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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.

Keith's urethral peehole stretcher
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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.

Steamworks

As you may or may not know, Steamworks in Berkley, California, as well as other major cities, is what’s known as a ‘bathhouse.’ Although ostensibly gay, plenty of bisexual men spend time there.

It is a plain looking building on the outside, but it has a sauna, hot tub, showers, gym facilities, many small rooms equipped with beds and TV sets hooked to in-house porn channels, a large play area equipped with everything from glory holes to slings, and some general milling around areas. One can rent one of the little rooms for 8 hours, hang out with guys, and do pretty much whatever you can imagine, and probably some things you can’t imagine also.

Men Playing Twister at a Steamworks, Gay Bathhouse Booth at Market Days
Men playing Twister in the Steamworks Both at the Market Days celebration

When you arrive, you are given a basket to store your clothes, or one of the 50 or so little rooms, depending on how much you want to pay.

Most of the men walk around with towels wrapped around their groins. They want to hook up for anything from handjobs to anal intercourse. Safe play is encouraged with sanitizer and condoms freely available.

These guys could end up walking around for an hour or more depending on how shy they are.

Every now and then, you’ll see a guy boldly walking around fully naked, and sometimes, but rarely, even sporting an erection.

As your eyes adapt to the darkness and you’ve wandered around a bit, you’ll see some activities. An open door to a dimly lit room where a guy is wanking on a bed. Or, a couple of guys at a glory hole, doing what guys do at glory holes.

The first time I visited Steamworks, I was just like the others, walking around shyly with a towel, until finally a guy invited me into a little room.

He wanted to kiss and buttfuck. I wasn’t into it, and let him know. He wasn’t terribly disappointed, as he politely told me he was looking for someone else.

I wandered around some more. I wasn’t in a hurry. Your $17 buys a room for 8 whole hours. Finally, I came across a small Asian fellow to whom I explained that I only wanted to give or get a testicle massage – a thing that had been fascinating me for a while.

He was delighted, and we went to my room. First, I was playing porn videos on the TV, but they weren’t very interesting compared to the action at hand, so I turned off the TV. Soon, he was fondling my balls like a pro, doing exactly what I wanted. He was squeezing firmly, but not painfully. I had planned to spend my whole eight hours at Steamworks, but I ejaculated with this guy’s skinny little fingers working my balls like that. I came without him even touching my dick. I asked what he wanted in return, and to my delight, he didn’t want anything, and we parted ways.

I had hoped to stay longer, but as a guy, you probably know that feeling one can get, when enough is enough after a good hard orgasm. So, I put on my clothes and left, totally satisfied.

Having been back several times, always with equally nice, but longer-lasting experiences, I became enough of an expert to know how to better control the situation. The part I didn’t like as much was the long cruising period before I could find some action. I finally figured out to just throw the towel over my shoulder and walk proudly naked, and sometimes erect around the facility.

Now, some guys leave the doors to their little rooms open in obvious invitation. One guy I remember had his open butt up in the air, just waiting for a stranger to come along and stick something in his anus.

That’s not for me. I decided to be bold in my own way, and it works wonders. I went to a narrow hallway that’s wider in one area, where there are four chairs against one wall, facing four video screens on the other wall. Everyone has to walk through the hallway to get from the front to the back areas of the building, so there’s a lot of traffic. It averages perhaps four men per minute. The screens are playing videos, both gay and heterosexual stuff. They aren’t great videos in my opinion, but that’s not the point. I took my towel off, and started fondling my erect penis, right there in front of everyone. It did the trick almost immediately. Guys would sit down next to me, and offer to help me with my fondling.

I would explain exactly what I want: Handjob and related activities: Yes. Blowjob, anal, frotting, kissing: No.

Some guys would politely leave for activity more to their liking, but probably 60% would be almost relieved to participate at the level I like.

Within minutes we’d be in a little room.

So, that’s how to work Steamworks.

A couple of things I’ll try the next time I’m there. There’s a wall facing the hot tub which I won’t get in. It’s not that I’m afraid of disease. I’m afraid of all the super-intense chemicals they probably use to fight disease. The wall has four open shower heads. I’d like to show myself with an erection, maybe jerking, right there in front of the six or so guys who are typically in the hot tub, and all the guys walking around.

I’d like to use the facilities in the exercise room. I haven’t paid much attention, but it seems all the guys in there are wearing towels. I’m sure it’s OK not to wear a towel, they just don’t realize it, or maybe they’re actually focused on exercising.

Small Cock

Short memoir by a person with a small penis

It was my friend Jason who first told me. I mean wanking with him, it was obvious that his cock was bigger than mine, but I hadn’t given it much thought. I just thought he was extraordinarily large. Then later, my second serious girlfriend, Mattie, confirmed it. Until then, I didn’t realize my cock was smaller than anyone else’s. It turns out I masturbate and fuck just like anyone else. I mean, my orgasms are just like your orgasms. I’m sure every bit as strong. Maybe stronger. The only differences are:

1. When I stroke, it’s usually with my thumb and just one finger. Sometimes two fingers.

2. Mattie told me that she couldn’t really feel my cock in her cunt. In order to give her orgasms, I had to either use my tongue, fingers, or rub my cockhead all externally against her clit. But she also told me that most women aren’t satisfied, I mean orgasmically, with ordinary fucking.

So, maybe around age 19, I figured out that I really do have a small cock. Since I’m otherwise well-proportioned, and I’m told I have a ‘winning’ personality, I’ve not had any more trouble than the next guy making and keeping friends.

However, I do have a high libido. I really like sex, and even more, I have to admit, I just love masturbating with friends, either male or female. That, I can’t get enough of. I really wanted more, since opportunities were few and far between. Then my confidence coach told me to ‘just go for it.’

At first, I didn’t really understand, and I felt too shy, and, well, I’m sure you know. You don’t just walk up to people you barely know, and say, “Hey, wanna fool around?”

Well, it turns out, I found a way in. A sort of secret passage that works every time. It’s no secret really, and I’m sure you ordinary-cocked guys can come up with something similar.

With a new potential friend, I’ll steer the conversation to sexual matters. It doesn’t take much. Most people are secretly thinking ‘sex’ all the time. Often, they bring up something risque first. I just guide the conversation a little bit. I’ll admit that I have a small cock. Then, I steer the conversation a bit more until I can say, “Wanna see how small it is?” Or, “Let’s see how it compares to yours.” What guy can resist that?

Of course, once the cocks are out, it’s not much of a journey to mutual wanking.

With the girls, the conversation can go more like, “Have you ever been with a guy who has a small cock?” Or, “If a guy had a small cock, let’s say, would you be satisfied with what he could do with his fingers and tongue?” Or, better yet, “My cock is small, but a lot of cum spurts out. Want to see?” Oddly, they almost always say “Yes.”

Here’s the bit that I particularly am proud of: Almost everyone I’ve been with says they are particularly attracted to my small penis. So, I keep it hairless to enhance the effect. I think I look like a little kid, but hey, if they like it, it’s OK with me!

Mr. Slocum

Letting out a single drop of semen

I met a guy named Mr. Slocum. Now, I realize it is not right to make fun of people’s names, and I would never do anything to hurt this guy, or anyone else, but privately, I got to thinking about his name. Slocum. Slow cum. Hmmm…

It got me to thinking that maybe I could do that. I mean, cum slowly. What would happen if one let himself do that? Of course I had to give it a try.

During the next few weeks, I jerked off several times, with the goal of letting the semen flow out very slowly. I never managed to do that.

Then, last Thursday, I got together with my friend Frederick who hates being called “Fred.” It’s got to be “Frederick.” Otherwise, he’s a rather gregarious almost wild man. Young, bearded, thin and tall. Did I say young? He’s 22 years younger than me. What he finds attractive in this old coot, who knows, right? But somehow, he really enjoys wanking with me.

After we had been playing for an hour, but not yet having ejaculated, I told him about the slow cumming idea, and he was like, “You mean like this?” He then proceeded to jerk himself in earnest. Just as he was starting to orgasm, he let go of his dick, and there was a ten-second delay, as untouched, his penis started bobbing up and down. Then, literally only three of four drops of cum slowly oozed out, down the side of his shaft, and settled on his scrotum.

I figured that was pretty cool, but the show wasn’t over yet. He did it again, and some more cum flowed out. This time, there was quite a bit, and it continued flowing out like an ongoing lava flow for several seconds. The trick, he explained, is to let go of the penis just as one is orgasming. The orgasm will be somewhat weaker, and only a little semen will escape. But here’s the trade-off for the weaker orgasm: You get to have several orgasms in a row. This is somewhat like an extension of the ‘ruined orgasm’ effect in which just as a guy is cumming, all stimulation is stopped. It’s a frustrating, yet delightful feeling.

After that second slow cum, he asked me to jerk him off. I tried to do the same slow cum for him that he had done for himself. That didn’t really work. His third orgasm, under my administration, was a full blown ejaculation, and he was done for the evening.

But not before he did me. He asked me to be very communicative as I laid on my back. He wanted me to tell him how I was feeling at every moment. As an orgasm started to build, I let him know to the best of my ability what was happening at every step of the way. To my, well almost shock, just as I hit the point of no return, he let go of my cock. My orgasm continued to build, and ten seconds later, just like I had seen him do, after bobbing up and down for a little while, a small amount of semen came out. He let me calm down for a moment, then he started wanking me again, and moments later, I had a full orgasm. Oh, what fun! He and I plan to practice this some more, and see just how far we can take it, tomorrow evening.

I highly suggest you play with this slow cum idea yourself or grab a friend, literally.

Shifting Gears

Shifting gears with a penis

I was fourteen. Davie, the boy across the street, was thirteen. We were both automobile fanatics. All we ever talked about was cars.

We told each other about things like brakes, fuel injection, exhaust manifolds and shifting gears, as if we actually knew what we were talking about.

I was completely taken with little classic British sports cars – Triumphs and MGs in particular. He was more into the modern muscle cars.

In my room one afternoon after school when no one else was home, we got back onto the topic of shifting the four-speed transmission. I was explaining like a real expert how first gear is up and to the left, second is straight down, and so on. He listened with complete attention. It was more rapt than I realized. It was making him horny.

Back in my room a few days later, he wanted me to explain the gear positions again. Then, “Will you demonstrate?”

I had already been shifting an imaginary gearshift in the air. “No, I mean, on something that’s more like a real shifter.”

“Like what?” I asked, looking around the room for something suitable.

“Like this,” he said in an oddly shaky voice.

I looked back at him, and didn’t fully understand what I was seeing for a moment. He had stood up, and let his shorts and underwear fall to his ankles. He was standing there with an erect 13-year-old penis.

I was shocked. This was totally out of character. He had never expressed anything sexual before. I had never seen him naked. The closest we came is when the neighborhood kids swam together in Ron’s pool, up the street. The boys wore ordinary swimming trunks. Funny thing is, those swimming days always made me horny, and as I became older, all of 13 and then 14, I started wanking to memories of seeing the boys at the swimming pool. I hadn’t really started thinking about girls that way yet. That was still a few years into my future. At the moment, girls were incomprehensible and annoying.

Seeing Davie standing there like that didn’t anger me. Didn’t frighten me. Didn’t upset me in any way. Instead, my heart started racing. I knew immediately he wanted me to touch his penis, to handle it like a gearshift, and at that moment, that’s exactly what I wanted to do. More than anything in the world.

I tried to speak, but only a squeak came out. I tried again, “Um, sure…”

I had him lay on the bed while I sat on the edge. I reached out, and put my hand around the hard naked knob of his penis. It was warmer than I expected. And, it felt so nice in my hand! I started making engine noises the way a car sounds when accelerating, and pushing his penis into first gear, second gear, and so on. After hitting fourth gear, with nowhere else to go but down, I decided we were going up a steep hill, so I had to downshift to third, making noise like trucks I had heard. After that, I didn’t know, I just silently started moving the gearshift back and fourth into the various gear positions.

“That feels so cool!” he said, being otherwise silent.

A moment later, “You’ve gotta try it.”

There wasn’t a doubt in my mind. Within record time, my clothing was in a pile on the floor, and I was on the bed instead of Davie. Of course my penis had been rock hard the whole time I was shifting Davie’s transmission.

When he reached out and touched my penis, I jumped with an almost electric shock. It just felt that good!

“Ummm” he said as he stared maneuvering my penis back and forth. Then, becoming a little more organized, he asked, “Like this?” as he started putting me in first gear, then second, and so on.

He did it for a minute, then kind of digressed in to just moving my shifter up and down and around. Meanwhile, I felt that inevitable feeling building, and a moment later, I was spurting a few little drops of sticky clear fluid out of my five-inch penis with a few curly hairs at the base.

“Woah, is that sperm?” Davie asked with big eyes.

“Yup, you’ll be getting it soon too.”

Over the next couple of years, talk of cars died down to be replaced with talk of girls. We shifted each other’s gears many more times, although soon it wasn’t shifting gears, but all sorts of handjob variations.

That was twenty years ago. Davie and I still get together to ‘shift gears’ today. Our wives know. They don’t care. They’ve even watched Davie and I play, and I’m pretty sure they go off to shift gears themselves, in some sort of female way.

I’m not sure about our kids. I know that Davie’s kids and mine play together all the time, like as if they are one family. I installed a pool in our backyard, and the kids are there all summer. I secretly hope they get together and shift gears like Davie and I did way back then. I don’t know what the girls can do. They don’t have gearshifts, but I’m sure they will figure something out.

Security Guard

I took a job that sounded interesting, or more specifically I took the job because it paid well, and sounded easy, even though I’d have to move to Canada for six months. When I was told the details, it sounded just too good to be true.

I was to watch a bank of monitors showing webcam views of a storage facility. I was watching for theft or sabotage. I was to be issued a gun, but never, ever use it. Furthermore, if I failed to notice something on the monitors, I would not be held accountable. You see, it was an insurance company mandated thing. This storage yard had replacement parts and supplies for a huge oil sands mining operation. It was huge, covering multiple acres, and I was told there was over a billion dollars worth of inventory there. The insurance company required a ‘guard.’ That was all. There was nothing about the guard having specific duties, or training. That was me. I had no useful education or experience. About the only thing I was good at was using my right hand to entertain myself.

Actually, I’m a doctor. Really! I have a doctorate in English literature. That turns out to be a pretty useless degree. No worries, my plan was to write, get published, and become an established author. It sounded to me like I could bring a little notebook computer and do that on the job. In fact, I asked about that, and was told it would be fine. How cool, right?

So I was interviewed, and they were impressed that I had a Phd, which evidently qualified me as a security guard.

A month later found me in Canada with no friends, and no acquaintances. The first few days were nice and peaceful. The boss showed me around, then told me with a smile that my ‘job’ was to look at the monitors occasionally, and fill the seat. The insurance requirement would be satisfied. Nothing would ever happen in the storage yard because it was just too remote.

He was right. Sometimes, I’d see a mechanic or someone come in and get a part. Everyone seemed legitimate. More often, I’d see a family of raccoons, or a deer. Once, I saw some sort of wild cat. Of course I brought my little laptop, and I did some writing, but have to admit, I wasn’t really managing to write anything significant. Pretty soon found me looking at porn on my computer. Perhaps what led me to that was the incredible loneliness. My girlfriend back home, with whom I Skyped every day at first, tapered off. We both knew that my six-month stint was going to be too long. Pretty soon, she faded out entirely. I hadn’t met anyone in the freezing little company shantytown. The only guy I ever saw was Kalvin, the guy who followed my shift. He was quite similar to me. Same age, same general characteristics, similar interests. He also brought his laptop. He was planning to create the great work of software, just as I planned to write the great work of fiction. He was from Toronto, where I was from Los Angeles. But it was the same for him. He knew no one here.

More and more, as my shift ended and his began, he’d arrive a bit early, and I’d stay a bit late, and we’d talk about this and that. I dare say, he and I were almost becoming friends.

Of course the one thing I’d never admit to him is during my shift, I had been looking at that porn instead of working. Furthermore, I had started jerking off, right there in front of all those monitors. I mean, after all, no one ever came into the little office. Since the shift was 8 hours, I learned not to cum too soon, but instead, I could bring myself to the brink of ejaculating over and over again, finally cumming about a half-hour before Kal arrived.

Except one day, there I was, leaning way back in the comfy chair in front of those monitors, having decided to remove all my clothing, with a hand wrapped around my fully erect cock, when the door sprang open. It was Kalvin of course. He had decided to visit a bit longer with me by arriving a half-hour early. He saw what was going on of course, and immediately walked back out and closed the door.

Talk about being caught red-handed! I was fucking mortified! I tried to say something as he was already running out and closing the door. I was like, “I… I… I’m…” I couldn’t think of what to say. How to explain away or excuse what was pretty obviously going on.

My penis went totally soft instantly. There’s be no ejaculation for me, that was for sure! If I was in my teens again, I would have burst into tears. I almost did anyway. No doubt my job would end early.

My mind started reeling. The boss would find out. I mean, what’s to stop Kalvin from telling what he just saw? They might not even let me finish my shift. How embarrassing. I was a fucking perv. Well, at least I’d be done with freezing cold Canada. Oddly, that thought made me smile. Canada wasn’t really that bad. It’s just that I hadn’t met anyone yet. I was lonely. I didn’t hate Canada. I smiled again. Then the oddest thing started happening. I started laughing. I know it doesn’t make any sense under the circumstances, but the whole situation was suddenly very funny. It wasn’t that bad really. So, Kalvin caught me jerking off on the job. It wasn’t so terrible. I mean, the job wasn’t a real job anyway. It wasn’t like I was harming anyone, or even shirking a duty. What duty, right?

Then, whoosh, the door opened again. Of course by now I was fully clothed. I figure it would be Kalvin and the boss, or someone. Maybe a real security guard. No, it was just Kalvin. His face was red. At first, I couldn’t hear his words, since my mind was in such a whirl. I had to focus and try to piece what he was saying back together. He was apologizing to me. He was sorry he had burst in on me. Then, the best part, “Hey, I wank too. What else is there to do around here?”

It took me an extraordinarily long time to process that. He jerks off too? Is that what he just said? Again, I lost his next words, as my mind was working on that last bit. Again, I figured out what he was saying it several seconds later. “Dude, you’ve got a nice-looking cock there.”

I knew Kal was sort of a ‘say whatever’ kind of person, but I wouldn’t have expected that. In fact, I wasn’t sure he actually said that, so I couldn’t dare answer to it. I figured something non-committal would be OK. “Um, thanks.” Then I added, “You too.”

That was stupid. Kalvin laughed. I laughed.

A few days later, the whole thing was forgotten, or so I thought. I had learned not to be caught wanking a half-hour before the end of my shift. Kalvin, on the other hand, did not arrive early any more. Not even five minutes early. We also didn’t hang out as much between shifts like we had before. Too bad.

Then one day, he did arrive five minutes early, and he looked odd, like he had something on his mind but couldn’t say it. He started talking about the weather. You know, the freezing, sleet in your face, cold Canada weather. Then, he added, somewhat incongruously, “Thank goodness for masturbation.”

I don’t know if he said that as a sort of finish to our little situation a few days earlier, or whether he was leading up to something. Not knowing quite to say, I simply added, “Yes, thank goodness for masturbation.”

“I do it all the time.”

I was very happy to hear him say that. It was some kind of excellent ice breaker.

“Yes, Kal, I’m so lonely up here that’s all I do, other than watch TV and eat and sleep.”

“Me too. Yes, thank goodness for masturbation.” Then he hesitated for a moment. I kind of knew what he might say next, and I was worried he’d chicken out.

“You know, maybe…”

Then he stopped. Damn. I had to finish his sentence for him, hoping I hadn’t misunderstood the signals.

“…Maybe we should wank together sometime?”

“Yes!” he answered excitedly.

“Dude, I’m all in.”

And with that, we stripped right there in the little office and had a fucking great time. Well, not really a ‘fucking’ great time. It was a sucking and handjob great time. The first of many.

Scooter Boy

Scooter Boy, homosexual coming-of-age story

I was seventeen and already living alone. My parents are a difficult story that I may tell you sometime. I wasn’t actually alone, I lived in a house full of people mostly older than myself. They accepted me, and I liked them. We were like a surrogate family. One was quite a bit older. She had a son, Keith who was sixteen at the time, just a year younger than myself.

Keith and I both worked at a shirt printing company in the afternoons. He still went to school. I had slowly dropped out, working full time at the shirt company. It was just manual labor – folding, putting shirts into boxes, taping and putting labels on the boxes. As you know, I have since made something of myself, but that’s how I started out.

Keith and I got along fine. In fact, I was becoming attracted to him. At home, I’d see him topless from time to time, and once just in briefs, and I’d aways masturbate later on to thoughts of him.

I wanted to get him alone. I kind of knew he’d go along. We both kidded each other about masturbation and being ‘gay.’ The idea for us, at the time, was that ‘gay’ was somehow wrong, inculcated by the society around us. Still, I knew that I wanted to get sexual with him, and was pretty sure he’d go for it.

I booked a hotel room downtown, about 20 miles away. I told Keith I was staying in town, just to get away for the night. I asked him if he’d like to come along. At that moment, I felt great concern that he’d say ‘no.’ At the same time, I also felt outright fear that he’d say ‘yes.’

He said, ‘Yes, but no funny business, right?’ I knew he was alluding to gay stuff. I was kind of crushed, but even still, I wanted to go through with it, even if we just stayed in separate beds and did nothing that night. I was thinking how much of my hard earned shirt pay the hotel was going to cost. Geez!

Transportation was my Vespa scooter. It was a warm evening, so that wasn’t a problem. I handed Keith my spare helmet, and we climbed on. He hadn’t ridden with me before, so I told him to hang on securely. He did, wrapping his arms around my stomach, which sent tingles throughout my body. Having Keith’s arms around me felt really nice. What I thought was odd at the time is that he had no qualms about it. Not like, “I’m not putting my fucking arms around you. That’s gay. Forget it,” which would have been his usual response.

We arrived at the next hurdle, which was the hotel’s front desk. It turned out to be no hurdle at all. They didn’t say a thing about my age. I had no credit card, but they accepted cash.

The room was nice. Typical. Two queen size beds. Keith immediately turned on the TV. It was my time to be bold. “I’m going to hit the shower,” I said.

Keith, looking at the TV, merely said, “OK.” Then he added, “Save some hot water for me.”

Now the bold part. I quickly stepped out of all my clothing right there in the room, hoping Keith would take a long, appreciative look. But no, he kept his eyes focused on the TV, evidently trying to avoid looking at me. I was in the very beginning stages of getting a boner, so I quickly ran into the bathroom. Shoot! I should have boned up in front of him. That would have been an interesting ice breaker. But then, he may have said that was too gay, which would have greatly embarrassed me.

During the shower, I had a huge hardon. It was all I could do to avoid rubbing it. I had to wait until it went down before I stepped out. Even still, being concerned that I had already gone too far with Keith, I wrapped myself up in a hotel towel before entering the room.

I needn’t have worried, Keith was as naked as the day he was born, and idly stroking a very erect penis as he was watching the TV. I thought he’d jump, or cover up immediately as soon as he saw me, but no, he just said, “Me next.”

I was delighted. I learned a lot about him in that moment. He obviously masturbated. But more, he didn’t mind me seeing him. Maybe he was even making a statement, like “Yup, it’s all OK, and I’m on board with it.” But maybe not.

I also learned what he looked like naked. He was a smallish, skinny kid, with longer than usual hair. I liked what I saw. I couldn’t really see his penis clearly, but it appeared to be small in size, and mostly hairless. I boned up immediately, but fortunately was wearing the towel.

Keith got up, walked past me, with his still-erect penis wagging back and forth, and entered the bathroom. I realize immediately, I should have let go of the towel and let him see my erection. I’d be letting him know that his erection was OK. But he didn’t seem to need any kind of encouragement. He walked past me, within a foot, erection and all, without a care in the world. How cool was that? His move was much bolder than mine. I got the impression the evening was going my way.

He took a very long time in the shower while I tried to calm my racing heart by watching something on TV. I was hoping he wasn’t masturbating in there, because if he came, I doubted he’d want anything more. I found a racy channel, which had some mild, R-rated porn. I so wanted to jerk off right then and there. Fuck it. Keith had been doing that. I took off the towel, and started touching my rock-hard penis. I would have to be careful not to get close to ejaculating yet.

Less than a minute later, Keith emerged from the bathroom, holding a towel in one hand, but otherwise naked. And erect. Very erect! He jumped on the other bed, looked at me, and said, “Are we going to do this, or what?”

Sliding Around on the Bisexual Scale

In late middle school I knew I had a problem. I knew I was quite attracted to boys my age, and not so much to the girls. Frankly, I wasn’t attracted to girls at all. They scared me because I didn’t know what to make of them.

I remember wearing sunglasses so that I could look at the boys swimming in the public pool without them knowing that I was looking at them. On the rare occasion when I saw some pornographic pictures, I’d like seeing the erections, but when I saw a woman’s vagina, it looked like a wound to me.

Once I learned to masturbate, which I figured out on my own, it was images of boys that turned me on. The first time I orgasmed, only one clear drip came out. I wasn’t very informed about sex, but I sort of knew what it was. I was also freaked. Like most kids in those times, I was under the impression that masturbating was a very bad thing. I didn’t quite know why, but I knew it was bad. Everyone said so. “Thanks parents, thanks society!” – I say cynically, now.

As “bad” as it was, it didn’t stop me from jerking off pretty much every day. That first time I came, I had done it by pressing the thumb and first finger against each hand against the sides of the shaft of my penis and moving up and down. For several months, I thought that this exact same grip was required, and did it that way every time.

Nothing happened with anyone but myself until high school. Then, I started jerking off with this very heavyset friend of mine. We took it to the point where we’d give each other handjobs. That’s all. I believe it was he who approached me about the idea of jerking off together. I wasn’t attracted to him, but he was a good friend. We did lots together, like talking endless about when we’d have cars someday and what kind they’d be. We both talked very authoritatively about girls, trying to insinuate we had experience, without actually saying anything.

Sometimes, while jerking the other guy off, we’d pretend his penis was a gearshift, and we were driving a car.

Diane came along. She was always talking about sex, and I know in retrospect she wanted to get into my pants. I was so oblivious that it never happened. But her brother, he was a late developer, he and I masturbated each other all the time. Soon he could get to the point where a drop of cum came out of him. By then, I had hairs around the base of my dick, and could cum in greater quantity. He and I would take the hollow pieces of a plastic chess set, and see how much semen we could pump into them. The last time I saw Benny, he was able to fill a pawn. I could almost fill a queen.

In my last year of high school, by now driving a beat-up old foreign car with a worn out transmission that required double-clutching, I met June. She was five years older. She was a small Asian chick who had the unlikely job of driving an 18-wheeler. I fantasized day and night about driving a big truck, and here she was actually doing it. I dreamed of trucking almost as much as of sex – still mostly with guys, however. That bit, about guys, was my big secret.


June looked a lot like Lucy Liu

One day, June said the company needed co-drivers, and the only thing required was a truck driving learners permit and being 18-years old, since there’d be a fully licensed driver in the truck. I was all over it, and got my permit the next day.

The first time out, we had a ten-wheeler with a ten-speed transmission. I was disappointed that it wasn’t an 18-wheeler, but so totally happy to be driving any sort of truck. June drove the first hundred miles. I was wondering if she’d let me drive at all. Then she pulled over and we switched seats. Because the old car I had, and because I had studied up on it, it didn’t take me long to figure out how to shift gears in that truck. June was very careful to instruct me in how to take corners so as not to run the back wheels over curbs, or worse. Still, I almost clobbered a stop sign while making a right turn. After that first 100 miles, she never drove again. She was delighted to have me do all the work.

They were two-day runs. We had to stay in a hotel overnight. All the first afternoon, I was trying to figure out how that was going to work, and assuming we’d rent two rooms. It turns out the company would only pay for one room. Interesting, eh?

By the way, I have to tell you, I was finding Junie rather attractive. She was more like a boy than a girl in many respects. She had short hair for a girl, and fairly small tits. I especially enjoyed her mouth. She could swear up a storm, which I found rather impressive at the time.

So that night, we were in our separate beds, and talking. She kept bringing the conversation around to sex, which I was fully on board with. I was too shy to do anything more, but not Junie. Suddenly she threw off her covers, and climbed into my bed. Awkwardly removing our clothing, we started rolling around and kissing. She totally wanted to fuck. So did I. However, I couldn’t get it up. I know now it’s called ‘performance anxiety.’ Plus, all my life up until then, thinking I had to keep my gay side secret, I was very careful not to spring boners at inappropriate times, like in the boys’ shower at school. So, I had accidentally taught myself not to get hard around other people, even when it’s OK. June was disappointed, even though I was able to bring her to orgasm with my fingertips. To say I was disappointed would be a huge understatement.

On the next drive, two weeks later, we had an 18-wheeler with a Spicer 13-speed transmission. I was delighted. It was larger and harder to manage than I imagined, but I loved learning to drive that thing. We stayed in a hotel again, and that night everything worked perfectly! To my surprise, I found Junie very attractive, and had a great time. That first time, I kind of thought of her hairy vagina as unattractive. Not this time! I was happy to lick it, and loved the taste. I fondled her breasts for a long time as well, which not only did she like, but I loved. I ejaculated inside a vagina for the first time in my life.

During the next few years, I still thought I was hopelessly gay. In those years, that would have been a bad thing, or so I believed. Homosexuality was not as accepted, at least in my circles, as it is today. To satisfy my desires, I had occasional experiences in bathhouses, and with the occasional guy. I met a gay plumber. Unlike me, he wasn’t keeping it a secret. I was surprised he could be so open about it and remain functional in society. Carl was very attractive to me. Slight of build, and blond-haired. He was rather feminine in build, but didn’t act that way. In all other respects, he was a ‘guy,’ drinking beer, following sports, swearing, working hard at manual labor, and so on. When we got into his bed, I was suddenly very uninterested in kissing or oral sex. All I wanted to do was handjobs. Fortunately, he was understanding. We got together a few more times, and then drifted apart.


Carl bore a resemblance to David Spade

In my late twenties, I had sold a business, bought a motorhome and traveled around the country. I met various guys, and the occasional girl. One was Amy, a very small, curly-blond haired woman, not unlike a young Meg Ryan.

Amy was a handjob expert. She liked sticking her skinny little finger into my peehole, which kind of hurt, but felt very exotic at the same time. One time, I ejaculated while her finger was in there. It scared me, because I thought the cum had to come out, or I’d burst something, but no, it was just fine. In fact, the orgasmic contractions lasted twice as long. She wanted me to put a finger in her ass, which I did reluctantly. When I pulled it out, I noticed a sweet odor, not at all what I would have expected. I put it back in, and felt her contractions when she orgasmed from the attention my other hand was giving her clit. From then on, I was a big fan of anal fingering.

I met a rather overweight Inuit (Eskimo) woman. She was great fun, but I thought I deserved better, so I cheated on her. She threw me out instantly, which I’ve always regretted, because she was great company. The best conversationist I had ever met. Also, a sexual monster. She loved having cucumbers shoved into her ass, and taught me to enjoy that as well.

I hadn’t been doing much of anything with guys, except for Larry. He was 18 years old, mostly heterosexual, although still a virgin. He and I started giving each other handjobs on a fairly regular basis.

Then I met Cindy. She was a true nymphomaniac. Every guy’s dream, right? Not so! She wore me out. She’d want to fuck at 11pm when I was sleepy, but I’d comply. At first it was fun. But then she’d wake me at 3am begging me for more sex. And then at 7am, she’d gently wake me again, and – you guessed it – wanting more. I tried to dump her several times, but the tears would come, and I would relent. I introduced her to Larry, figuring he’d get his first experience with a woman, and I’d get some relief.

The first time was a three-way. I probably should have held back so Larry could have a normal first experience, but I didn’t. I put my finger in her vagina while he was fucking her, which she loved. He probably wanted it simpler, but didn’t complain. I mean, after all, he was having a great time. Then, when he was about to cum, I stick my finger in his ass. He orgasmed so hugely that he was shaking all over, and practically fell off the bed, almost taking Cindy with him.

They hit it off big-time. I lost Larry as a wank buddy, but also got rid of Cindy who was becoming a big problem. As the two of them rode off into the sunset, I cooled down for a year or so, being happy just to jerk off once or twice a day.

Then I met Carol, who drove me fucking crazy. She was a perfectionist, and it overflowed into trying to control me. Like while having sex, she’d keep saying, ‘unh, uhh,’ or ‘yes,’ guiding me in exactly what she wanted. The prudent thing would have been to dump her early, because she was rather bothersome. But instead, I found myself more and more drawn to her. She was very intelligent as well as intuitive, and although she could get intense at times, she was a great and helpful companion. That was 26 years ago. Carol and I are still happily married with two beautiful grown children, who, due to Carol’s way of guidance, are already very successful adults.

A few years ago Carol went through menopause and lost interest in sex. She knows about my bisexual background, and has encouraged me to play with guys whenever I like. She absolutely doesn’t want me to get sexual with any women, however. I’m not sure why the double-standard line exists in her mind, but it does. So, every month or so, I hang out with Tom, who is a few years younger than me, built like a Greek god, and loves exchanging handjobs.

Rope Broke

Rope broke, mature male-male fun

I have a truck full of equipment. I’m in the small engine repair business. Strictly house calls. Every summer, I try to save up, but I’m practically starving toward the end of winter.

One late winter day I got a call to fix a snowblower. It seems the starter rope broke when an old man was pulling on it. Expecting the handle to stop three feet away from the engine as it usually did, the poor old guy fell over backward, spraining a wrist.

I got there, and rang the doorbell. I heard a faint, “Come on in,” from inside the huge house.

I let myself and followed the sound of “In here,” arriving at the fellow’s bedroom.

He was laying in bed and said, “Pardon me for not being dressed, but I seem to have hurt my wrist.”

I must have looked like ‘So what, you can still get around, right?’ so he held up his other hand, showing me that his last three fingers were swollen. So, he had hurt both hands. Now I understood. Under the circumstances, having me come to his bedroom made sense.

What didn’t make quite as much sense is that he was laying on top of the sheets completely nude. I couldn’t tell for sure, but his penis seemed a little bit swelled up, too, like partially erect.

Well, whatever. It’s not like I haven’t seen naked men before. I’m all for diversity. I guess you’d call me omni-bisexual. I like people of all sexes, any age beyond teenagers, any body shape, color and size. Why do you think I named my business “Rainbow Small Engine Repair?”

I went out to the garage and replaced his starter rope and made sure the engine started quickly. An easy job. I could only charge $75, but being late winter, I sure wished it had been a bigger, better paying job.

I let myself back into the house without knocking. I figured that’s what the old guy would want. I came to his room, and found him with a full erection, and in the process of attempting to jerk off with his hurt hands.

I told him it was $75. He got up, with his penis still erect, walked over to his dresser, and fumbled with his wallet. His hands were too sore, so he asked me to get the cash out, stating that he wanted to pay me $100, as a bit of a tip. I was delighted.

After thanking him, I stated the obvious, “I guess it’s hard to jerk off with your hands like that.”

“Boy, is it! My wife would have helped, but she’s been dead two years now.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Then he asked, “Say, young fella, would you mind helping me out? You know what I mean, right?”

My heart jumped into my throat. I would love to jerk this old guy off. I was surprised by my own reaction. After all, I had done everything you can imagine with dozens of young guys and young women, and older people too, although never a really old, gray haired, bearded man like this guy.

So, he got back in the bed, and I jerked him off. I wanted it to be especially nice for him, so every time he got close, I stopped for a moment, edging him deliciously. Finally, he blew a small load over my hand. He told me that was the best handjob he’s ever had in his whole long life. I doubted it, but, well, maybe. I’m pretty good at reading a man’s (or a woman’s) physiology, and stopping just before they cum every time. I can keep them on a very enjoyable edge for a long time.

After a moment of recovery, he stood up, and walked back to his wallet on the dresser. Realizing he couldn’t open it, he said to me, “Grab that, would you?”

I picked up his wallet.

“Under the flap, you’ll see two folded-up $100 bills. Please take one, and leave the other. That’s for you, young’un.”

“Oh, no, I did it as a favor, and because I knew I’d enjoy getting my hands on your penis.” I was hearing myself saying that, and wishing I had something else I could have said, because I could really use another hundred dollars.

“Oh no, I insist. What am I going to do, take it with me to the grave?” he laughed.

Since that time, I have a standing appointment for Tuesday mornings to jerk him off. Every time, I say I don’t need to get paid. Every time, he insists on giving me another $100.

His wrist and hands have long since healed, and now he jerks me off every time also. First I do him, then he does me. He always cums, but always a small amount. He says that’s just something that happens with older people. Their quantity of semen goes down. Every time, he still insists on giving me the $100.

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