The Widower's Club Chapter 4
This is a story about man on man sex. If this offends you please do not read further. Otherwise please enjoy this story which is the fourth chapter of a longer piece about mature widowers who take care of each other's needs. Thanks to those of you who took the trouble to email me a few line of encouragement for earlier chapters – such notes are the lifeblood of any author! I'd be very interested to receive your feedback and suggestions for future chapters. My email is zlatyblbec@yahoo.com
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Alan gave me the adult equivalent of a child's party bag to take home with me. As I walked back across the village to my house I felt like drugs mules or housebreakers must feel when transporting their goods. No one could have any idea what naughty things were inside the sports bag Alan had lent me, but in my mind the sides were transparent and everyone could see what I was hiding. At one point in my journey I met one of our old friends, and had no choice other than to stop and pass the time of day with her. My conversation was so stilted from nervousness that she actually asked me if I was feeling ok.
But now I was safely back home, behind a locked front door, sitting down on my couch and able to reflect on the previous 12 hours. When I'd gone round to see my old friend Alan the evening before I'd assumed that we'd have a bite to eat, drink a few glasses of wine, watch the match and then put the world to rights as we'd done on several occasions since my wife had died. But things had turned out somewhat differently to what I'd expected. In a night of intense passion Alan had connected me with the latent gay side of my being, and I'd had the most tremendous sex I'd experienced in my entire life. In twelve short hours he'd changed the whole way I viewed sexuality in general and my own sexuality in particular. I sat on the sofa and thought about it for a while but I couldn't bring myself to feel at all embarrassed about what we'd done together. I didn't feel dirty and, more significantly, I was no longer looking over my shoulder to surmise what Anne, my deceased wife, would've made of what we'd got up to. Alan had truly liberated me. We'd let our lusts run riot and I still couldn't get over the amount of pleasure this had brought me. Alan had shown me that that my body was mine, what I did with it was of no one's concern but my own, and that if I felt something was good and pleasurable and I wanted to do it then I could. There was just one thing that made me feel a little flat, however...
Alan was going away for a fortnight. Initially he would stay a few days with his friend Nigel, the man from the nudist beach who'd been responsible for seducing him when he himself was recently widowed, before embarking on a road trip to visit his three sons. From Nigel's he was going to first drive down to the New Forest for one of his grandsons' birthdays, then up to Bath to look after two more of his grandchildren while his son and daughter-in-law took a few days away to celebrate a significant wedding anniversary, then finally down into Devon for another grandchild's birthday before heading back home. He wasn't going to be back until a week on Tuesday. Having found myself I was like a kid with a new toy and I wanted to play more and more, but for almost two weeks I wasn't going to have the opportunity. After months of celibacy, which in itself had followed on from a married life of genteel suburban heterosexuality (with all the inhibited connotations I now say that as having), out of the blue I'd been introduced to a wonderful new outlet for my lust and I just longed to continue my journey of discovery. But at that moment the only way I could imagine progressing my sexual awakening was in Alan's bed and he'd told me over breakfast that wasn't going to be an option for at least a fortnight. I think he'd sensed my disappointment, though, and had come up with the idea of putting together a `party bag' for me.
"A few toys and other stuff for you to play around with until I get back", he'd said.
I'd had no idea what was inside until I opened it when I got home. Anne and I had never experimented with stuff like this, so I was surprised at what the bag contained. There were three imitation penises of various sizes. As I got each of them out of the bag my palm naturally wrapped itself around them as if I was going to wank them. The instinctive way for any male to hold a stiff prick, I suppose! I wasn't sure what they were made out of, silicone was my best guess, but they felt just like I remembered Alan's dick feeling the night before – hard, but at the same time very soft to the touch and just a little bit bendy. And there were also a couple of small clips and rings of various sizes, some made of metal others of rubber. Digging through the bag I'd found that Alan had also put in a couple of jock straps! We'd had a discussion about these over breakfast, and he'd told me that these were what he generally wore as underwear these days. We'd worn them back in the day when playing rugger, of course, although I understood to keep things in place it was all `Underarmour' these days. He'd said he loved the combination of support at the front and freedom for his arse cheeks to move behind, and that I should try them. One of the jockstraps was freshly laundered. The other clearly wasn't. Finally, at the bottom of the bag, there were two tubes – one whose label said `Intimate Lubricant', the other `Adult Toy Sanitiser'.
I laid the contents of the bag out neatly on the coffee table and went to fetch my iPad. Alan had said that he'd dash off a quick note about what he'd given me before leaving for Nigel's and so I checked my email. There were several items in my inbox, and at the top was one from an address I didn't recognise – Nuddy_Al at Gmail – with the subject `From Alan'. I clicked to open it.
Hi Rog
Hope you enjoyed last night. You certainly seemed to!
I'm sending this from my confidential email account. If you don't have one already you might want to set one up for yourself – you won't want intimate conversations like this to be among your day to day stuff I'm sure.
I expect that by now you've opened the bag and are probably feeling a bit bewildered by the array of hardware! Most of the bits and bobs should be self-evident.
The dongs are for stuffing up your arse (as if you hadn't worked that out). You seemed to like having my fingertip up there this morning in the shower, so perhaps you'll enjoy something more? This really is a good way to find out.
I was amazed but also pleased by Alan's bluntness – this was a new world to me and I was eager to learn the ropes. He then went through fairly detailed instructions on how to fuck myself with these things – basically by taking it slowly and using lots of lube. As I read I could feel my dick beginning to swell and butterflies start to flutter in my stomach in expectation. I picked up the smallest of the dongs, held it in my hand to size it up, and imagined it sliding in and out of me. I did make me feel very excited. His email then went on to explain how to wear cockrings, what the clamps were for (my nipples, apparently), and then moved on to the jockstraps.
You'll notice that one of the jockstraps in the bag has been `used'. This is one of my little peccadillos, one of my many fetishes. I've always been turned on by underwear, and now that I do my own washing can indulge myself and jack off into it whenever I feel like it. It's a thing I have in common with a few other friends, so we share pairs of pants, boxers, jocks etc around, jack off into them a couple of times, wear them for a while and then pass them on. Do you find this shocking? If so just throw the dirty one into the bottom of the bag and forget about it. If you're not shocked, and even a bit turned on by it, then have a good sniff at the pouch – I'm the fifth bloke to have come in it since it was last laundered – and feel free to add your own juice to it.
I took a deep breath and examined the dirty jockstrap more closely. It was a black one, and there were off-white stains all over the pouch, both on the inside and outside, and on the thick waistband. I raised it to my nose and took a deep sniff. I was hit by the strong scents left by the men who'd used it – lots of semen and lots of sweat. It was a heady perfume and I rubbed my nose on the material, wondering what it'd be like to take ownership of a pair of pants or a jockstrap while it was still wet and sticky from another man's cum. Then I explored the pouch with the tip of my tongue. As I moistened the crusted semen I started to get a reminder of the taste of Alan. Holding the pouch of the jock to my nose I reached down and started to feel my cock through my chinos. It was now well on the way to being fully hard again. I still kept trying to convince myself that I should be ashamed of what I was doing, but that idea really wouldn't fly any longer. I knew I wasn't harming anyone by getting off to the aromas and stuff other men had willingly left behind, so what was the problem. I laid the jockstrap to one side but in my mind I already knew that when I returned it to Alan it'd be with my own deposit on it somewhere. I smiled at my confidence, picked it up again and took one last sniff, then laid it back on the table and returned to the email.
I strongly think we all have many harmless little fetishes that in normal married life we have to keep hidden in case we shock or upset someone. I now feel that I'm free to indulge myself, so long as I can find others of a similar mind.
He then provided a list of links to various web pages which catered for what he described as `a small subset of his fetishes' to encourage me to be honest about what turned me on. I reserved them for later and continued reading.
The good thing about The Widowers' Club is that we have all got over our hang ups and are now able to be very frank and honest with each other. It makes for lots of mutual pleasure, and if you can conquer any remaining hang ups you have it can be the same for you.
The Widowers' Club. Alan had told me about that over breakfast. It wasn't a formal club such as Rotary or Lions or anything like that. It was just a group of mature men in a similar situation who took their friendship to the ultimate level. Introduction to the group and inclusion in its activities was by introduction only, existing members of the group being trusted to have the nous to only recommend those who'd fit in. Alan had reckoned that the way I'd reacted overnight and his knowledge of me as a person meant that he was sure I would be a perfect member. There were just a couple of rules. First was that all the members had agreed to remove the hair around their cocks and arses.
"Everyone does a lot of sucking, and being hairless means no-one has to worry about getting stray pubic hairs down the back of their throat!", he'd said.
It did seem to make sense and anyway, after playing with Alan's silky pubes, I was quite keen to feel what it was like to be totally smooth down there again. One of the group was a retired masseur who'd done a course on waxing, Alan went on, and for 20 quid to cover materials he'd give you a thorough intimate wax followed by an enjoyable massage. Alan had included the guy's email address in his email, and said he'd drop him a line in advance to tell him I might be in touch.
The second rule was that when anyone joined the group they had to be tested for nasty diseases, and then promise not to play with anyone outside the group. This was treated as a gentlemen's agreement, so no proof was required that the test had been done, that the results were negative, or that guys were remaining faithful to the brotherhood. But the benefits of them all following the rule were so great, Alan had said, that he was confident no one transgressed. They all knew which side their bread was buttered, he'd said with a wink.
My phone beeped. "Bugger!" I said to myself. It was the reminder that I'd got the car booked in for its MoT that afternoon. I'd forgotten and had been looking forward to getting naked, lying down on my bed and trying out some of the toys Alan had lent me. I quickly gathered the loot I'd brought home off the coffee table, put it into the bag and went and hid the bag in the corner of the wardrobe. I looked at my watch. "Not that long," I told myself. "Then I can have some fun."
o-O-o
It was almost ten o'clock when I got home. The car had sailed through its MoT, then I'd gone straight to The New Hotel for the weekly meeting of the Rotary Club I was a member of. For me the experience had been a bit different from normal. There were about thirty of us in the club, most of us retired or pretty near to it, all professionals or businessmen of one sort or another. Unlike many clubs we still had no lady members, and were now quite unusual in that regard. The format was that we'd stand at the bar and chat for half an hour or so as members, guests and any external speaker turned up, then sit down to share a meal together, listen to a speaker of some sort and finally engage in general chit chat, or `fellowship' as we called it. Tonight had been no exception. The difference had been that tonight I'd looked at some of my fellow members in a very different light. Half a dozen of the men were widowed, and as I'd sat there the possibility had crossed my mind that they too might have some special friends. My eyes had furtively rested for a short while on a couple of the widowed members who I thought were pleasing to the eye. I'd started to day dream and wondered what they'd be like naked, on the bed, ready for action. At times it had been quite an effort to bring myself back to reality and concentrate on the ongoing business of the evening.
I went round the house drawing curtains. I finished up in my bedroom where I put on a single dim bedside lamp. I pulled back the bedcovers and laid a large towel out on the bed as Alan had advised to prevent lube or anything else from leaking onto the sheets. I retrieved Alan's bag from the wardrobe, took out the smallest of the dongs and the tube of lubrication, and laid these next to the towel on the bed. Then I stripped naked.
I stood and looked at myself in the full length mirror. I didn't reckon I was doing too badly for someone in their sixties. Not too much of a tum yet, I smiled, and slapped it. I looked at my prick and thought it wasn't too bad a size either. A little smaller than Alan's, perhaps, but certainly not tiny. I'd never been embarrassed by it in communal showers, at any rate. I pulled back the foreskin and let it stick behind the corona of my penis then dropped my hands to my sides and took in the new view. I moved my hips to one side then the other, wondering what it'd be like not to have a foreskin. To be `cut' as Alan had put it. It definitely made the knob at the end of my dick appear bigger, I thought, and I did like the overall look of what I saw. I started to circle my fingertips around my nipples, and within no time at all my penis began to swell a little. I smiled. A day before I'd never really played with my tits, but now I'd discovered how much pleasure could be had from rubbing them gently. My prick continued to swell, and I started to massage myself all over with the palms of my hands until I was completely hard and my dick was sticking out from my body and slightly upwards. I took another deep breath, then remembered the jockstrap in the bag and went and retrieved it. I rubbed the dirty pouch around my nose, taking in again the musk of the several men who'd used it before me. My penis bounced as I clenched and unclenched my buttocks as a thrill went through my body. Then, for the first time in over forty years, I opened the legs of a jockstrap and slipped it on. I pulled the thick waistband up and into place, dragging the pouch and leg straps behind it. My dick was so hard that I had to pull the pouch forward and over my erect organ to get my penis inside. Then I adjusted the legs and returned to the mirror to look at myself again. With the material stretched tightly against my hard penis the patches of white were now clearly visible. I moved my hand down and began to rub the mesh against my dick, thinking of Alan emptying himself onto the cloth that was currently holding my prick in place, and of the others who'd done the same before him. I tried to imagine who these might be, and whether I knew any of them, and I grew even harder as images came into my mind of a couple of my Rotary colleagues, standing naked together and both wanking onto the jockstrap while one of them held it out on the flat of his hand to catch their semen. It was a heady image. I looked down again at the pouch and I could now see that a wet patch was beginning to form near the centre seam. I smiled. I was starting to make my own contribution. I knew that within a few hours the pouch would be much wetter.
I gave a sigh of pleasure and expectation and left the bedroom. Usually, even when alone, I was in the habit of wearing something even if only sleep shorts, or a dressing gown, to move around the house. Tonight I just wore the dirty jockstrap, and the feeling was just as Alan had described – supporting at the front but with a real feeling of freedom at the back. Almost as good a feeling as being naked. As I walked down the corridor to the study where I kept my main computer I could feel that freedom in my buttocks as they swung their way across the house. Although we were well into autumn I kept the central heating pretty high so the whole house was cosy and even without clothes I felt quite comfortable.
I went into my study and accessed the email from Alan once more. I quickly read through it and then started to follow the links he'd given me to what he'd described as his `little fetishes'. Looking back I reckon he had several reasons for being so open in sharing what turned him on with me. On the one hand I think he was showing me that in my new world there was a seemingly endless variety of ways of getting sexual enjoyment, for certainly his links covered an eclectic range of different activities he claimed to enjoy. Then he was in effect challenging me to be honest with myself and to identify the things that turned me on, probably so that we could engage in these activities together down the track.
I hadn't realised there were so many sites which contained videos of ordinary people doing sexual things. I don't think any of the sites Alan directed me to showed professional porn stars – they were all amateur blokes, mainly of our own age, enjoying themselves. As I worked my way through the list I found myself becoming increasing excited by the thought that my old friend would from time to time also sit in front of these clips, possibly naked and probably masturbating as he did so. Navigating between the clips my own left hand inevitably slipped down between my legs and began playing with my dick through the crustiness of the jockstrap pouch.
The first clip I watched was of a man stripping off at the side of an estuary at low tide, then lowering himself into the shallow mud and wallowing around naked on the mudbanks. Over time he became completely covered in mud, even putting his head under the surface and opening his buttocks wide so that the mud penetrated as deeply as possible into his crack. When he returned nearer to the camera his whole body seemed completely smooth from the coating of mud, and shone in the sunlight. Then he adjusted the camera, and sat a short distance away from the lens and began to masturbate. I grabbed my cock through the material and found myself matching the rhythm as his hand moved up and down his slimy penis. We played together for a couple of minutes, he on screen and me in my office chair, and as his groans of pleasure sounded through the speakers I couldn't help but respond with a couple of soft moans of my own. I slipped my hand underneath the pouch of the jockstrap, pushed it to one side and began feeling my bare cock. I was now leaking a large amount of pre-cum so pulled back my foreskin and rubbed that stickiness all round the head of my penis. The sensation was so great that I had to stop rubbing and clench down with my buttocks to prevent myself from ejaculating. At that moment the man on the screen let out a might roar, lay down on his back and shot five or six jets of white liquid out of the end of his prick onto his mud caked chest and stomach. I felt my own breath become heavier as I watched him orgasm, and how he then rubbed the ocean of white spunk he'd made all around the grey-brown front of his torso. I hadn't come myself, but just watching him made me feel exhausted.
I started to work my way through the other clips Alan had linked for me. I found them all erotic to some degree, many exceptionally so, and ended up bringing myself close to orgasm during each one but always stopped stimulating myself in order to prolong the pleasure. Among the clips I watched were a couple where people were masturbating onto underwear – once onto a pair of briefs, once a yellow jockstrap; a video of a man being given six of the best with the cane which left six fearsome looking welts across his backside; and several examples of mature men fucking in different positions. When I'd watched a couple of these I remembered the dong that was waiting on my bed, and was surprised to see that it was almost midnight and I'd spent over an hour in my study watching porn!
I went for a pee and returned to my bedroom. Following Alan's advice I left the room in very low light and found a playlist on Spotify that claimed to contain music to meditate by. Then I lay down on the towel with the dispenser of lubrication and the smallest of the three dongs Alan had put in the bag. I wrapped my palm around it. It felt a bit like my own. I smiled. So the first time I got fucked it was going to be by myself!
I pushed the plunger on the lube and dispensed a decent amount onto my fingers. Then I leaned over onto my right side, extended my top leg over the bottom to expose the crack of my backside, reached behind me and began to rub the lube around my anus. Bearing in mind the advice I'd been given I took it slowly – first I massaged around my anus, then gently inserted the tip of one finger, then moved this fingertip gently in and out, venturing a little further in each time. I added more lube to my fingers then returned my hand to my rear hand and this time pushed two fingertips in very slightly to try to pour more lube into my tunnel. Then I withdrew and replaced the two tips with my middle finger which I gently shoved in as far as I could get it to go. I'd read about massaging the prostate, so I rotated my hand, turned my palm downwards and slid the finger in and out seeking a reaction. It didn't take long before I felt a trembling in my legs and a flutter in my stomach, and became a little breathless at the tingling sensation which started to pulse through the centre of my body. I withdrew the finger, then added yet more lube and returned back into myself, this time using both my middle and ring fingers. I was now very slick inside, and closed my eyes while waves of pleasure coursed over me as I gently glided my fingers in and out, rotating them slightly as they moved up and down my anus. It was if I were in a trance, and I drifted away slightly to the meditating sounds while my buttocks pulsed gently, tightening my tunnel around my fingers.
After an indeterminate amount of time I remembered the silicone dong which was lying a few feet away from me. I opened my eyes, removed my fingers from my backside and reached over to grab it. I rubbed lubrication all around it from the fingers that had been pleasuring me, and realised that although two fingers had seemed to fill me the dildo was going to be larger still. It was certainly longer than my middle finger and so had the potential to reach far higher up inside me. I took the lube dispenser and squirted a couple more drops onto the top of the dong, slicked the liquid down the shaft a little way then turned onto my back, drew both legs up towards my head and positioned the implement against my anus.
My hole had already been well worked, so the tip of the dong slipped in quite easily, but as I pushed more I felt my anus being stretched as the tip widened towards the glans. I took a deep breath and kept pushing gently. Within a few seconds the corona was past the entrance and my anus closed itself around the slightly narrower shaft. I pushed on further, and until I got in to the depth I'd managed with my fingers the dong slid in with little effort. Then, where things had not yet been opened up, I became a bit tighter. I rotated the silicon slightly, and this helped me make progress, as did withdrawing it slightly then pushing it back a little further than it had reached before.
I did this several times before coming to a stronger barrier, and when I tried to push against this I felt a little pain. Alan had forewarned me that this would probably happen. I recognised that I'd reached my internal sphincter, and that to pop through it I needed to push down hard as if taking a dump. Or at least that's what Alan had put in his note to me. I pulled the dildo back a little, took a deep breath, pushed down in my arse and pushed in the opposite direction with the dong. I felt the toy stretching me and progressing through the gate, but it was also quite painful, so I retreated and relaxed for a few seconds. Then I gave it another try and while I felt I got a bit further I still gave up before breaking through. I took some deep calming breaths, then tried once more and this time felt my sphincter open fully and let the head and some of the shaft through the gate. I dropped my head back onto the pillow and lay there breathing steadily for several minutes.
Once I'd got full control of myself again I grabbed hold of the silicone testicles at the end of the dong and began to push the shaft slowly further into my arse. When the balls reached my body and I'd reached the dong's limit I closed my eyes and began to move it backwards and forwards, moving my hips in sync with the thrusts I was making as if I was being fucked by someone. And not just by anyone. In my mind it was Alan who was on top of me, and kissing me passionately while gently pushing his cock up and down my arse. I made longer strokes with the shaft, and started to tremble from what I assumed was the veins on the imitation cock rubbing backwards and forwards over my prostate. I reached down and felt my penis through the pouch of the jockstrap. It was as hard as iron, and the material of the jock was now so wet it almost seemed as if I'd pissed myself. I moved the pouch aside and began wanking myself frantically. As I did so my anus clenched down on the dong, and I increased the movement of my hips putting all my thoughts into fucking the six inches or so of silicone that was inside me.
When I knew I wasn't far from coming I quickly pulled the jockstrap off, wrapped the pouch around my hand and began wanking myself with it. I bucked backwards and forwards for a few seconds – ten, twenty at most – and then started to explode in the most powerful orgasm I think I'd had. Each time I spasmed my arse clenched down on the dildo, which must have put pressure on my prostate which responded with sensations so intense that I almost passed out, but which in turn caused me to squirt again and the whole cycle continued. I must have shot eight or nine times before I fell back and took a gasp of air. My whole body was covered in sweat, almost as if I had a fever, and the pouch of the jockstrap was now wet through.