0 comments/  22458 views/  0 favorites

Older, Sadder, Wiser

By: zaphod40



When my wife left me after nearly twenty years of marriage it was a bolt from the blue. I'd made my regular Christmas visit to see Fred and had some short-lived fun with Maynard, but otherwise I had been faithful to her and felt sure she was faithful to me. A bad moment came when she discovered that I had been masturbating. I found an occasional wank significantly drained me of tension when I had been wound up at work. She accused me of being unnatural and claimed that married men just didn't do it and that if they did, there was something wrong with them. I tried to counter this, believing that many, maybe most married men continue to masturbate from time to time, but she said "How do you know?" – which was unanswerable. I promised to stop but she shrugged her shoulders and said "Do it if you must, but I don't want to know anything about it."

She arranged to go to see her parents some seventy miles away and to stay the weekend. She seemed to do an endless amount of packing but not once were my suspicions raised. Then the night before she was due to leave she told me she was leaving me. I couldn't comprehend it. I pleaded with her to be allowed to do better, promised that I would never masturbate again, but she remained obdurate. I asked her about the children and she said that our son, who was 18, wished to remain with me, as he had a job and a girlfriend and was independent, even though he still lived at home. Our daughter, who was 14, was different. She didn't want us to split up; she didn't want to lose all her friends at school; she didn't want to leave home; but she couldn't see how I could cope with her on my own.

In the end, much torn, she decided to stay with me. I learned later that my wife was going to move in with a widower who was thirty years older than herself and who had been her lover before we were married. All communication between us now stopped, except for a few visits she made to see for herself that I was looking after our daughter properly and how we were both coping.

Coping as a single parent was initially a nightmare. I paid for someone to help with the housework and I rushed round the supermarkets on Friday evenings, trying to do a week's shopping in one go. I told my wife that she was always welcome to return home; and in turn she dropped her plans for a divorce. Gradually I settled down to the new routine, no longer blaming myself for everything but still aware that I should have behaved with more sensitivity and thoughtfulness for others. At first I was too stunned even to masturbate, feeling that this was at the root of my misfortune. I didn't want to develop a relationship with another woman (though this would have been easy) partly because my children would have lost hope of our getting together again; and partly because I knew that if I did, news of it would soon reach my wife. However, by the time autumn had given way to winter, and winter to spring I had recovered my equilibrium. I didn't wank a lot (I was too busy for that) but I was more relaxed when I did. I began to plan a project which would keep me busy at the weekends, namely the long-delayed extension of the kitchen that I had promised my wife many years before. This involved taking down an outside wall, rebuilding it further out and extending the roof to join it.

And so I paid many trips to a Builders Merchant in a town some eight miles away and so it was that my eye was caught by the guy who stood at the pay desk. He was in his early thirties, had brown wavy hair with a long nose and pale skin, but what mainly caught my attention was how slim-hipped he was and the breadth of the leather belt he wore to keep his corduroy trousers up. The belt, which required special loops in the trousers to make it fit, seemed to direct attention to his pelvis and groin. I looked – and marvelled! When he turned sideways-on in silhouette I could make out a well filled package in that area. For the first time in months I felt a stir of sexual excitement.

He was good at his job and seemed unaware of my admiration. He knew all the thousands of lines in the shop and their prices, he was quietly spoken and helpful to all the customers, and when I asked him (when I went up to pay for what I had bought) whether he enjoyed working there he answered me with easy courtesy. Just at that moment one of the other shop assistants came up to him and he broke off his conversation with me to say "Chris – if you could kindly take over with this gentleman for a few minutes I'll go and check whether Grandpa is all right. "

He nodded pleasantly at me and Chris took over. He was a short man, about the same age as the other guy, but nothing like as exciting to look at. He wore a white shop coat, seemed to have legs too short for his body and said not a word that was not strictly necessary. He tapped the codes for the articles I was buying into the computer, asked briefly if I had an account; when I said that I did, he tapped this in too, gave me a receipt and off I went. I was sorry to have had my conversation with the other guy interrupted in this fashion.

When I got home I thought how pleasant it had been to feel excited again and an idea that had been growing in my mind began to take shape. I might be able to meet my sexual needs by advertising for a male contact. I hadn't done this before but I had seen personal adverts in the local paper so I bought a copy and studied them. There was a section for males wanting to meet males, but this was before the days of voice boxes and you had to pay for a mail box to which written answers to your advert would be sent. These answers would then be sent to you.

I decided to have a go and drafted an advert mentioning amongst other things that I was self-employed, could only meet afternoons and could only rarely accommodate but was sincere and caring. I didn't expect a lot of answers so I was surprised when I received fifteen letters in my mail box. Some were brief (like "Meet me at … ) and others told stories of domestic tragedy similar to my own. Almost all of them were married, but the one which caught and held my attention, well written in neat handwriting, simply said "I think we would get on well. Please ring me any time after 8.00 pm. J."

I didn't hesitate for long. I used a public phone box, dialled the number he had given me and a voice came on line almost immediately. "If you're "J", I said "I'm the guy whose ad you replied to."

"I was so hoping you'd ring" came the voice. "My name's Jeff, by the way."

"And I'm Urlen" I responded.

"Funny name," he said.

"Every one says that. Any chance that we could fix a place to meet and have a chat?"

And so we agreed to meet at a pub where I hoped I would not be recognized and which was convenient for him. The meeting was for the coming weekend on the Saturday and by the time the evening came round I was feeling nervous. My son was out with his girlfriend and my daughter had a friend staying so she was happy to see me go out for a change. I drove to the pub, parked in the car park and went in. We had agreed on the phone that I should wear a light blue pullover and that he would be dressed in a grey shirt with brown trousers.

I saw him at once, sitting by himself at a corner table with a pint of beer in his hand. He saw me too and there was an instant start of recognition. "By God, it's you!" we said simultaneously. Jeff was the guy I had so much admired at the Builders Merchants and I realized then that in fact the shop was not so far away.

I sat down, then remembered to go and get a pint of beer for myself and was so flustered that I hardly knew what to say at first. He was much more relaxed, enjoying the joke of our being acquainted and soon we were into our second pints and talking as if we had known each other for years.

We used low voices to avoid anyone overhearing us and I told him about my wife leaving me, about the difficulties of being a single parent and about some of the my previous encounters which I've recorded in these chapters. He listened with sympathy and told me his own story. How his mother was a workaholic and had starved both him and his dad of affection. He was an only son, born and brought up in London, and he was here now, two hundred miles north of London, because he had volunteered to look after his grandfather when he'd had a slight stroke. He'd been a shop assistant in London and was related to the owners of the Builders Merchants, so he had taken a job there to be close to his granddad. He told me that he had had a long relationship with a married man in London which had come to an end when he had discovered that he was two-timing him with a much younger man. He said, with a laugh, that he wouldn't have minded if all three of them had been on the bed together but that it was the deception that had hurt. When he'd got the chance to move north, he had jumped at it.

"Do you consider yourself gay then?" I asked and he shrugged his shoulders and said "Yes – probably; but I'm not promiscuous and I don't go on the scene. It's ...." (he chose his words carefully) "a loving relationship I want."

I could have hugged him! A third pint would have sent me over the driving limit, so when we had finished our second pints I volunteered to drive him back home. He was silent for a moment and then said "Granddad is there at the moment. Weekdays after lunch he goes out to a Day Care Centre, he's taken there by a Social Services minibus. My afternoon off each week is Thursday. I work – as you know – Saturday mornings. You could drive me home now and I'll show you where I live. Then we could arrange to meet there next Thursday – say, two o'clock."

I could have hugged him again!

We left the pub and I drove him the short distance home. He didn't have a car and his house, an end- terraced two-up, two-down dwelling, was just round the corner from the Builders Merchants. There was a side alley between two rows of terraces and his kitchen door gave onto the alley. He looked at my red hair and said "When you come, come to this door, but wear a hat or something. I don't want all the neighbourhood saying to granddad "Who's that red-haired man come round visiting your grandson?" You could dress as if you were an Insurance man calling, or something. Bring a briefcase and look official."

And so I realized that he had given more careful thought to it than I had.

Thursday seemed a long time to wait but at last it arrived. I had bought a hat which I put on to cover my hair and I placed my brief case in the car beside me. Then I drove to the Builders Merchants, parked, and made my way to the alley.

He opened the door before I could knock and closed it as soon as I entered the kitchen. I had brought a bottle of wine in my briefcase which I placed on the table. He got two wine glasses from a cupboard and we sat down at the table, facing each other. I think I was feeling the more nervous because he seemed relaxed and at ease, smiling at me as he poured the wine and saying "Cheers!" when we started to drink. Looking at me with a smile he said "I haven't done this for some time, but I've been looking forward to it."

"Me too," I said fervently, thinking that the last time I had had sex with a man was with Fred two Christmases ago.

"In fact," he said without any embarrassment, "I was so excited thinking about it last night that I had a specially good wank."

"Me too," I said, again with fervour.

He laughed. "I can see we're going to get on well together" and any feeling of constraint between us vanished at that moment. "I'll show you the house when we've finished our wine. There's not much to show. Granddad sleeps downstairs in the sitting-room, so there's not much room in there, and upstairs there's a bathroom, what used to be his bedroom – and mine."

"You cook the evening meal, do you?" I asked.

"Yes – and all meals at weekends. Social Services don't operate "Meals on Wheels" at the weekends. Granddad doesn't eat much but he likes his meals on time."

I thought what a constrained life Jeff led, with work just round the corner, no car, and an elderly grandfather to look after; but I soon realized that he was one of life's carers and that he enjoyed what he was doing. Later he told me that he had thought of training as a nurse but his mother, a full-time staff nurse in a busy London hospital, had dissuaded him, so he had gone to Art College instead. He was not an ambitious person – and all the nicer for that. 

We got round to talking about male sex and he said that as a teenager he had waited for the sex appeal of girls to hit him, but it had never happened. He had carried on wanking and was in his early twenties when he had been seduced by the man who became his long-term lover. From then on he just accepted that he was probably gay. He went on to tell me more about his lover than he had revealed in the pub. His wife and two young children lived 100 miles north of London, which is where he worked during the week, so he was only at home for the weekends. During the week he had a small flat in town and that is where he and Jeff used to meet. They had first met in the National Gallery, had started talking about a particular painting and discovered that both were interested in Art. The man had then discovered that he (Jeff) had never been abroad and had offered to take him to the continent for a couple of days to see some of the Art Galleries there. Jeff had found himself accepting, even though he felt suspicious of the man's motives. They had gone to Amsterdam and Jeff had been overwhelmed by the man's generosity, the good meals they had eaten and his general savoir faire. The hotel they had stayed at was grander than anything Jeff had previously experienced and their opulent bedroom had twin beds, side by side. On the first night, after a superb meal with aperitifs and a bottle of wine, they had retired to their room and each had got into their own bed, but after the light had been put out, Jeff had felt the man's fingers searching for his nipples under the sheet, then moving towards his groin. He had felt his dick stiffen with excitement and when the man asked if he could lie beside him he had put up no opposition. From there it had seemed natural to fondle each other's dicks and to wank them. He had cum off first, closely followed by the man, and the next morning they had done it again, only this time with the sheets pulled back so that they could see each other spurt.

He told me all this without embarrassment and after we had finished our second glass of wine he smiled and said "Time to go upstairs." He showed me the sitting-room on the way, with Granddad's bed alongside one wall and the settee awkwardly placed so that Granddad could see the TV from his bed. It was cramped in there, but Jeff's bedroom was neat and tidy with interesting pictures on the walls and a double bed carefully made up. The curtains were drawn across the window to avoid the possibility of anyone looking in from the houses across the little backyard but enough light filtered in for us to be able to see each other clearly.

He turned to face me and started to unbuckle the broad belt that had first attracted my attention. I had a sudden urge to undo this for myself so I went towards him, knelt on the floor in front of him and unbuckled it. Then I stood up and turned him round so that I was behind him and felt for the button that held his corduroy trousers up. When I had undone it I slipped my hand down the inside of his thigh and drew my fingers slowly up towards his groin. I was not disappointed! There was an enormous bulge there and my fingers traced the long outline of his dick under his loosened trousers while he drew his breath in sharply with pleasure. Then I returned to the top band of his trousers, found the zip and slid it down. His trousers were ready to drop but he had to help me manoeuvre them over the great bulge in his underpants. Finally they were a crumpled heap on the floor and my fingers could now explore for his dick with only the thin fabric of his underpants in the way. It felt heavy and ramrod stiff with excitement and my own dick was pressing fiercely against his flank through the material of my jeans. I was urgent now to drop his underpants and feel his flesh in my hand so I pulled them down and he stepped out of them.

It felt wonderful in my hand, even though I couldn't see it. It was hard and long and the foreskin drew back easily – and stayed back. I fondled the knob and to my delight found that it was damp with pre-cum. Jeff moaned with pleasure as I did this, so I returned to the shaft just below the head and found that the skin there moved easily up and down. I stroked it, every now and again returning to the knob which became more and more slippery with pre-cum. Jeff's moans mounted as the ecstasy grabbed him and soon he was breathing shallowly and I realized he was about to cum. I put my free arm round his chest, held him tightly and wanked him faster. I felt a shudder pass through his whole body and he staggered, taking a pace forwards. "Uh …. Uh …." he panted and I felt his spasms as he pumped his juice onto the carpet in front of him.

The whole of his dick and my fingers were now slippery with his spunk and I felt its stiffness subside as the orgasm came to an end. He turned round then, put his arms around me and gave me a hug.

"That was fabulous, Urlen" he said. "I've never done it like that before."

"Nor have I," I replied. "It just sort-of happened."

I could see little pools of spunk lying on the carpet and when I detached myself from his embrace for the first time I saw his dick. It was hanging limply, still enlarged, with the foreskin covering the glans and all of it a splendid size, with balls to match.

"I'll just clear up," he said, "Then we can get into bed;" and he got a tissue and wiped the carpet where he had cum all over it. Then he removed the rest of his clothes and got into bed, lying there watching me while I removed mine. When I turned to face him my dick was sticking out stiffly at 90 degrees and he whistled softly and said "Wow, it's even longer than mine!" Then I joined him in the bed and we hugged each other under the smooth comfort of the sheets.

For a few minutes we just lay there in each other's arms. Then, when he felt ready, Jeff felt for my dick, which had been pressing keenly against him. "You're wonderful" he said as he wrapped his hand round it. And indeed it felt wonderful to have his hand caressing it, moving the loose foreskin up, down and over the knob and sliding delicate fingers in the pre-cum which was oozing out of it. There was not an ounce of roughness in his handling and he soon had me on edge. "I'm ready to cum" I gasped as I felt my balls tighten and my whole cock ready to explode. "Here it cums….." and I shot my load into the space between his hand on my dick and the sheet above us. The sheet was all sticky with it when, later, we turned it back to look at each other. Just for now, though, we lay exhausted but happy, gradually dropping off to sleep in the warm and partly darkened room.

I'm not sure how long we slept but when I stirred Jeff looked at the clock and got a shock. It was only half an hour to the time Social Services brought his grandfather back home. He leapt out of bed, turned the sheet back for me to clamber out and we both stared at the damp stain on the top sheet. Jeff giggled and said he could see that I had had a good time. Then we got dressed and I left the house (with my hat and briefcase) after a quick hug in the kitchen and a hurried promise to meet again in the same way next Thursday.

There followed many meetings. I remember that on our second meeting at his home we sat on the settee in the living room, our thighs touching and exquisite ripples of excitement invading my groin. They did his too because there were immediate bulges on display. I ran my hand over his and soon felt his marvellous dick lying along his trouser leg. I stroked it gently, then put my hand up to his wide belt and started to undo the fastening. He kissed me while my hands explored for the top button and the zip. As I pulled it down he inserted his hand in his underpants and drew his dick upwards. It took only a moment for me to replace his hand with mine – and there it was, warm, willing, long and slippery between my fingers. He sighed with pleasure and bent down to undo my trousers and extract my rampant dick – and so we sat, with each other's dicks in our hands, gently stroking. They were almost equal in length, thickness and hardness. We were well matched and soon we were both upping the pace and shooting our loads sitting on the settee. There was quite a lot of mopping-up to be done on that occasion!


Older, Sadder, Wiser Pt. 02



The Adventures Of Urlen – Chapter 14

"Is that..er.. Urlen?"

"Yes."

"Funny name."

"Yes."

" This is Chris. Jeff said I should phone you."

"Yes." (I was becoming as monosyllabic as Chris, but I wanted him to make the running.)

"He said we should meet."

"Yes."

"Meet me in the shop, then. Come to the kitchen exhibition centre at 11.00 o'clock tomorrow. I'll be there." And he rang off.

Hurriedly I rearranged my work schedule and the next day I reached the shop in good time to search the warren of different kitchen layouts which were on display at the back of the shop. Chris was in a far corner, dressed in his white shop coat, poring over some literature. He hardly looked up as I came alongside him.

"Good to see you" I said conversationally.

"Can't talk long" he said, looking down at a brochure he had been pretending to read. "If you're interested, the only time we can meet is on my afternoon off. That's Tuesdays between 1.30 and 3.15. I've left my address and phone number on the back of this brochure. Only phone me if it's urgent and only on Tuesdays between those times. Come next Tuesday at 1.30 if you can. Wear your hat and carry your briefcase." And with that he left, meeting my gaze but without smiling. As he turned to walk away I noticed that his shop coat was open at the front and that unlike Jeff he hardly had a waist. He was stocky but not fat and his jeans rested low on his hips giving him that curiously short-legged appearance I had noted before. Now that I was looking at him with special interest, I noticed that he was very light on his feet. He had short, light brown hair, blue eyes and, as Jeff had suggested, a very masculine- looking face. My interest in him quickened and I was surprised that I had not noticed him before. I was puzzled as to why he had brought me to the shop for so short a conversation when what he had said could have been said just as easily on the phone. I took the brochure with me and went back to work, making a mental note of his address and telephone number in my head. 

The following Tuesday I was held up at work and was a little late arriving, even though I had driven out at the weekend to familiarize myself with where he lived. It was a bungalow on a road with several similar houses, about a quarter of a mile from the Builders Merchants. They had small front gardens and a garage at the side. I parked round the corner and walked to his house, wearing my hat and carrying my briefcase. He was waiting for me and opened the door before I could knock. "Sorry I'm late" I said, "I got held up at work."

He just nodded. As he was expecting his daughter back from school just after 3.30pm and it was now nearly two o'clock we didn't have much time for casual conversation. He offered me a cup of coffee and as soon as I had drunk it he said shortly "Shall we go into the bedroom then?" When I nodded he opened the door which led into it. It was the room he shared with his wife, with a double bed and the usual furnishings. There were net curtains covering the window and the room was fairly cramped. There was a rack of her shoes and the wardrobe door was partly open showing where she hung her dresses.

I felt a little uncomfortable, a little rushed. I wasn't sure what I was letting myself in for. "Where shall I put my clothes?" I asked; and he gestured towards a chair by the side of the bed. I moved towards it and took off my pullover and shirt, then turned to face him to see that he was on the other side of the bed, about to unzip his trousers. He stopped when he saw me watching, so I said "Do you want me on the bed – or in it?"

"On it," he said. "I like to see what we're doing."

I turned back to my chair and continued with my undressing. It was all a bit sudden and I had only the beginnings of a hard-on. When I was naked I turned round and found he was already lying on the bed. His body was a real surprise – and a real turn-on! He looked superbly fit and I felt a tingle, which became a rush of blood to my dick as I looked at his. His hand was round it, he was fondling it gently and it was growing mightily!

I lay down beside him, still feeling a bit embarrassed but fully hard by now, and he rolled over onto his side and immediately took my dick into his hand.

"Nice one," he said, "Longer and stiffer than mine but not as thick."

I lay back and let him play with it. His fingers were not as sensitive as Jeff's but they felt good; and he soon had the foreskin rolled back and was stroking me with his fingers lower on the shaft than I did it myself.

"Would you like me to suck it?" he asked.

"Go ahead" I said, "But I operate on a hair trigger and might cum very fast."

"That's all right by me" he said, and shuffled down the bed so that his lips were close to my throbbing cockhead. The moment he took it into his mouth was delicious. I shuddered with pleasure and stretched out my arm to reach his dick. It was a complicated manoeuvre, given our respective body positions, so I said "Can I hold yours while you suck mine?"

He moved so that it was easier for me to grasp it.

Unseen, it felt wonderful in my hand : soft, succulent and excited all at the same time. It wasn't long but I think it was the fattest I had ever felt. As he bent his face over my dick and softly caressed it with his lips, so I felt his stiffen, then soften, then stiffen again in my hand.

He gasped. "Take it gently and we might cum off together."

And now he was sucking me more urgently and I was stroking his dick with longer and quicker strokes. I could feel his foreskin sliding in my hand and sense the gathering tension in him as he tried to time his rising orgasm with mine. There was no way we could stop now.

"I'm close" I muttered through clenched teeth and beginning to arch my hips upwards.

"So am I."

"Here it cums, then."

"Me too."

And he withdrew his lips and stroked me with his hand while I bucked my hips and shot my load with the force of a rocket, all the time keeping my hand pumping up and down on his shaft. He groaned and I felt my thumb and forefinger suddenly turn damp, slippery and slimy. He kept on panting and I realized, though I had seen nothing of his orgasm, that it had been very intense.

When his spasms, which went on for a long time, were finally over, he rolled over onto his back and I saw that my hand was covered with thick, creamy-white sperm. Spunk also formed a pool at the end of his dick in the hollow made by the foreskin closing over his knob, for all the world like snow lying in a small hole on the hillside. Some of it had detached and lay in a white blob on his belly and there was a long ribbon where he had spurted onto the upper part of his belly. His dick, warm, fat and soft, was now lying spent and curled on his pubic hair. His balls looked floppy and relaxed too.

He sighed deeply. "I needed that. I've been looking forward to it all day. I came really quickly for you. It usually takes much longer. That's significant I suppose."

I was not sure what he meant but took it as a compliment to the amount of excitement we had generated together. Then, with a look of satisfaction he lay back against the pillow, closed his eyes, said "Sorry if I go all flat now," and started to go to sleep.

It gave me the opportunity I had missed earlier to take a good look at him. His body, as I have said, was quite short and stocky but it was the body of an athlete. His abdominal muscles rippled and he had the upper body strength of someone who worked out in a gym. In his shop coat I hadn't noticed what a great shape he was in. I thought it extraordinary that his wife cared so little for him. His dick, even in its limp state, was like him – fairly short but stocky, and his balls were a good size. His sexual endowment struck me as being ideally masculine and his dick looked beautiful in the daylight coming through the window. Funny how some guys have dicks which are aesthetically pleasing – and some don't! Chris's didn't have a mushroom head standing out from the shaft. The knob, in itself a very beautiful dished expanse of that special purply skin full of nerve endings, was a smooth extension of his six inch shaft. It had a pronounced rim picked out in a deeper shade of purple When I got to know him better I realized it was one of those dicks which never get specially hard but which remain softish and supple, even at the moment of orgasm. I wondered if he often came home on his afternoons off and lay on the bed for a wank and a sleep before his daughter arrived home. I was again surprised I had not taken more notice of him before.

He opened his eyes. "We make a good pair," he said ironically. "Both married men, both let down by our wives, both with children. I've often come home on a Tuesday afternoon and wished I could have it off with someone, but if my wife found out, there'd be hell to pay. Usually I just have a wank. If she knows, she doesn't seem to mind. She hardly ever lets me make love to her and even then it's rubber on rubber. She doesn't enjoy it and I take an age to cum. She's mortally frightened of having another child."

"But you've had Jeff for company sometimes haven't you?"

"Very rarely. Our half days don't coincide. Saturday afternoons I play football and go down the club in the evening and Sundays she's home all day. Every now and again she takes Amy by car for tea to her mother's thirty miles away but that's not always suitable for Jeff if he's looking after his granddad. He's been a good friend, though. As we're colleagues at work we've avoided getting too close. It makes working together uncomfortable."

For Chris, normally so monosyllabic, these were long speeches, seeming to well out of him from a pit of loneliness. He was not someone I felt I could be fond of in the way I was fond of Jeff, but sexually I found him extraordinarily attractive.

I put my hand on his limp dick and he said "There's no time to do it again now. Anyway I never could do it twice. If she offered me sex tonight I'd be hard put to do it. Anyway, she won't."

"So how often do you wank then?"

"More or less only on Thursday afternoons. And Sundays – if she goes to see her mother. How about you?"

I told him I had no particular pattern. If I was turned on by the thought of meeting him or Jeff I might do it in bed at night, or I might do it to relive an experience.

"You mean you might do it again tonight, thinking of what we've just done?"

"I might."

"Lucky you. Just think of me lying beside my missus and wishing I could suck you off again."

"How did you get into this game to begin with?"

"Ah – that's a long story. I'll tell you when we next meet. Time's running on. We'd better put on our clothes."

And with that we both rolled off the bed and he pulled his pants over his gorgeous dick and I prepared to leave his house.

"Same again next Tuesday?" I asked.

"Come a bit earlier" he said, "And we can take more time."

That evening, after I had made the family meal and my daughter had gone to bed I reflected on what had happened at Chris's house. I would have felt a heel towards Jeff if he himself had not suggested that I meet with Chris in the first place. I wondered about the relationship between them and felt that Chris was more "male" and less sensitive than Jeff. Chris's white shop coat at work disguised his physique and his sex appeal, whereas Jeff did not wear one. Chris also had a kind of low centre of gravity because, as I realised now, his legs were relatively short compared to his body. He was only about five foot six inches tall. I realised too that being monosyllabic at work did not mean that he was always like that. Once warmed up he could speak with fluency and feeling. I looked forward to our next meeting and made sure I arrived on the dot of one thirty.

He was waiting for me and I placed a couple of bottles of beer on the kitchen table, which we drank together with a meat pie I had also brought. Having our lunch together like this was good and there was none of the nervous tension that had preceded our previous meeting. When we made our way to the bedroom it felt just right to be taking off our clothes and lying together on the bed. We were both horny and this time I was able to take a good long look at his dick. The most striking things about it were its uniform thickness from base to knob and the pronounced "spunking tube" from the base to where it disappeared just under the knob. Because the glans itself was no mushroom, the foreskin didn't slot into the space below the rim. Instead it moved easily up, down and over the large expanse of shiny purple- red surface, and when soon afterwards I took it into my mouth I had to hold the foreskin down with my fingers in order to concentrate on the nerve endings contained in that shapely knob. It was so big it seemed to fill the whole of my mouth.

I took it very slowly at first. I admired the flat firmness of his abdominal muscles and I could sense the pleasure he felt as I fondled his balls, caressed his knob with my lips and slid the fold of foreskin to and fro with my fingers.

"Hold on a moment," he said, "I don't want to cum immediately. Lets have a go at you."

We exchanged positions, with me on my back and him on his side, taking my dick in his hand. "Hey, this is a great dick" he said. "Must be at least eight inches long."

"May be" I replied. "But it's how it feels that matters. Yours is thicker – I like it a lot."

"Does this feel nice?" he whispered as he caressed my rod with his lips and tongue.

"Wonderful," I gasped. "Just keep doing that – gently."

"How long do you usually take to cum?" he asked.

"It depends. If I'm very highly stimulated – like now – not long. I've always cum far too easily, I think. I don't need much movement to make it spurt. Just a finger gently rubbing the sensitive hot-spot under the tip will do it."

"Show me."

He took his fingers off my dick and watched as I caressed my knob in the way that most prolongs feeling without immediately sending me over the edge.

"I don't do it like that," he said. "I hold mine lower down and take much longer strokes – like this." And he demonstrated, with two fingers wrapped fairly low round the shaft. His technique was very different from mine.

"Funny how we all differ," I said. "People cum differently too. I have about four or five spurts, the best of them always the first. But some guys have more than that and some less."

"It's my second spurt that shoots furthest," said Chris, "But they all feel great. Even when I've finished pumping the spasms are fantastic."

"Show me," I said.

"OK – but suck me first and then I'll take over."

I closed my lips round his dickhead and moved my head up and down. He put his hand on top of my head and gave me the rocking the rhythm he liked best. If he'd had a hand round my dick too I'd have cum off in a flash. He took his time. About four minutes into this stimulation he became much more urgent, rocking my head up and down in a quicker, rougher rhythm. He began to pant and moan; and then with a quick movement of the hand he withdrew his pulsating tool from my mouth, threw back his head, thrust his hips forward and wanked his dick with long, firm strokes, wrapping two fingers, as he had shown me, round the shaft quite close to the base. A "show" of creamy white spunk appeared at the tip as his foreskin slipped up and down, only partly exposing the glans. Then a spurt of sperm shot out, followed shortly afterwards by another which flew high onto his chest. His hand flew as more spurts burst out. Looking up at his face I saw that he had his eyes closed and his lips drawn back in a rictus which could easily have been mistaken for an expression of pain. I noticed, too, that the muscles of his midriff were shuddering and creasing with the spasms of his orgasm. It reminded me forcibly of Des (see Camping in France, Chapter 8 of these Adventures) and was perhaps the most amazing orgasm I had ever witnessed, making mine seem somehow humble and less exciting. 

His spunk was thick and white; and some of it dribbled onto his fingers as he slowed his movement to a stop. Gradually the soft hardness left his dick until it was all soft, lying used and forlorn on his belly. I realised then that I enjoyed watching another man masturbate in cosy, intimate surroundings as much as having my own hand on his dick when he spunked.

Chris sighed deeply. "I've never shown anyone before," he said, "But that's how I do it."

"You're wonderful," I said – and meant it. "You're a very virile person."

"You're not so bad yourself," he said, smiling. "Give me a moment or two and I'll be ready to see how you do it."

And I went on to show him. He was surprised that I concentrated on the tip and he replaced my hand with his to copy what I had been doing. "That's it," I said, "Just keep rubbing very gently and it'll send me over the edge."

It did. As he felt my orgasm mounting he slipped his hand down to the shaft and stroked it vigorously. I rather wished he had kept it up at the top but it made no difference to the result : a jet of spunk erupting as the first ejaculation, followed by some smaller spurts, then the end-dribbles.

"I see what you mean" he said. "Jeff's more like you than me, I think." 

"Tell me about you and Jeff" I said. "How long have you been friends?"

"You mean, how long have we been having sex together? Not long – and not very often. I was employed by the firm before him," and he went on to tell me that Jeff had arrived two years ago, when his grandfather first became ill. The owners of the Builders Merchants business were Jeff's cousins, so they'd given him the job as the best means of supporting his Granddad. Chris had helped Jeff get established and had admired the way he picked up the business. Everyone liked him, both customers and staff, and people were often amused by his wide belt, his corduroy trousers and his pullovers. He didn't seem to have a girl-friend and some were suspicious that he might be queer, but his excellence at the job and his devotion to his grandfather, plus the fact that he was related to the owners silenced any gossip. He was a sympathetic listener and it was after Chris had told him about his life at home that they became friends. They met each other in the pub on Sunday evenings and it was on one of these occasions that Chris had told him that his wife had taken their daughter to see her mother that afternoon. 

"You don't go then?" Jeff had said; and Chris had told him how he couldn't stand his mother and how welcome he found the quietness of the house after they had gone. "I love Amy, my daughter" he had said, "But time on my own is precious."

"Precious? Precious... for what?" Jeff had asked, leadingly; and Chris had blushed, looked down at his feet and stammered "You know..."

"If you mean, you have a wank when they're out, well I imagine lots of married men do that," said Jeff. "I'm not married, nor likely to be, but I often have a wank on Sundays as a way of relaxing. Tell me, have you ever had a wank with another man?"

Chris had felt uncomfortable but compelled to tell the truth. "When I was younger I messed about a bit," he confessed. "And I've often wondered what it would be like now. I don't have anything against it, if you see what I mean, as long as there's nothing anal. I shouldn't like that."

Their eyes met and an understanding dawned. "Next time she goes to see her mum, let me know," said Jeff; and that was all that needed to be said. They had met four weeks later, Jeff had made everything easy for him, and he had enjoyed it. It was just a pity they could meet so rarely. Their half days didn't coincide and at the weekends they only had Chris's place to go to when his wife went to visit her mother. He hadn't minded when Jeff had started seeing me; and now, in view of what had happened, he was glad of it.




Older, Sadder, Wiser Pt. 02



I enjoyed talking like this with Chris in "after sex mode" when we were both relaxed and able to be frank with each other. He had long ceased being monosyllabic but unlike Jeff he didn't go in for kissing and I wasn't fond of him in the same way as I felt about Jeff. He preferred, too, to have his own fingers round his dick when he 'came' in order to get the timing exactly right, whereas I was happy to feel the stimulus of a hand other than mine, even if it was rougher than ideal. But though our problems with our wives were different, being able to talk about them with a fellow-sufferer helped. We were unable to meet every Tuesday afternoon firstly because my work schedule wouldn't always allow it and secondly because Chris's wife was a teacher. With twelve weeks of holiday a year there were twelve Thursdays when she was in the house during his half-day off work.

I think it was at our third or fourth meeting, after he had had a spectacular orgasm, that Chris, before he drifted off into sleep, said "What are you doing this Sunday afternoon? I ask because my wife is going to see her mother and Jeff has agreed to come round."

A threesome – and seeing Jeff again! Couldn't be bad! I asked after him and Chris told me he was feeling better but still unsure about what he should do now that he was living on his own. I agreed to meet them (of course) and the following Sunday I set off in keen anticipation of the excitement to come. Jeff was already there when I entered the house, sitting on the settee in the living room. Chris was in the kitchen making coffee and Jeff stood up, opened his arms and we stood, embracing and kissing each other like long-lost lovers. It was just wonderful to see him again, though he looked pale and strained, and we both got instant hard-ons. He was wearing his usual corduroy trousers with the wide belt and I could feel the bulge of his stiffening dick rubbing against mine.

Chris came in with the coffees as we were still embracing and said dourly "Someone needs to keep you two apart. Come and sit down and drink this," and he sat in the middle of the settee so that we had to sit on either side of him. We took our revenge, however, by pressing our knees up against his and then using our free hands to slide them up his inner thighs. He could see from our bulges that we were excited and his reaction was to open his legs so that his crotch could have more room for the rapid expansion going on there. After a few minutes of such stimulation he put his coffee mug on the floor and said "I'm getting a trifle cramped down here." He stood up and undid the top fastening of his trousers and slid the zip down. 

Jeff put his hand inside and drew out Chris's dick. It was in its usual state of soft hardness and lay on Jeff's hand with the hood of its foreskin disguising the ample knob, looking somewhat incongruous in the decorous normality of the living-room. "Time to head for the bed," he said laconically. Jeff and I also stood up as Chris preceded us into the bedroom. He went straight to his chair and started to take off his clothes. There was only one other chair for Jeff and me to use, so we stood, undecided, at the foot of the bed and I felt how exciting it would be to undress him as I had the first time we had met. He got the idea, pulled his pullover over his head and moved close to me so that I could undo his belt. When I had undone it and unfastened the top button I slithered them down to the floor then let him do the same for me. Then we took off our shirts and vests and stood in our underpants, with our hard-ons leaving nothing to the imagination. Chris lay on the bed, naked, fondling his dick and enjoying the show. When we stepped out of our underpants he clapped and whistled and indicated for us to lie down beside him. Jeff lay down next to him, in the middle, and I lay on the far side of the bed. 

None of us had given any thought to the arrangement and three on a bed, though fabulously exciting, is not easy to work out satisfactorily. What happened was this. Jeff, in the middle, rolled onto his right side and took Chris's dick in his left hand while I did the same to Jeff. Chris lay flat on his side of the bed so that Jeff could see what he was doing, whereas I could not. Nor was there anyone's hand to stroke me, but I wasn't complaining! We started off slowly, but the excitement and the stimulation were so magical that it was not long before Chris, who always moaned as he felt the build-up of tension within him, drew his breath in sharply and let it go in a long "Ooooh..." 

I felt Jeff's dick twitch and stiffen still further as Chris gasped and we both speeded up our stroking at the same time. Chris's "Ooohs and Aaaahs" came more and more quickly until it was obvious he was on edge. Then, in his deep voice, an urgent "I'm close..."; and then – almost an octave higher with excitement – "Here it cums..." and at the same moment I felt Jeff move slightly, take a short breath, then the "Uh.. uh..." and his unseen dick in my hand stiffened to maximum hardness. I raised my head to watch and was rewarded by seeing Jeff's first shot fly diagonally across Chris's chest just as the tip of Chris's dick bloomed white with his preliminary ooze of spunk. Then I was treated to a fantastic display of flying spunk as spurt after spurt from Jeff's dick was matched by Chris.

Both were panting when it was over. Chris was liberally daubed with his own creamy sperm and he had Jeff's too, lying in pools on his chest. Chris just lay there exhausted while Jeff rolled onto his back, my hand still round his deflating tool. He gave me a satisfied smile, reached forward to kiss me and for a few minutes the three of us just lay there. Though I had nearly cum with excitement without a hand being laid on me, I found that seeing them cum together was extraordinarily satisfying and I had no difficulty in awaiting my turn. In fact my hard-on lost some of its rigidity with the sight of their deflated dicks and soon it was obvious from his regular breathing that Chris was drifting off into sleep.

Gently Jeff detached himself and manoeuvred himself off the foot of the bed, indicating for me to take his place in the middle, while he went round and occupied my place at the side. Now I could lie on my back and Jeff could attend to me with all his usual skill and expertise. For once I was able to take my time and let the orgasm build slowly and I was halfway there when Chris stirred and discovered what was going on. He gave a lazy grin and put out his hand to replace Jeff's. At the same time his dick, which had gone limp, started to stiffen, so I started to stroke it, gently at first and then more fiercely as it reached full inflation. Jeff watched, fascinated, in a similar state of re-excitement, and I felt it only fair to give him some of the fun, so I let go of Chris's tool and fondled his. Chris was now stroking me and I was stroking Jeff. I knew it couldn't go on much longer because I was about to blow and Chris's dick fitted my left hand better than Jeff's my right, so we changed over for the last time, with Chris and me stroking each other, with him moaning and groaning and me about to cum. My climax was one of the best I ever had and I shot stream after stream of spunk into the air. What I hadn't bargained for was that Chris came off again too, not that I knew it until my orgasm was over, but there was more cream on the end of his dick and a little on his belly. Jeff watched it all, goggle-eyed and Chris exclaimed "I've never cum twice like that before!" Then we all went to sleep.

Just before I left the house to return to my own home Jeff drew me aside and said he needed to talk with me. Could I possibly meet him on the afternoon of his half day off next Thursday? Well, of course; and yet, thinking it over when I got back home, I knew in my bones that he was unlikely to propose a return to our old relationship. He needed a permanent relationship with someone whom he could care for and I was unable to supply that, even though I was very fond of him – and he of me.

And that's how Lionel came into his life.

(To be continued in Chapter 15.) 



Older, Sadder, Wiser Pt. 03



My arrival at Jeff's home for the first time after the death of his grandfather was a moving moment for us both. Once inside the house we fell into each other's arms and our long kiss led to a flooding of our minds and bodies with emotion. I ran my free hand through his hair while he pressed his groin into mine until the pressure mounted between us and our dicks stiffened with the excitement. He put his hand down to feel mine through my trousers and I smiled, even as I kissed him, then giggled and said "It's all there, ready and waiting."

"Lets go upstairs at once," he whispered, though there was no need for silence in the house.

I had quite a surprise when we reached his bedroom. He had moved into the one at the front of the house which had formerly been his grandfather's before the old man had become too sick to go upstairs. Jeff had redecorated it so that it felt new, with pictures I had not seen before on the walls. But now was not the time to comment. He drew me again into his arms and there followed a rapturous embrace which ended with my hand untucking his tee shirt from the waist band of his trousers while his fingers searched for - and undid - the top fastening of mine. When my trousers were ready to drop I shuffled them down past my knees while he undid his broad belt and dropped his jeans to his ankles. As soon as he had done this my hand went inside his underpants to feel his wonderful dick and he did the same to me. It was a moment of great joy and for a minute we stood there, our hands round each other's dick and our lips joined in another long kiss. 

"Time to lie on the bed," he whispered and he turned away, withdrawing his dick from my grasp and taking his hand off mine. "Here's a chair for you to put your clothes on."

Very quickly we were both naked, standing in the middle of the room and loving what we saw of each other : two long dicks ready for action with ball sacs swinging low beneath them. We embraced again, long and fiercely, and my hand went down to wrap both our dicks in my grasp. I wished then that whenever I held my own I could be holding his too. Our foreskins had clipped into place beneath the purple rims of our swollen glans which were wet with pre-cum. After I had given them both a few gentle strokes he put his hand down to join mine and urged it to quicker action. This had the effect of bringing me to the edge and as I didn't want to cum so quickly I said "Lets lie on the bed." 

I got there first and he lay down beside me, then took me in his arms again and rolled on top of me while I held on tightly to his dick. I had never had anyone lie on top of me like that and it was undeniably exciting if somewhat uncomfortable. Soon afterwards, therefore, I rolled him off me and he lay on his back, hands to his sides, as if inviting me to do what I liked with him. And he was such a lovely sight, lying there, with his long dick sticking into the air, his slim build and his complete acceptance of the feelings we were experiencing for each other. So I kissed him again on the lips; then moved my face down to his nipples and kissed them; then caressed with my forefinger the area on his belly where I knew his spunk would soon be landing; and then at last I took his dick between my fingers and caressed that too. Soon my lips had enclosed his glans and he was gasping with pleasure as I ran my tongue round that most sensitive part of him, gradually moving from a circular motion to up and down with my lips. At the same time I gently started to ease my fingers up and down on the loose skin of his shaft and soon I could feel from his shallow breathing and the extra tension in his body that his orgasm was close. I withdrew my lips and glanced briefly up into his face. His eyes were closed but there was an expression of profound concentration there. 

"Keep going," he urged, "I'm close." 

I reapplied my lips, fondling his shaft just below the head again with my fingers, and soon he was gasping and saying "Urlen …. Urlen …" and I knew this was his signal to take my mouth off his knob and stroke more vigorously with my hand. He gave no other indication of approaching orgasm otrher than the soft "Uh … uh… " I had come to love and the sperm just shot out of him in several long spurts. I was left admiring the pools which formed on his belly. When he had finished spunking I touched the slippery knob with my fingers, sending him into another paroxysm of sensation. "Ah … ah" ..he gasped, so I did it again - and he gasped again. Then I put my lips once more over that pulsating glans and wondered that I had never done this before, so soon after orgasm. His spunk had a unique, rather pleasant taste, and I held my lips in place savouring it while gradually his dick lost its tumescence. Then I withdrew and lay quietly beside him, my hand now gently touching my own dick to keep it excited while he recovered.

"You're wonderful," I said, rolling over and giving him a kiss. And with my finger I joined up the little pools of sperm and traced on his belly the words "I love you." To begin with he couldn't read the letters so he asked me to do it again. This time, when I got to the end I felt that to say "I love you" might be a bit "heavy", given the circumstances, so I lengthened the writing into "I love your dick."

He laughed and said "And I love yours too."

And now he was ready to wank me, using his lips and fingers in the same way as I had done him, only he used a kind of "sipping" motion with his lips which brought me to the edge almost immediately. I had no reason or desire to hold back and was in control of myself only long enough to utter "I'm close …. I'm close ….Here it cums," before spewing my juice liberally onto my belly.

"You're wonderful too," he said, as he stroked me through the final, dying spasms, then returned the compliment by touching my super-sensitive glans.

I know of no words that adequately convey the sensation that a lover caressing your glans in the seconds after orgasm gives rise to. It would be painful were it not so pleasurable; and yet the pleasure, extraordinarily intense as it is, is close to pain. It doesn't last long for the glans quickly closes down on you and it's not the same if you do it to yourself immediately after masturbation.

After it was over we lay quietly beside each other on the bed, our dicks deflated. Then we began to talk. He wanted to say that this might be the last time we would have sex together because he needed to start a new life by finding someone with whom he could fully share it. He laid emphasis on the word "fully" because he said our relationship and the sex were great, but I was not free to join him on a permanent basis and I was difficult to phone during the week if he wanted to talk with me. He was very anxious for me to understand this and that he had enjoyed every moment we had been together.

I reassured him as best I could. Inwardly I was bleeding to think that I might not see him again to share the strong sexual attraction we felt for each other. The loss of his warm, gentle personality, such a contrast to Chris's less engaging taciturnity, cut me to the quick because we were both deeply lonely people at heart. But I knew that his grandfather, who had been fond and proud of him, had been his main emotional tie and that he had enjoyed the daily cares and chores of looking after him when he fell ill. His was a naturally helpful and generous character : he liked to be of service to other people. As he once said to me : "I like to give." Now he was left alone in the house and was still coping with the pain of bereavement. His mother, not naturally sympathetic, was unable to help. He would be happier with a new man in his life who could, perhaps, live with him and give him more of himself than I could. Part of me was still badly wanting my wife to come back and my children had never given up hoping that she would.

I asked him "Why not advertise then?" and he said he had been thinking of it but felt nervous about making the first move. It was, he thought, easier to respond to the adverts of others (as he had done to mine) than to advertise himself. 

"You get more choice if you do the advertising," I pointed out. "Why don't we sit down together and work out an ad for you to place in the local papers. It's free - and will give you a voice mail-box. All you have to do is work out the written ad, then think of what you want to say on your voice mail recording when people phone in response to the ad. Then you can listen to what the guys say and choose whether or not to reply to the phone number they'll give you."

"OK" he said simply, "We'll do that when we go downstairs. But first …." And he took me into his arms again and kissed me; our dicks re-stiffened and soon we were both wanking each other and going hell for leather for the second orgasm. It took considerably longer this second time and to my surprise, because I was the one who usually needed less stimulation to reach a climax, he came first; but the sight of yet more spunk erupting from his magnificent dick immediately had me on edge, and I came too, bucking my hips to get the maximum satisfaction from it.

We cleaned up in the bathroom, which he had also redecorated, and went downstairs where, with pencil and paper, we roughed out a simple draft advertisement stating his age and locality, the fact that he could accommodate but not travel far; and that he was looking for a long-term relationship. The recorded message was more difficult because it was more personal and he could say more that was meaningful. We decided that he should ask the men who responded to say a little about themselves, their age, circumstances, experience and interests and when they were free to meet. He stated again that he was looking, if possible, for a long-term and loving relationship. Jeff got nervous about phoning the newspaper, so I did this for him, reading out the agreed text of the ad. I was given the voice-mail box numbers for recording the spoken message and listening to the replies and told the ad would appear on Monday and in the next two editions. Jeff practised speaking the bit and then did the recording. All he had to do now was wait for next week. I left him, giving him a hug full of fondness, and promised to come again next Thursday to find out if anyone had replied.

When I got there a week later and asked how many replies he'd had, he looked at me in a kind bewilderment and said "I've had so many I don't know where to start. I had no idea there were so many people out there wanting to reply. It's costing a small fortune phoning the voice box on premium rates but it's exciting! And the amazing thing is that most of them are married."

Being married myself, though separated from my wife, I gave a rueful grin and noticing this he said "Oh, sorry" but in truth I didn't mind at all. By that time it had become, for me, a normal way of life.

He had made a note of each of the recorded phone calls he had received and we re-dialled to listen to the ones he thought the most interesting. They were all different, some spilling their emotions onto the tape, others nervous and hesitant and finding it difficult to say anything connected; and it was one of these that Jeff had fixed on as being of greatest interest for following up. The message, with plenty of pauses, went as follows :

"This is Lionel… er, I'm thirty-eight and er… married but my wife has thrown me out. I don't have …er.. a lot of experience but I ..er ….. I can travel …. I'm a signalman on the railway and I ..er ..could visit you any time when I'm not on shift. I've got my own allotment and… er… like gardening. …. Er…. I'm five foot six and I've got dark hair .. er.. what's left of it. You can .. er… phone me on my mobile" (and he gave the number) "anytime. I.. er .. hope very much you'll want to phone me." There was a pause and then a click as the phone went down, as if he had run out of anything to say yet knew he ought to have said more. I could see why he appealed to Jeff. 

"Have you phone him then?" I asked.

"Yes. He sounds nice. Quite quiet and shy, I'd say."

"Did you ask him why he wanted to meet a man?" "Yes. He said he'd always known that he was bi-sexual and that his wife had found out. He's got two children apparently."

"So have I," I reminded him.

"Do you think I should meet him?"

"Of course. If you don't like him you don't have to do anything or see him again. But don't invite him here until you've met him, say in a pub, like when you met me. Why not ring him now? If he's at work in his signal-box , he'll probably be able to take a call on his mobile."

In fact Lionel had finished his shift and was at work on his allotment when Jeff's call came through. Jeff, with his shop assistant's training, was fluent and business-like on the phone and in no time they'd made a date to meet on the Saturday afternoon at the same pub he'd met me. He smiled up at me as he made the arrangement and when the call was over he said "It would be funny if we found we'd already met somewhere." Then, "And now, lets go and celebrate" - and he set off upstairs.

The sex was again wonderful, but poignant too in that we knew that it was probably for the last time. Jeff had said that if he formed a new relationship he would be faithful to his new partner and I knew that this was what he wanted. I was deeply sorry about losing him but above all I wanted him to be happy. He was such a generous, warm and open-hearted guy that he deserved what he was looking for, namely a long- term relationship with someone he could love and who would love, admire and appreciate him. After it was over we lay for a long time side by side on the bed, talking quietly and just being friends. I offered to be of help to him should he ever need it and said I would continue to use the Builders Merchants so I would be seeing him from time to time. We held our embrace for a long, long time before I left his home and returned to mine. Both my children were out when I got there and I felt lonely and sad. Though I could visit Chris for sexual excitement, I was not fond of him in the same way; and I knew that whatever the world called it, it was a genuine sense of love that I felt for Jeff and that Jeff felt for me. The feeling was precious; and now it was being replaced by the kind of emptiness I had experienced when first my wife had left me. I scarcely knew what to do with myself.

However I decided not to contact Chris, anyway for a month or two, and I held off going to the Builders Merchants for four weeks. When eventually I went there one glance at Jeff, at the counter, showed me he was happy. He suppressed his start of recognition when he saw me but when I wandered into the back regions of the shop he found an excuse to come there and in a hurried conversation told me all was well and asked after me. "Lionel OK then?" I asked quietly, and he nodded and went back to the counter.

That set the pattern for the next few visits to the shop, then, a few months after Lionel had moved in, Jeff asked me if he could telephone me at a time convenient for us both. There was something he wanted to ask me. We arranged a time to talk and I walked out of the shop wondering what it could be. He seemed happy - surely there could be nothing wrong between him and Lionel? I had met Lionel briefly on one of my shop visits. He was there, talking to Jeff, who introduced me. It was only the briefest of introductions, but from the look Lionel gave me I reckoned Jeff had told him who I was. It was an appraising, rather than an antagonistic look. Lionel himself struck me as a rather unprepossessing-looking little man, balding, dark-haired, slight of build, pale-faced and with a tendency to be nervous. I wondered whether he could easily be made jealous. We shook hands and I moved off after nodding and saying "Hello." So I was very surprised when Jeff phoned me to say that it was Lionel who wished to talk with me and, if I was willing, could he arrange a meeting between us?

I said "Yes, of course," and agreed to meet Lionel at his allotment on the next Saturday morning.

It was a damp, cold and overcast day when I reached the allotment. Summer had given way to autumn, and autumn was giving way to winter. Lionel was digging manure into the soil and there were a few straggly leeks and brussel sprouts and not much else. At the end of his narrow allotment garden there was a shed with its door open. He was wearing a grubby boiler-suit and sweating slightly with the exercise.

He put his fork down as I approached and held out his wrist for me to shake as his hand was dirty. "Good of you to come," he said in a pleasant voice. "No problem finding your way here then?"

"Jeff have me excellent instructions," I said.

He smiled. "You must be wondering what I want to talk with you about. Come inside the shed and I'll make us a cup of tea. Then we can talk." His conversation didn't sound nervous or disjointed as it had when I listened to his tape-recorded message to Jeff; and it was I who seemed the more disconcerted as we made our way into the shed. It had started to rain lightly as we went inside and Lionel said "Just as well it's dry in here." 

Inside there was a table next to a small window with a chair drawn in under it. On it were seed catalogues, potting containers, a kettle with a gas-driven hob under it, two mugs (much stained) and the wherewithal for making tea. Hooks for gardening tools lined the long wall opposite the window and there were shelves all round for plants and trays. At the far end, opposite the door, which he had closed as we came in, was a mattress with half its length up against the wall and the other half on the floor. He washed his hands in a watering can that was standing near the door, took a handkerchief out of his pocket to dry them, pulled the chair out for me to sit on, struck a match to light the gas and set the kettle to boil.

"The vegetables I grow here come in real handy now I'm with Jeff," he said.

"Who does the cooking?" I asked.

"We share it - sometimes me, sometimes him. We don't have much money to go out and anyhow I wouldn't want my missus to see him by accident-like with me." He gave a wintry smile. "She doesn't know where I am and I don't want her to know."

"Do you have children?" I asked as if divining by inspiration that that was what he wanted to talk with me about.

"That's it," he said quickly. "I do - and it's about them I wanted to ask your advice."

Advice! I felt I was far from being able to advise anyone on the subject, having struggled as a single parent with my own two.

"I've got two children - a boy and a girl like you, only they're younger - seven and five."

I could tell that Jeff had been talking to him about me, but I didn't mind, having total confidence in Jeff's discretion. I waited for him to carry on.

"They're with my wife but I've been granted access to them. She knows I'm …" (for the first time he hesitated, then taking a deep breath) "She knows I'm queer, but they don't."

He looked up at me, anxiety written all over his face and I noticed what nice, light brown eyes he had. In a rush he said, "What do I tell them, when do I tell them, and how will it affect them, if they know their dad's queer?"

While I was thinking how to reply, the kettle started to whistle and he turned his attention to making the tea, which was just as well as I needed time for thought.

When he was ready for a reply I said slowly, "Being queer - does that make you any less of a dad?"

"I don't feel so," he replied.

"Do you love your kids?"

"Yes" - fervently.

"How have they reacted to your leaving home?"

"They want us to get together again."

"And that's completely impossible?"

"Yes - completely."

"Why?"

"My wife thinks I'm dirty." He looked at his hands, all dirty with manure and laughed. "Not dirty like this but morally dirty, corrupt, bad ….."




Older, Sadder, Wiser Pt. 03



"And do you feel like that?"

A shake of the head.

"How often do you see them?" 

"Once a week at weekends, or to fit in with my shifts."

"OK" I said heavily, "Here goes. Look - I'm no authority on this but I should say that the vital thing is that you should love them - and show that you love them, not by showering them with presents and definitely not by trying to make them take your side in a dispute with their mother. Take an interest in everything they do and help them where you can. Don't tell them about Jeff, well anyway not just yet, and be reliable - never cancel any of your pre-arranged visits. The world's changing. There must be thousands upon thousands of men who get married and have children who find that it's not all it's cracked up to be - and who find, moreover, that heterosexual satisfaction doesn't compare, say, with wanking or male-on-male sex. When they grow up they'll be more ready to understand this than we were when we were young."

"So you don't think I should tell them about Jeff, leastways not yet?

"No."

"If they're hoping my wife and I will get back together, should I tell them it's unlikely, impossible even?"

"Say nothing."

"And you don't think, so long as I love and support them, my sexuality will adversely affect them? I'd hate to think that I should in any way be responsible for making my son queer."

"It's unlikely, I should think. Homosexuality can run in families but not enough is known for anyone to try to prevent it. My own son seems completely "normal", if you see what I mean."

Lionel nodded and passed me a cup of tea. He poured some water from a jug standing on the floor into a small bowl and washed his hands with some soap before drying them. "That's better," he said as he drank his tea. "I'm glad I spoke to you. I'll remember your advice."

I didn't think it was necessarily very good advice but it had come from my heart and I didn't know the circumstances of his separation to be able to compare it with mine.

"You said sex was not always what it's cracked up to be?" he said after a pause in our conversation. I nodded. "That sex with women often doesn't compare with wanking or male-on-male sex?" I nodded again. "Tell me," he said suddenly, "Do you wank?"

"Of course," I said, surprised by the question but not wanting to avoid a direct answer. "It's a natural thing to do if you're on your own. And a wank shared is much better than a solo effort."

He looked at me, relief written all over his face. "I do so agree with you," he said simply, and looking at him I saw behind him, because he was still standing, the mattress half on the floor at the end of shed.

"Ah - now I understand what that mattress is for," I said, meaningfully. He looked round at it and then, half-ashamed and half glad that I had noticed, he said "Yes, that's for wanking on."

He looked at me closely. We were both conscious that the rain had increased in volume and was beating onto the shed roof and streaming in rivulets down the window.

"So even now that you're with Jeff you still like an occasional wank?"

"Sure…. Why not? …. I like to be in charge of myself sometimes…." An electrical current had invaded the atmosphere in the shed, translating itself to my groin, where I felt the first stirrings of excitement. To look at Lionel was nothing special and he was Jeff's partner now. And yet I was interested. He must have felt the electricity too because he put his hand to his crotch and said "Do you mind if I sit down?"

"How did you discover that you liked sex with men?" I asked.

"Long story," he said. "I've always played with myself and wondered how others did it. When I found out, I discovered that I enjoyed that too."

"Me too," I said.

His hand was now covering a bulge in his boiler-suit and looking down at it from my chair I could see he was gently rubbing it, while looking up at me in a questioning sort of way.

I was the first to speak. "Go ahead," I said, "I'll just sit here and watch, if you like."

He did like - and I was amazed when he undid his buttons and pulled out his dick. He was only a slight man, not very tall, with straggly dark hair going bald and no obvious sex appeal. Yet his dick was completely disproportionate to his build, being thick, almost flabby and much longer than I would have expected. Mine stiffened in sympathy.

"Ah," he said, "That's better" - and he started kneading it, hand over hand until it reared up, looking twice the size in the dimly-lit shed. I noticed one rather curious thing about it : the knob, large and fleshy, didn't finish straight in line with his shaft but was slightly bent downwards at the end. It made no difference to the way his foreskin slipped up and down over it but it looked odd. "Here goes," he said, and he fished in his pocket and brought out the handkerchief he had dried his hands on. "I always come prepared - just in case," he said as he laid it across his midriff. "I think Jeff would understand. Probably does it himself sometimes. Probably we all do. He's very fond of you, by the way."

"Yes, I know," I said truthfully. "And I'm very fond of him. But I know he's happy with you. He needs someone to love. Treat him well."

"I will," said Lionel, but it came out more as a grunt for by now his hand was flying up and down and he was clearly well into his wank. He stopped momentarily to say "Don't you feel like joining me" and though I was holding my dick tightly, deep in my trouser pocket to contain my excitement, I shook my head, feeling that a casual relationship with Jeff's boyfriend could lead to hurtful complications. He now reapplied himself with such vigour that I was astonished when his hand suddenly stopped flying on the downward stroke. Nothing seemed to happen for a moment and then there was a rush of sperm as it leapt into the air and fell onto the handkerchief he had placed to catch it. Then several more quick strokes and another held on the down-stroke and another gush of sperm. 

"Wow," I said, as his spasms came to an end with mere trickles down his shaft, "That was a good'un."

"Yes, I think I shoot better when I'm with somebody else. Turns me on, like."

I was turned on too and could feel pre-cum from my dick dampening my pocket lining; but I was determined to take no further part in the action. "Rain's easing off a bit," I said, "I'd better be going. Give Jeff my love and tell him I behaved myself…"

He looked up at me, still wiping his dick with a dry corner of his hankie, then stuffing it back into his boiler-suit. "Yeah," he said, getting to his feet. "We understand each other better now; and I'm really grateful for your advice. I guess you won't hold this against me?" 

"Not at all," I said. "I greatly enjoyed the show. You have one helluva jump …"

He nodded and put out his hand to shake mine. It was slightly sticky but I didn't mind. I wiped my hand on a dock leaf as I left the allotment and he saw me do it and laughed. 

Back home I found my son out but my daughter had prepared lunch for me. I gave her a kiss, opened a bottle of wine and gave her half a glass while I drank two or three. I watched a football match on tele during the afternoon and fell asleep in my chair, only to have one of those semi-waking dreams in which I was back in the shed again, only this time it was with Fred. He was wanking me and I was just about to cum when the oddity of the situation woke me up and I realized that I was near to having a wet dream. Fortunately my daughter was in the kitchen so she didn't see me stagger to the bathroom where I was able to wash the pre-cum off my dick with a flannel. When I got back to my chair the match had ended and I fell to reflecting on my situation. It was no use my blaming anyone for my predicament - neither myself, my wife, my parents, her parents or anybody else. I regretted that she had never been passionate in bed with me and wondered if we would have got on together better if she had. Unlike Chris's wife she had never denied me sex, but she hadn't encouraged it either, lying there while I made love to her, cumming far too quickly for her satisfaction. Maybe this was just the way we were made - and I wondered how many couples were well matched sexually. And then I remembered how well matched both Fred and I were and how happy Jeff and I had been together. Most men, I reckoned, if they really delved into their sub-conscious, were interested in other men's dicks and their performance. I couldn't regret being bi- sexual for I believed that most men, unless they were psychologically repressed or inhibited their interest in other men, were too. I had no sense of shame for what I had done. With one exception I had hurt no- one, even though I myself had been terribly hurt by my wife's leaving me out of the blue for a much older man; and I had maintained my loving relationship with my children. What I had said to Lionel in the shed had welled out of me.

I thought back over my past encounters with other men and realized that with some it was just for the sex. Maynard had had such a massive dick and balls ; Des such superb technique ; Chris, too, was sexually very attractive . But whereas the most sheerly exciting may have been Thierry and Vic , and the most exotic - Lomi , those of whom I had been fondest were Jeff and Fred . And probably, though it was just sex, the one who had most influenced me was Steve . My thoughts turned to him and I wondered where he was now and what he was doing.

I fell asleep again, and this time slept soundly.

1 See Maynard's Secret, chapter    in "The Adventures of Urlen"
2 See Camping in France, chapter 8 in "The Adventures of Urlen"
3 See Chris, chapter 14 in "The Adventures of Urlen"
4 See Thierry, chapter 4 in "The Adventures of Urlen"    
5 See Vic, chapter 7 in "The Adventures of Urlen"
6 See International Relations, chapter 10 in "The Adventures of Urlen"
7 See Sadder, Older, Wiser, chapter 13 in "The Adventures of Urlen"
8 See How I Got More Than a Haircut, chapter 11 in "The Adventures of Urlen"
9 See  First Fumblings, which is chapter 1 of "The Adventures of Urlen"



Older, Sadder, Wiser



I learned later that he never held back and came almost as quickly as me. The onset of orgasm for him was always marked by an in-drawn breath, then "Uh … uh" as he felt the tightening deep in his groin which is the preparation for ejaculation. Just before this his hand would lightly cup his balls, so I always knew when he was about to cum. 

After that, to avoid suspicion at work, I couldn't go round to his place every Thursday afternoon but as my daughter almost always went out shopping with her friends on Saturday afternoons we found that we could sometimes meet at my home at that time. Friday evenings were also possible as both my children usually went out while I did some of the preparation for weekend meals. We only met once a week, ringing the changes on the days so that my secretary at work could not perceive any routine meetings which would make her suspicious and maybe get back to my wife. Jeff enjoyed coming to my house as much I did going to his, though he was always a little nervous that my children would arrive unexpectedly. Fortunately, though we had an excuse prepared for his being in the house, they never did.

And so, for just over a year, we met on a weekly basis. I did see Fred (in our usual way) at Christmas but that was only the once. Jeff and I found most happiness in lying together in the bed and caressing each other gently until we were on edge. I learned in time that his first need, having been starved of it as a child, was for affection. He had spent his early life striving for love from his mother and it had left its mark. Love was even more important to him in the long run than sexual excitement and I felt and gave him plenty of both. I continued to use the Builders Merchants where he worked and managed to complete the kitchen enlargement project. When he served me at the payment desk not a flicker on either side betrayed our relationship. He had my phone number at work but with instructions to use it only in an emergency. It was quite a shock when, for the first time, he did.

It was a Monday morning soon after I had arrived at work that he phoned. He was very distressed. His grandfather had been taken into hospital at the weekend. He was taking time off work to sort things out but it looked as if the old man had had a second stroke. He had phoned his mother and would contact me when he knew more. I tried to comfort him but he was inconsolable and I knew I would have to wait for him to feel right about meeting me again. In the meantime I felt deeply sorry for him but powerless to help.

More than a week went by without contact, then he phoned again to say his mother was staying with him and his grandfather had been released from hospital so that he could die peacefully in his own home. Again he sounded very distressed and there was little I could do to comfort him. A week later I read in the local paper that his grandfather had died and that the funeral would be held a few days later. I had never met the old man but in a funny sort of way, because Jeff was so fond of him, I had become fond of him too.

A fortnight later Jeff phoned for a third time. His mother had returned to London and his grandfather had left him some money and the house in his will. He was still too upset to want to meet me but he suggested that I might like to meet one of his friends instead. "You mean for sex?" I asked, somewhat shaken. 

"It's a long story" Jeff said, and went on to explain how his mate at work, Chris, was circumstanced. Apparently he and Jeff had been intimate a few times. Chris was married with an eight-year-old daughter but his wife, a school teacher, was so scared about having another baby that when she did, she was so frigid that it was no fun for him. She allowed him to make love to her once a month shortly before her menstrual period so that there was no chance of conception and even then Chris had to wear a rubber and she wore a cap. Moreover she was jealous of him and since she was better paid than he was, she drove the family car (which she always referred to as "her" car) while he walked to work. He was, however, very fond of his daughter. For all these reasons he couldn't play away from home with other women, so knowing that Jeff was probably gay, he had asked him about it and one thing had led to another and they had met at Chris's house one Sunday afternoon when his missus had taken their daughter to see her mother thirty miles away.

"I think you would like him," said Jeff. "He doesn't say much but he's… er .. very masculine."

I thought of the row that Jeff had told me of, when he had caught his former long-time boyfriend with a younger man; but then I recollected that Jeff's anger had been for the secrecy of the two-timing. And here he was, with unusual generosity, openly encouraging a relationship which would help two of his friends.

"I'm not sure, Jeff," I said. "It's you I want to be with."

"I need to get things straight in the house and get over Granddad's death, first. I'm not leaving you, Urlen, but I need time."

I understood – and reluctantly agreed that he should give my phone number to Chris, whom I remembered as the monosyllabic, not very tall shop assistant in the white coat who had relieved Jeff at the pay desk when Jeff had first excited my interest.

A few days later, and to my very great surprise, Chris phoned to suggest a meeting – but that's chapter 14 in these little adventures of my life!