The Widower's Club Chapter 5
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 fifth 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
I've had a number of emails from readers who've said how they were in a similar situation to the guys in the story, and how they wished there was a similar group of friends in their area. If this is you, why not try to set one up? There are plenty of contact websites available throughout the world where you can be very explicit about what you're looking for. Perhaps even refer people to this story so that they get the idea! Imagine how different life could be...
Nifty is a wonderful free service for those who enjoy gay themed literature, but does need donations to continue doing its wonderful work.
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I slept very well – it was well past nine when I finally woke up. When I pulled back the curtains the sun poured in as a beautiful clear autumn day revealed itself to me. I stood naked for a while in the window overlooking the back garden, the luxurious warmth of the sun's rays caressing my body. For a couple of minutes I watched a dozen or more goldfinches picking their way through the rosemary bushes, then went through to the kitchen to make myself my usual pot of tea. For the first time ever, though, I didn't bother to get dressed. At all. I'd slept nude, which was also unknown for me outside of a severe heatwave, but this morning didn't even bother to put on a dressing gown. The feeling of total freedom as I moved around the house pulling up the blinds and drawing back the curtains was delightful. I did leave the blinds closed at the couple of windows which faced onto the front drive, however. Wouldn't want the neighbours complaining!
I took a beach towel from the airing cupboard, laid it on one of the chairs at the small bistro table in the conservatory and for the first time in my life, at least since I was a toddler, I enjoyed a meal in the altogether. When I thought about it, it seemed strange that it seemed strange, if you know what I mean. The central heating and the bright sunshine had combined to bring the house to a very comfortable temperature, so there was no need to wear clothes for warmth. I wasn't undertaking any hazardous activities or using any dangerous chemicals, so there was no need for me to be wearing anything for protection. I was totally alone in the house, and blinds covered all the windows that faced the rest of the world, so there was no need to wear anything to save anyone – myself or potential visitor – from embarrassment. But it still felt a little odd, sitting naked at the table eating breakfast. Odd, but very, very pleasant.
I was still in a bit of a daze at the happenings of the previous couple of days, and the changes these had brought about in my attitude towards things. I sighed as I reflected on how inhibited most of my life had been. Things had started off very free and easy – I'd been privileged to go to a school where I was able to skinny dip twice a week throughout my high school years. But despite knowing how much I loved the feeling of being in the water without a costume of any sort I'd denied myself that simplest of pleasures for over forty years. The school's swimming policy had come up in conversation with Anne once or twice, and each time I'd ended up agreeing with my wife that it had been a bit odd. How I wish now that from the start I'd told her how wonderful it felt to swim nude and had made an effort to persuade her to try it. Perhaps things might have turned out very differently.
Once I'd finished breakfast I spent the rest of the morning doing my housework – the dusting and vacuuming, emptying the dishwasher and doing the ironing – totally naked. All the time I was reflecting on what I'd been told by Alan about his Widowers Club. As I worked I daydreamed and started to imagine what their get togethers were like, with everyone naked and horny. The thoughts made me horny too, and my dick was up and down like a yo-yo as my mind ran riot with images of mature men engaging in lustful orgies. But I resisted the temptation to stop working and start pleasuring myself – I was enjoying the feeling of excitement waxing and then waning in the pit of my stomach and didn't want it to climax into release too soon.
After a quick lunch of bread and cheese I did allow myself an hour in front of the computer, however, following some more of the links Alan had suggested for me. One theme he led me to he'd described as "edging", a term I'd not come across before. (Although to tell you the true there were a lot of terms I was becoming acquainted with for the first time...) The first video in this sequence was of a heavily set bloke with a smooth cut cock continually stimulating himself to the verge of orgasm and then stopping abruptly to prevent himself from cumming. Clearly this was creating feelings of delightful agony for him, because each time he forced himself to stop he roared loudly in what seemed to be a mixture of pleasure and pain. Sometimes he wasn't able to control himself completely and a little stream of semen would leak from his penis and spill its way down his shaft. As each peak of sensation subsided the man would take a deep breath, rub any spunk he'd emitted back up his shaft and around the head of his knob and use it as lubricant for his next spell of wanking. By the time I'd watched this for a couple of minutes my own cock was as hard as stone and pre-cum was seeping out of the opening at the top of my foreskin. I covered the gap with my finger then let it slip inside my foreskin and spread the sticky liquid all around the head of by penis. I felt a huge urge to start pumping away at my cock, but fought to deny myself this pleasure as I knew from what I was witnessing on the video that the more I turned myself on before allowing release the greater the eventual sensations would be.
Eventually the man began to pump harder on his dick, muttering under his breath that he was going to cum. He then groaned a couple of times before letting out a loud scream. As he did so a jet of spunk shot out of the end of his penis and onto his torso, reaching up almost as far as his neck. Clearly very practiced at this particular means of enjoying himself he then deftly rubbed his chest and belly to cover his palm in his own cum and used the slickness as lubrication with which to continue lightly stimulating himself. As he continued to orgasm I was amazed at how much jizz kept flying out of his cock – it was like a river – ten or eleven spurts and each one producing as much cum as I normally managed on my first spasm. By the time he was finished and let himself lie back slightly his front was absolutely covered in white rivulets of spunk which he then proceeded to massage around his nipples and chest and belly, and into his belly button. When his pleasure finally subsided and he gasped in exhaustion I felt myself doing the same, so closely had I been caught up in the emotional exertion of his pleasure.
The next link on Alan's list was also describes as edging, but this time it showed two people – one tied to a bed hand and foot whilst a friend stimulated him to agony before stopping just short of what I assumed would be a climax. This I found even more erotic – the idea that the person being edged had little control over whether they came or not turned me on immensely. Both men were mature, totally shaven including their heads, and both had decent sized cut cocks. The person who was tied to the bed was propped up against the headboard, and his body had been well rubbed with oil or some other shiny and slippery substance, covering his chest, belly, cock, balls and right down between his legs to his arsehole. His friend's hands moved all over as if massaging, and whenever it reached the appropriate area he'd gently slide his open palm up and down the captive's hard cock, back down over his balls then between his legs to his anus. The hands would then make a similar return journey, the torturer clearly skilled at applying just enough stimulation to keep his victim on the edge of release but without pushing him over. Judging by the groans just the right amount of pressure was being used as the hands swept up and down the shaft of the cock one after the other, sliding over the corona then off the top before the other hand took hold just above the balls and began another cycle. The victim's pleasure went in waves – first moving in time with the friend who was doing the caressing, grinding his buttocks into the bed in a circular motion to assist the stimulation, but then, as the sensations began to build into something more intense, arching his back and raising his backside off the bed while making a lower, more primal, growl. His friend was obviously very practiced at this since he knew the exact degree to which he could move his hands around the penis without causing the captive to explode. From time to time during a period of respite for the victim he would climb onto the bed and rub himself against his friend, body to body, torso to torso, penis to penis, while leaning forward and sharing a long and passionate kiss.
The end to this clip I found very erotic, and in the back of my mind was the thought that I would love Alan to do this to me. After one of the long kisses the friend doing the stimulating didn't get off the bed, but sat back on his haunches and re-established the stiffest of erections in the captive. He demonstrated how hard he'd made his friend by pulling his dick forward and letting it shoot back hard against his body. Then, as he continued to wank the captive he began to play with his own hard cock with his other hand. Within a few minutes he moved forward onto his knees, gave a moan of his own, and shot several strong jets of spunk onto his friend's belly. He then leaned forward, scooped up a palmful of semen and began to cover the other's dick with it – all the way down the hard shaft and around the smooth balls. This was clearly the agreed signal that it was time for release and it didn't take long before the man tied to the bed was bucking hard and shooting a torrent of jizz into the air. After he'd produced ten or a dozen jets and was spent his friend continued to move his hand up and down his shaft, but much more gently now because after a few groans of painful pleasure the man being stimulated became more restful and allowed himself to continue to be played with. His friend laid himself down next to the victim and the two began to share a gentle kiss while the subsiding penis was massaged very gently.
It was watching this clip that I think I first really understood what makes man on man sex so intense, so special. For me it's all to do with men being so in tune with their own bodies and having an understanding of what it feels like to experience pleasure in all the ways the manly organs permit, that they are then able to replicate the sensations they feel with an even greater intensity for another man. No matter how skilled and caring a woman is she could never sufficiently understand what was going on in a man's nipples, or his cock, or his balls or anus to provide him with anything like an equivalent experience.
I looked down at the clock in the bottom right of the screen. My self-imposed lunch hour was now almost over, but I allowed myself to view one final clip. This one was of two mature men fucking outside in what looked like someone's garden at the height of summer. Alan had certainly managed to pick things to set my mind racing – so far there hadn't been a single clip that hadn't turned me on and made me want to take part in something similar. And I assumed that Alan had only linked me to things he also liked doing, so once he returned from his trip away there'd be plenty to talk about and explore.
I sat upright in my office chair and stretched. My cock was hard, and as my body pushed forward the foreskin slipped back a little and revealed the cockhead hidden inside. When I pulled it back I discovered there was a lot more smegma around the head than there normally was – all as a result of the mass of erotic thoughts and feelings I'd been having all morning, I assumed. I ran my finger around the head and inside the ridge of the corona and collected the off-white paste. I sniffed. It was quite an intense smell, and I wondered how other men dealt with pulling someone's foreskin back to suck their knob only to find the head covered in white bits. I was about to reach for a tissue to wipe it off when I remembered the dirty jockstrap that Alan had given me to bring home. I walked through to the bedroom where it was still on the bedside cabinet where I'd left it after wanking into it before going to sleep. I picked it up by the pouch and used it as a cloth to wipe the head of my cock clean. Imagining Alan and the other men wanking into that same pouch made me really hard and I was tempted to wrap the material around my cock and pump away until I came. But I resisted. Having just seen the beautiful agony of two guys edging I wanted to build the tension in myself some more. It was lunchtime. I resolved to wait until I went to bed before shooting my load.
I knew the forecast was for unseasonably pleasant weather for the next couple of days, so I'd planned to spend the afternoons tidying up in the garden. I was about to go into the closet to put on my gardening clothes when I stopped myself. I looked out of the window and told myself that, at least until mid-afternoon, it was probably warm enough to be outside with nothing on apart from my Crocs. I hadn't really taken much notice before, but I now realised how totally sheltered my house was from any neighbours. There were high hedges to either side, and I wasn't overlooked at all at the back either. There was no reason not to venture out in the nude, I realised, apart from the temperature. So I decided to give it a try.
Nude gardening was yet another revelation for me! To work with plants and shrubs and trees with the sun on my back made me feel so totally in tune with nature. I had to be a little more careful near thorns and prickles, but apart from that the couple of hours I'd set aside to work outdoors were very pleasant. I could see that once the warm weather returned in the spring I'd be spending a lot of time out here without a stitch on!
When I'd finished outside for the day I went through to the bathroom and had a long shower. I'm one of those guys who sweats a lot when doing things that require exertion, or in heat. When walking in hills during the summer my tee shirts become wet through within a very short time and by the end of a long tramp can become quite unpleasant both for myself and any companions. Even in today's temperatures it would have been normal for me to have had to throw a tee shirt into the washing basket when I stripped for my shower because it was so sweaty it couldn't be worn again. But so far today I hadn't worn a single thing! I could see that in the future my washing and ironing pile was going to be significantly smaller.
For the next few days I continued my journey of self-discovery. I didn't need to leave the house and didn't wear a thing for three whole days apart from outdoor footwear for working in the garden. I found the feeling of working in the nude so sensual that I did those chores I'd normally put off just so as I could experience the feeling of doing them naked. And when I wanted to relax I'd lay a towel on the sofa and recline on it to read a book on my Kindle or the newspaper on my iPad, or watch the TV. At times I'd find myself playing with my dick – working it with my fingers quite unconsciously, but without any erection or erotic thoughts, merely enjoying a pleasant sensation. A bit like we all do as little boys, I reflected. Before it's socialised out of us!
I followed the rest of the links Alan had sent me in his email, and made a mental note of what I might like to explore with him, or other members of The Widowers Club if they'd have me as a member. Edging was certainly on the cards, as was having sex outside – both in a secluded garden and in isolated places. The idea of getting naked and totally covered in mud was also a bit of a turn on, although I couldn't imagine why as I'd never dreamt of such a thing before seeing men do it on the video channels.
What had alarmed me a little was when I'd become aroused at seeing a man caned, the thin red lines forming on his naked buttocks. But the more I thought about it the more I thought I might like to experience it for myself, to see if it felt the same as I remembered from all those years ago. Pretty much everyone in England, boys at least, got caned at school in our day. You'd have to have been pretty unusual at the schools I went to to avoid getting at least a few strokes of something in the dozen or so years you were at school. Even us swots weren't immune! Alan and I and our group of 4 or 5 who were at junior school and then grammar school together went through a phase between the ages of about 10 and 13 when we flipped between being absolute terrors and model schoolboys. Hence we'd be winning prizes and scholarships and praise from all the teachers one day, and would be marched into the deputy head's office for six of the best each for some transgression the next. Or even on one memorable occasion, I recalled with a smile, on the same day...
That was the way it was back then, and we never really gave it a second thought. And most of our dads had a thick belt, of course, which they'd decided was far more effective at controlling lively boys than a good talking to or time on the naughty step. So, I suppose, the idea of getting my arse tanned somewhat perversely brought back pleasant (believe it or not) memories of my formative years. I sighed. Would I like to feel a cane across my arse again? Perhaps. I wasn't sure. Clearly it appeared as if Alan got some sort of kick out of it.
One thing I was sure about was that I'd be up for getting together with a whole group of guys to have some sexual fun. Some of the videos I'd seen involved a dozen or more guys, all moving from partner to partner, engaged across the whole spectrum of man to man possibilities. It did come as a bit of surprise that after having my horizons prised open by Alan just a few days earlier I was now so eager to cast aside such a lot of my lifelong inhibitions.
During the week that followed I watched more porn than I'd done in my life before, and each night ended up playing with the toys Alan had lent me. I learnt how to put on a cock ring, and loved the feeling of walking around naked with it on, my cock rock hard and sticking out in front of me like it hadn't done since I was a teenager! I also practiced nightly with his dildoes, working my way through the sizes until by the end of the week I could take the large 9" one all the way to the base with reasonable ease, so long as I spent a little while preparing myself properly. Until I'd brought those dongs home I'd never pushed anything up my arse before, but in that short time I'd discovered that having something up there was an experience so indescribably pleasant that I knew I'd be doing it for the rest of my life.
At the end of the week I made two appointments. First I phoned the `Special Clinic' in a town forty miles away to see about being tested for STIs. It was discretion that caused me to travel to such a distant facility when there was one at our local hospital and two others between our town and the one I elected to use. I thought forty miles was far enough away to minimise the chances of being seen by someone who recognised me. Despite starting down a more liberated road I didn't want to become the talking point of the village and being seen entering a sexual infections clinic would certainly get tongues wagging.
In the event, if the local clinic was organised in the same way as the one I visited, I probably didn't need to have been so careful. Having got the map of where to go from the internet I found the discretely marked door very easily, and situated just round a corner to prevent any prying eyes from seeing me enter. The young man who did my tests was so matter of fact that I could have been there for my annual `flu jab. Apart, that was, from the fact that after taking samples of my blood and urine, and a swab from my mouth, he got me to drop my trousers and bend over so he could take a final swab from up my arse as well. To be fair I had asked for the full range of tests to be done, though.
They were very efficient and discreet. No name or address was needed, just an email address (I gave them my newly created private one), and the results we with me three days later. Negative on all counts, which I'd expected, of course. And although Alan had told me that the club took it on trust that everyone seeking to take part in their activities had been tested and shown to be negative I forwarded the results on to him anyway.
The other appointment I made was to see Doug, the retired masseur who provided a waxing service for members of the club. Alan was returning on the Tuesday, so I made arrangements to see Doug on the Sunday afternoon so that my pubic region would be nice and silky for when he got back.