’t be retracted.

His pants were back up in an instant. I didn’t know how to react. I didn’t know what to say. I turned back to the brake rotor which I was putting back in place.

That evening had me jerking off big-time in response to that little scene earlier in the day.

Nothing more was said for the next couple of days about phimosis, although the kid did bring up masturbation a couple more times. So did I. It was mostly him asking silly questions, like “Do you think it’s OK to jerk off more than once per day?”

I would respond, telling him things like ‘In my day, we weren’t very open about sexual matters. I discovered masturbating on my own. I wish times then were like times now. We were all isolated and afraid.”

By now, the kid was on my payroll. He had become officially my apprentice. To my delight, he was loving the work, and never complained even when there was something repetitive or difficult to be done.

He started asking to see my penis. First it was very shrouded, like, “I wish I knew what a normal penis was like.” or “I’ve seen circumcised men online, of course, but have never seen a circumcised dick in person.”

Within a week, it became blatant. “Hey, when are you going to let me see your cock?”

I kept refusing. It just wasn’t right. Was it? I mean, here I was more than three times his age, and I was having strong sexual feelings about him. In a way, I was starting to feel that having invited him to ride with me was a mistake. This sexuality was making me very uncomfortable. At night, I was jerking off resulting in crashing orgasms, with memories of looking so briefly at the kid’s dick in my mind. I was fantasizing about sexual activities with him.

One morning, I asked why he didn’t just get circumcised. He said he had read about adult circumcision. It requires a painful recovery. I offered to give him time off so he could get that done. He winced, saying that he would never, ever let anyone cut on his dick.

I asked whether he’d rather go through life with phimosis. He replied that he’d rather die than get surgery. It’s true, in other conversations, I had discovered that he’s deathly afraid of the medical system. He hadn’t had a physical exam since before he could remember. His fear of doctors was like my fear of small cars.

He said that he didn’t have to go through life with phimosis. He had read about exercises that would eventually stretch his foreskin as long as he was patient.

I was like, “Ok, so do the exercises.”

He replied that he couldn’t.

Now I was confused. “Why not?”

“I’ve tried a few times, but I just won’t pull on the foreskin enough to do the job. I kind of hurts a little bit, so I stop. I need someone to do it for me.”

I’ll bet you know there this conversation is going. He asked me to do it. I refused, knowing secretly that I’d like nothing better than to get my hands on his penis. Over the next few days, he kept bringing it up. Finally, he was practically begging me to do it. I kept pretending that I didn’t want to, because I knew that… Well, what did I know? Was there something wrong with helping a kid in need? Was it gay? Af it it was gay, what was so wrong with that? Would my wife look down on me from heaven with shock, horror? No, I knew her. She’d be amused. Actually, if she were alive today, she’d probably talk me into it. She’d want to watch. Or participate. That’s the kind of girl she was. Very bold and forward and I loved her for it.

He wore me down. One Thursday driving from the first to the second job of the day, we arranged that I’d take him home to my place and do his exercises for him. I was so nervous and jittery the rest of the day I could hardly work. I actually dropped a screw into the panel behind a refrigerator and had to spend time fishing it back out. The kid seemed kind of nervous too. What a long afternoon it was!

Finally, finally, we were in my place. I offered him a beer. He refused, saying he wasn’t going to follow in his deadbeat father’s footsteps. He didn’t even want one sip of anything alcoholic. Good for him! I handed him an orange juice, and got myself a beer. I couldn’t drink it. My throat was tight. My hands were shaking a bit. Weird, eh?

“Well, how are we going to do this?” I asked.

“Um, let’s go in your bedroom.”

We went in. He started pulling off his shirt.

“You don’t have to take off everything. You can just pull your pants down,” I offered. As soon as I said it, I figuratively kicked myself. Of course I’d like to see the kid all naked.

He said, “No, it’s probably better to do this one hundred percent,” and continued removing his shirt. Then his shoes and socks, then his belt his pants, and finally his underwear.

He was erect! The minute his pants were off, his penis bobbed right up at a 45-degree angle. There wasn’t any hair there. The kid was evidently into manscaping. The skin was quite white, especially his small, tight scrotum. His penis was smaller than I would have expected. Not much wider than my thumb.

My heart was racing! I was visibly shaking. I could hardly stand up.

“C’mon, you too!” I was surprised, and delighted. I was always body dysmorphic, thinking I’m not very good looking. But, he wanted me naked. I pretended to balk, but he insisted, and soon, my clothes were entirely off also. I was erect. I too, had been manscaping my genital region. Somehow, I was slightly embarrassed for him to know that.

The boy looked at me, and quietly said, “Beautiful.”

Who knew? Later, I came to realize that this boy was not only mostly homosexual, but totally into older guys. And not just any older guy. He loved me. Right from the first day!

As our relationship grew, I knew there was something I had to do. I was dreading the day. I had to let his mother know what was going on. It’s not like I was a pedophile or anything. The kid was old enough. But still, it was highly unconventional. And old guy and a young kid. And both male, for heaven’s sake!

I invited her to lunch. I sheepishly started trying to bring up the subject of me and her son. Just as I was taking my first crack at opening that conversation, she said, “I know about you and Tony.”

Hearing her say that scared the crap out of me. She said it calmly, but what was going to happen next?

“And I approve,” she quickly added, evidently seeing my agitation.

She went on to explain that this had been part of her master plan, that it went farther than she expected, yet she was delighted.

She knew her son needed a trade. She knew I was in a lucrative business. She figured her son was mechanically inclined. She went on to say that she also suspected, more.

She knew that I had been without what she called ‘company’ for several years. She knew that her son was gay. She knew he seemed attracted to older men. She thought, maybe, if everything worked out just right…

So now, Tony lives with me in my house. We continue to ride together to all our clients. He has continued to grow into the RV repair business, knowing almost as much about the repairs and installations as I do. Oddly, we seldom argue. I think it may be because of the vastly different perspectives, him being so young, and me so old. Then too, his mother raised him well.

As to his mother, she and I have recently been kind of half-dating. She’s almost as bold, outgoing and adventurous as my wife was. She and I haven’t had sex, but we have masturbated each other. What a joy!

Now, I’m not one to do things behind anyone’s back. Before I did anything with his mom, I asked Tony whether it would be OK. Not only was it alright, he was very supportive of the idea. To my shock, he suggested all three of us could have a masturbation session together some day.

When I told her about his idea, she smiled big, and said she’d love that. Fact is, so would I. I’m sure it will happen soon.

So what about the kid’s phimosis? From that first day, we worked on that. He laid down on my bed. I pulled up my rolling chair next to the bed while my heart continued to race. My knees were so weak I had to sit down. I gingerly put my thumbs and fingertips on his foreskin and pulled down slightly.

“Ouch.”

I wouldn’t have expected it would be that sensitive. Phimosis is a real, and bothersome condition. He encouraged me to pull down a little bit again, even though it was mildly painful for him.

He was still totally erect, so I guessed it wasn’t too painful. I, sitting in the chair, was totally erect also. I didn’t do anything about it. After all, this was about Tony, not me. But he was staring at my dick like it was the only thing in the world.

I worked the next several minutes, balancing pulling down on his foreskin to the point where it hurt him, but not too much. Suddenly, he ejaculated, writhing all over my bed.

I was so delighted that I ejaculated a moment later without even being touched. I must say, it was the first hands-free ejaculation of my life (but not the last.) It was a very strong orgasm.

Days turned into weeks. We faithfully did his exercises every morning and evening. For the longest time, the exercises ended with him ejaculating prematurely. He’d then turn his attention to me, jerking me off to a crashing orgasm. Sometimes, after doing me, I come back to him, jerking him off in an ordinary way so he could cum again. He was often good for twice in a row. Sometimes I could do that too, but generally, once was enough for me.

We experimented with other sexual techniques. We kind of liked giving each other blowjobs, but we mutually agreed they didn’t measure up to our lovely – and loving – handjobs.

Our experiments with anal intercourse turned out to be non-experiments. I really like the look of his puckered pink asshole, but it’s small. Maybe because he’s tall and skinny, but there’s no way a guy could get a cock in there. Well, maybe that’s an exaggeration. I’ll bet he could be buttfucked, but he’s not into it, and neither am I. We both very much enjoy me putting a finger in his anus. He’ll finger me too.

For the longest time, there was no way he could buttfuck me, not that I would have wanted that. I’m just a mutual masturbation guy, through and through. The phimosis would have prevented anal intercourse. I don’t know what would have happened if he tried putting it in someone’s vagina, but we never found out. In time, the phimosis did reduce. He can now pop his foreskin back behind his fully erect glans, but then it still takes a minute to get it to pop back into place. It no longer gives him any pain at all, but we’re still doing the exercises. Might as well do it one hundred percent. Doing things ‘one hundred percent’ is one of Tony’s favorite expressions.

As to his mother joining us, all three of us are excited by the idea. However, we haven’t quite made the move to make it happen yet. Maybe we’re afraid of the dynamics it could set off. Personally, I believe we all have great personalities, and our relationships will only improve. I’m sure it will happen soon.

Unmet Naked Neighbor




I feel privileged to live on the top floor of a condo complex. It’s the 12th floor. You see, I have a sun room that the other apartments below me don’t have.

The place used to be referred to as “The Twin Towers,” but since 911, no one says that any more. I’d have a great view of the city, but the other tower is directly in front of my sun room, blocking the view. The condo directly across from me had been empty for the first year I lived there.

I had taken to experimenting with hydroponics and microgreens in my sunroom, sometimes just in my underwear. After a while, since no one had moved into the opposing apartment’s sunroom, I started working in my sunroom absolutely naked. It felt very freeing.

So there I was in my sunroom one day, replanting one of the trays, when I saw some movement out of the corner of my eye. There, in the sunroom across from me were some moving guys bringing in a Bowflex exercise machine. Oops! I got out of there in a hurry, and put on some clothes before I returned. When I came back, one of the moving guys grinned, and gave me a thumbs up. I was terribly embarrassed.

A couple of days later, harvesting a micro tray, while reflecting on what a loss it was that I wouldn’t be able to be naked in my own sunroom any more, I saw the new owner. She was a super-hot, kind of small, Asian chick. ‘Oh well,’ I thought, ‘at least it will be fun to see her from time to time.’ She saw me and smiled. I smiled back.

Nothing much happened for the next couple of weeks. I tended my little farm, fully clothed of course. I saw the chick next door from time to time. She’d pop into her room for a minute or two, then leave. She didn’t seem to really use the room much. We waved, we smiled, and that was that.

She had set her place up as a sort of recreational place, I guess. I mean, she had a recliner, a sofa, and that Bowflex machine in there.

One day, I happened to see her moving around, and took a quick glance. She was wearing a string bikini, and working out on the Bowflex. Did I mention, she’s super-hot?

As usual, she waved, I waved, and that was that. Well, almost. Remembering the time the moving man gave my naked self a thumbs-up, without thinking it through, I gave her a thumbs up. She smiled big. Little did I know that must have set something off in her.

The reason I say that, is one night I popped into my sunroom for my iPad which I had left in there. Her lights were on low. I could just make her out on her Bowflex. She was topless! What beautiful tits! Olive skin, small, and firm, with perfectly little nipples. Oh, my god, she was bottomless, too! It was dark, but I could clearly see her neatly trimmed crotch hair between her legs.

I didn’t know what to do. It was pretty obvious I had seen her. After all, I had turned on my lights, so there’s no way she couldn’t have seen me seeing her. My first thought was to quickly leave the room and give her privacy. What stopped me is what she did next. She gave me a thumbs up! I did the only thing I could think to do, I smiled huge, like a cheesy, lecherous fool, and gave her a thumbs up back. What a fucking idiot! Then, I quickly turned out the light and left the room. I had forgotten my tablet, but no way was I going back for it.

You can bet I jerked off big-time remembering the sight.

The next day, I figured she’d be so embarrassed by what happened that I wouldn’t see her for a while, or she’d always be fully clothed from then on.

Not so. The next time I saw her was two days later, in the late afternoon when I came home from work. She was sitting on her Bowflex facing backward. She had brought up a TV tray and was working away on a laptop. But, here’s the thing: She was as naked as the day she was born. She looked up, saw me, smiled, and kept right on working, like nothing was wrong.

What does a good neighbor do in such a situation? I immediately left my sunroom. Sitting in my lining room, thinking about what had just happened, I was an incredible mix of emotions. I was sexually excited. I was embarrassed, as if it had been her seeing me naked. Or, was I embarrassed for having seen her? I couldn’t figure it out. But my feelings started to evolve. I just got kicked out of my own sunroom. And I had a tray of greens that was ready to trim. Overdue in fact. I was kind of upset. I wanted back into my sunroom, damn it!

It took me ten minutes to figure it out: I decided it was my sunroom, after all, and she was evidently some sort of exhibitionist. I mean, she had to know I’d see her eventually. I hadn’t thought that through. Sure, she wanted me to see her naked, or certainly, she wouldn’t have let that happen.

Oddly, my heart was racing as I reentered my little farm. She was still sitting there, working on her laptop. She smiled. I smiled. We both went about our own business.

This went on for literally two weeks. Every couple of days, I’d see her naked doing stuff in her sunroom. It had an effect on me. I wanked in my bedroom every time after seeing her.

Slowly it dawned on me that two could play at this game. One day I sheepishly showed up in my sunroom without a shirt. As usual, she smiled and I smiled, and we went about our business. Except for one thing. Holy smokes! She had removed all that black hair from her vagina!

Well, fast forward a couple more weeks. I had started showing up in my sunroom with just underpants, and finally, after feeling quite silly and everything else, I finally got up the balls to go in there naked. She saw me, and smiled, but no differently than usual. It was as if I had always worked in there naked.

A couple more weeks passed, and both of us, doing our things in our sunrooms fully naked became the norm. One time, feeling particularly horny, I started developing an erection in there. I thought about running out of the room, then decided ‘fuck it,’ and just continued refilling a tray, erection be damned. She certainly saw it, but gave no indication.

Now, me with erections was becoming common. It was her that took it to the next level. I came in one day, and saw her sitting on her sofa, which faced my room, by the way. She was naked, of course, but what was that I was seeing? I couldn’t believe it. She was rubbing her vagina with one hand, and squeezing a nipple with the other. There was no mistaking it! The second I arrived, she quit, and started to get off the sofa, as if she was going to run and hide. Instead, she settled back down, smiled at me, and resumed what she was doing, with one hand you know where, and the other squeezing her titty. She got caught, evidently at least partly intended, I’m sure, and now she was giving me a full-on show.

Well, when in Rome… My dick was already hard. I touched it while she stared right at me. At first I didn’t stroke, but then I did. Sheepishly, shyly at first, kind of wondering something like, ‘is this alright?’ Within a couple of minutes, I had approached the window, and was forcing my pelvis forward and ejaculating into one of my trays as she continued to rub herself, smiling big, and watching me intently. As soon as I came, she tensed all up, and I could tell she was having a super-strong orgasm.

This has turned into a regular thing with us. We don’t always jerk off in front of each other, but have done it at least a dozen times during the past couple of months.

Yesterday, she held up a big piece of paper against the window. Written on it was, “My name is Lanie. What’s your name?” We ended up exchanging phone numbers. I’m going to phone her this afternoon. For some reason, I’m freaking out, in a good way. My heart is beating a million beats per minute just thinking about it.

Stripe

The young man came to me, a friend of his father, because he was greatly concerned about what he called a ‘stripe.’ At first he was reluctant to show me, but at the same time, he was bursting to show someone who he could trust, and might be able to put his mind at ease. After a bit of hemming and hawing, I just told him to drop his shorts and I’d take a look.

I had him lay on my bed, and although the situation was slightly embarrassing, I did take a close look. His penis looked normal in every way, and I told him so.

“No, look,” he said, as he grabbed his own dick and turned it so I could get a closer look at the underside. “See, there’s a slightly darker stripe leading down along the bottom from my circumcision scar down to my balls. In fact, if you look closely, you’ll see it continues down my scrotum as well.”

He came to me with a concern about a stripe along his penis

I pushed his fingers away, and took his penis into my own fingers. I noticed it seemed sort of puffy, like not fully flaccid. I did see the stripe he was talking about. It didn’t seem so bad. In fact, I could sort of remember noticing something similar on myself. I told him so.

“Well, I think maybe the doctors went crazy when I was circumcised as a baby,” he said. Then he said, “Or, maybe, I needed some sort of operation that my parents never told me about.”

“Quit obsessing.” I told him. “I’ve got the same thing. I think it’s normal.”

“You’ve got a stripe?”

“I think so. I never really paid that close of attention to it.”

I was still holding his penis, and it was definitely getting a bit bigger.

“Well, can we compare?”

“No.”

“No?”

“Too weird,” I added.

There was something in his expression. I assumed that he was still obsessed that his ‘stripe’ was a problem of some sort. He seemed really, really concerned. You know how you get when something is bothering you, how it keeps playing on your mind. Like the corner of the screen protector on my phone is peeling up. It’s driving me crazy. But this was the kid’s penis. I could see how one could obsess over that big time. So, I relented, hoping that my ‘stripe’ would be visible enough to satisfy him.

So, I pulled down my pants. I let him look close. I let him touch my penis, and turn it this way and that. My, it felt good! But, I must not pay attention to that. Geez, I was starting to feel an erection coming on.

“Yes, I see it,” he sighed with great relief. However, he hadn’t let go of my penis yet, and it was starting to truly swell up. I was becoming mortified. The last thing I wanted to do was get sexual with my friend’s son. What would the kid think?

But it was becoming too late. I was going into a full-blown erection. Trying to deflect the situation, I asked, “Why didn’t you just bring this up with your dad?”

“Are you kidding?”

I understood. His father was a rather conservative sort. One didn’t discuss sexual things with his father.

“Hey, you’re getting hard!” he noted.

“No I’m not!” I hurriedly exclaimed.

“Yes, you are. Go ahead and admit it. It’s OK. I’m not going to tell Dad or anything.”

“Well, I suppose it’s a natural response to being held.” He was still holding my penis. Why, I wondered? But then, why hadn’t I gotten off the bed to end this craziness?

Before I could say anything else, he started stroking his fingers up and down along my penis. I wondered whether it was a sort of natural unconscious reaction. I didn’t stop him. It just felt too nice. In fact, if I recall correctly, I might have said, “Ummm!”

The stroking became much more than something unconscious. The kid started jerking me off in earnest! That orgasmic feeling that everyone knows and loves was starting to build up in me. I stopped him. Not because I didn’t want to cum, but because I wanted it to last. Plus, knowing the nature of men, most men, I figured I’d better return the favor before I ejaculated.

So, wordlessly, I pushed him back down on the bed, leaned over him, and started massaging his penis, which I noted was already fully hard. It didn’t take too long to bring him to the edge, then I stopped.

“Hey!” he practically yelled.

“It’s called edging. Let’s make it last.”

“Um, OK,” and catching my drift right away, he returned to me, and started stroking my penis again with his soft, still boyish fingers. Unfortunately, I’m not the super-hero I’d like to think, and I ejaculated almost immediately.

He smiled while wiping the cum off his fingers.

“That was great!”

“Why, thank you.” I replied sheepishly.

As soon as I recovered, I came back to him, and stroked his beautiful cock. Within a minute, he ejaculated fiercely all over his stomach, chest, and even shot a drip onto his chin.

It took him a minute before he could speak again. The first thing he said was, “Let’s do it again soon.”

I agreed.

Peehole Stretcher

I have jerked off with a friend from time to time. He’s a guy I met at church. He’s four years younger than me, and like me he’s married with a handful of kids. I have two girls and a boy. He has two children. Both of us are happily married, In both cases, our wives don’t enjoy sex as much as we’d like. The wives kind of know what’s going on with Keith and I, but we don’t talk about it. I think they are secretly relieved that Keith and I have an outlet for our sexual energy, so the women are off the hook.

I went over to Keith’s office a couple of weeks ago where we meet up every now and then to jerk each other off. It’s a nice private psychiatrist’s office with various furniture. He even has a sort of back room with a massage table in it. Why, I don’t know exactly, but that’s where we play.

On this occasion, he said he had a new toy, but wouldn’t tell me what it was until arrived. The back room was warm, we had removed our clothes, me, with an erection right from the start, and him still soft, as was usual. It takes a bit to get him erect.

Anyway, he finally brought out the thing. It didn’t look like much. I don’t know what I was expecting, maybe one of those battery powered massagers or something. This was a small stainless steel rig. Essentially a ring with two one-and-a-half inch long prongs. Each prong was attached by a screw and wingnut assembly. The prongs were thin, like the tines on a fork, but round and smooth. They were bunched together.

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I figured out what it was right away. A peehole stretcher. I wasn’t sure I liked the idea. It worried me, and made me especially horny at the same time. Strange reaction I know, but that’s what was going through my mind. I thought I’d probably decline, going for a regular handjob instead, but if he wanted, I could use it on him.

Yet, I was somehow quite excited by the thing, so I guess it’s no surprise that five minutes later, I was laid out on Keith’s massage table, with my six-inch dick fully erect and sticking straight up in the air. Usually it lays against my belly, unless I’m especially aroused. I was also nervous.

Keith was busy liberally washing the thing in rubbing alcohol. He got the alcohol all over his hands too. He said sterility is important in the urethra. Then, he took his time drying it off, which caused my feelings to intensify. I was becoming remarkably aroused. At the same time, I was becoming scared. He was going to put that thing in my dick!

Finally the contraption and his hands had dried. He put some oil on it, and a bit on the tip of my glistening penis. It glistens when the skin of the glans is stretched tight with super-erectness.

The first touch of his oily fingertip right on the end of my peehole was wonderful. I’m sure you know what I mean. The first touch, wherever it is on your genitals, is always so delicious. I craned my head up to watch as he placed the bunched-together prongs against my peehole. Slowly, ever so slowly, he slid them into my dick.

So far, so good. It didn’t feel like much. I did feel a sense of penetration in a place a guy is never penetrated, and maybe a very slight sting. But here’s the crazy thing. I was getting all jittery. I don’t know if it was the fear or what, but my legs, especially my thighs were sort of jumping with all sorts of little involuntary contractions. Shivers, really.

Once it was fully inserted, he just left it there for a minute. With his eyes, he asked whether I wanted him to continue. I knew it might hurt, but I absolutely wanted to go on with this experiment. Oddly, I already was feeling a hint of that ‘gonna-cum’ feeling.

He started cranking the little wingnuts. The prongs started to separate. No problem. It felt kind of nice. The slight sting when he first inserted it went away.

He continued to turn them, and I started to feel some tightness. It was a rather delicious feeling. He turned them some more, and now, I could feel a sort of pinching sensation. I asked him to stop for a minute. I raised my head and looked at the thing stuck into the tip of my dick. He saw me look, and tilted my dick toward my eyes, so I could see the opening. It was stretched surprisingly large in a tight oval shape. I could see way down into my urethra. My dick pulsed in some sort of anticipation. Almost the kind of pulse that happens when you start to ejaculate.

After a moment, he continued moving the prongs apart, ever so slowly. There was no mistaking it now, the thing was starting to hurt. My legs were still shivering, but now, even more so. My heart was racing. I wasn’t sure this was good for me, but then again, I figure no real harm could come from it. Still, I was scared, and super aroused at the same time. I know it doesn’t make any sense, but that’s what was happening.

I lifted my head again and watched as he slowly, gingerly turned the wingnuts some more. It was really stinging now. I wasn’t sure I could take any more. I told Keith to stop for a moment. Instead, he turned one of the wingnuts one more quarter turn. Damn, that hurt! And suddenly, cum was bubbling up into my wide open urethra, between the prongs, and up over the top of my urethra. As I was cumming, the sting was strong and was actually throbbing with every ejaculatory contraction.

As soon as I settled down, Keith started loosening the wingnuts. Damn if that didn’t sting more than when they were stretching me wide open, but only momentarily. Finally, the prongs were bunched back together again and the thing was removed from my peehole.

It had been one of the strongest orgasms of my life. And certainly the strangest.

Keith was just dying for me to try the thing on him. Even though he had owned it for several days, he had refrained from trying it on himself, since he wanted to save it for this very occasion.

His penis was already as hard as I had ever seen it in anticipation. I got him on the table, and to my surprise, I was very interested in applying the thing to him. Who knew that I had sadistic tendencies?

I got it all sterilized with the alcohol and went to work. His legs didn’t become all jitterly like mine had been. In fact, I was still having some trouble standing there next to the massage table. My legs now felt rubbery. He loved it right from the start.

As I was working the wingnuts, opening his dick ever wider, he was screaming for me to stop, then a second later, screaming for me to keep going. Evidently, this was giving him lots of exciting pain, and I understood how he was enjoying it. A half-hour ago, I wouldn’t have understood that interest in pain at all. Just like me, after a couple of minutes, he came involuntarily. The cum flowed up through his widely stretched urethra over the spreader and my fingers as I held his throbbing penis. After it was over, I slowly released the wingnuts, and again just like me, I could see that the pain of releasing it exceed the pain of being held stretched open. He was wincing and jerking reflexively as I loosened it.

Finally, it was fully out. I had become hard again as I was working on him. He wanted to give me a regular handjob, and I was all for it, although I figured it wouldn’t amount to much. But no, after a short while, I came again. There was a very slight pinkish tint to part of my cum, so I guess the thing had injured me slightly. After I came again, it was time to put Keith on the table for his second ejaculation, but he was soft, and couldn’t cum again, despite me spending five minutes trying.

And that was the craziest session of my life. The next day, it stung to pee a little bit. After that, I was back to normal. Keith reported that he was fine, too. Still, the thing kind of scares us, so we both decided we don’t need to do that any more.

Today, Keith just texted me that he has purchased a ball press, whatever that is. I can’t wait to play with it.

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