Several decades ago, I was a young and wet behind the ears design student, studying at art college.
I had just turned 20 years old, was still a virgin and like any lad of that age, I was a pent up force of testosterone itching to break out. Under the bed in my digs were a stack of Penthouse and Mayfair's and I have no idea what the landlady thought when my sheets went off to laundry each week!
In one of the magazines was a photo shoot with a couple, making out in a field on top of a hill somewhere in England. The dimension of a naked guy doing what I dreamt of doing gave an added thrill and I realised that I spent as much time looking at his hard cock as I did at her inviting pussy as I wanked myself off yet again.
At the college, there was an older bloke (actually, he was probably only around 45 but to a 20 year old, everyone past 30 seemed to be 60 years old). He ran the college store and was known to be an awkward and difficult customer, being a jobs worth' whenever he could to the poor students. He had a huge Honda motor bike which he cruised in to the car park on, clad in bikers leathers doing the Easy Rider' bit for all to see. His hands were `workers' hands ^Ö large, rough, generally oil stained from his bike and that rather matched his whole demeanour. Rough and ready, with not a great deal of charm.
For some reason, he had a soft spot for me though. I was a pretty looking boy back then and oh so innocent when it came to spotting what people wanted. In fact, part of the reason I was not getting laid was that girls had failed to appreciate that I needed a big flashing neon sign saying `shag me' flashing on their forehead.
So as his friendly approach continued, I thought nothing more of it and was simply pleased that he wasn't grumpy with me. In the course of the first term, he had asked where I was living and I had no reason not to give him the detail.
One night, a few days later, there was a knock on the door of my digs and there stood the biker storeman with a bundle of things under his arm.
`Who is it?' asked my very timid land lady who backed away at the biker vision standing under the porch light.
It's OK Mrs P' I reassured her. This is Stan, who runs the store at college'.
At that, Stan was let across the threshold and while Mrs P went back in to her sitting room, we walked down the hall to the back kitchen.
I was very surprised at the visit and rather thrown by it. Stan had it all mapped out though, taking off his crash helmet and pulling out a chair.
`Ain't you going to offer me a drink?' he asked and snorted when all I could offer was a cup of tea.
He opened up the package under his arms and brought out a great sheaf of water colour paper, brushes and paints from the store. For a poor student, the stock represented a huge slice of my grant, but here he was apparently giving it to me.
`It's a present for you. OK? Just don't tell anyone at the college that I've re-appropriated it.
And before I could stammer out and awkward yet grateful acceptance, he moved swiftly on.
`Got a girlfriend have you?'
Before I could answer that, he was off on a series of increasingly lewd tales about the women he had had while serving in the Navy and spoke in great detail about what he had done with his tongue, his cock and his fingers to a long list of eager beavers. But rather than talk in detail about the women, I realised that he was describing himself and his actions in more detail. The images of the shagging couple in my favourite magazine came to mind and I worked hard to avoid getting a hard on.
At that point, Mrs P emerged, ready to cook her tea and innocently suggested that `you boys don't want me in the way ^Ö why don't you go and continue your chat in your room'.
She had been strict about saying `no visitors upstairs' when I had taken the room, but clearly felt comfortable on this occasion. I mean, what on earth could an older and younger gentleman do other than talk?
I scooped up the art material and lead the way up the narrow stairs to my bedroom over the kitchen and through the floor we could hear the pots and pans being readied.
Stan sat on my bed, looked me in the eye and said `Well aren't you going to thank me for the presents' while giving the crotch on his leather biker trousers a clear caress. I was now confused, embarrassed and I have to admit, not a little turned on.
`I really don't know what to say' I stammered, aware that Stan's eyes were feasting on my decent cock bulge in a very tight pair of denims.
Oh I think you do, pretty boy' he said. I've watched you since the start of college, overflowing with lust and nothing to give you and outlet other than your own hand. Well I'm here to give you some help. Let your Uncle Stan have a look at that weapon of yours'.
I don't know why I agreed, but I found myself tentatively unbuttoning my fly and pulling out a rapidly hardening cock.
`Oh boy, that's a beauty' he whispered and stuck his finger in to the top of my waist band and pulled me forward towards him.
He swiftly undid the top button, opened the belt buckle and had my trousers and pants down around my ankles as his hard and calloused working mans hand enveloped my prick. I thought I would die on the spot and made frantic efforts not to moan and alert Mrs P downstairs.
`And the shirt' he demanded thickly, watching as the tight t-shirt came over my head to reveal my smooth, taut and now totally naked body in front of him.
I have a decent 7" and a large pair of balls which were now straining from the excitement ^Ö tight, engorged and very, very aroused.
`Come to the end of the bed' he said and I found myself pressed back against the end board, my butt cheeks resting on the top bar, my legs angled out at 45 degrees and my back supported by my arms behind me, as they rested on the mattress.
I was fully on display, fully under his spell and wanting to be touched and wanked with an urgency that was obvious.
The first thing I felt was his stubbly chin going down on my wet and engorged helmet and he made loud slurping and sucking sounds as he took my length in his mouth. He was rough as he did it and his hands on my balls were certainly not gentle as he screwed them around. I looked down at this filthy sight ^Ö a dirty old letch having his way with me for a few sheets of paper and pots of paint and that made me hornier still.
He started to wank me off, while at the same time tugging his old man out of his leather trousers and doing the same to himself. I was clearly satisfying an animal lust and any sensitivity towards me was not obviously apparent. But despite being used in such a dirty way, it only served to arouse me more and when I came, it was in great spurts of cum arcing up and out and on to his leathers as spasm after spasm shot through me. At that point he came too ^Ö miserable dribbles of spunk from his well worn old man, but it seemed to satisfy him.
I fell back on my bed, totally spent, not caring that my nudity and still hard and twitching cock was on show, loving the feeling of being brought to orgasm by a hand other than my own.
Having got what he came for, Stan was quickly back to his grumpy self saying that he would let himself out but would be back with more materials from the store if I fancied a repeat.
Whether that incident made me more confident is a matter of debate but within the next ten days I had taken flirting and snogging with a girl student to the next stage and had broken my virginity in a rather rushed session at a party held at a mates digs. After that, there was no stopping me, but I'll always be grateful to Stan (and the hapless Mrs P) for letting me see the delights that guys as well as girls can give!