The Widower's Club Chapter 6
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 sixth 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 was looking forward to Alan returning with the same sort of lustful eagerness that I'd awaited visits from my girlfriend when I was an undergraduate. I'd discovered lots of new ways of getting sexual pleasure while he'd been on his road trip and was eager to get down to trying out some of the things I'd learnt about with a real live partner. My impatience was pathetic, really, and I could only hope that Alan was looking forward to enjoying some manly time with the new me with even a fraction of my keenness.
On the Friday before Alan returned, by which time I thought I'd probably exhausted the possibilities afforded by the toys he'd lent me and the website to which he'd directed me, I made a discovery that took my personal sexual pleasuring to yet new heights. I suppose that strictly speaking it was a connection I made rather than a discovery, as I merely put two seemingly unconnected items together and came up with something that resulted in absolute bliss! It all came about while I was having my morning shower.
Having soaked myself with water I was standing aside from the shower head and soaping a thick lather all over myself – a technique I'd first acquired at grammar school aged eleven where sixty or seventy of us had to shower at the same time using just twenty or so shower heads and so would rotate in and out of the water to get ourselves through more quickly. There was no need to do this these days, of course, with two shower heads all to myself, but old habits die hard. And anyway, I told myself, getting totally lathered up showed me that I'd soaped everywhere and could therefore confidently move on to the rinse phase, whereas if I tried to soap myself with the water running over me at the same time I'd have no idea where I'd washed and where not. At least that was my logic. My wife used to think it really amusing when she saw me almost totally white with lather (especially the time the waterboard killed the mains without any notice and I ended up unable to rinse off)!
Since my sexual awakening taking a shower had turned into a far more sensuous event, and my traditional way of going about things had encouraged this. So this particular morning I'd gone through the initial wetting phase, and had started soaping myself all over. Being both ancient and old-fashioned I still prefer proper bars over gels and liquid soap, and have stuck with the brand I always had in my Rugby bag when I was at school – good old Wright's Coal Tar! I don't use a flannel – just the bar of soap in my right hand which I rub all over my body. Thinking about it it's automatic and I follow the same route every time I shower, at least in the initial stages. Hand holding the soap starting on the left breast and moving up to the shoulder then down a little and under my armpit. Then I slide the bar of soap diagonally across and down onto my belly while my left hand comes into play, pushing some of the lather across my chest onto my right shoulder then down under that armpit. Then I soap all around my belly and move down each side, each hand eventually reaching the top of my legs where they continue downward, one hand between each leg and my ball sack. Next I raise each leg in turn and use both hands to soap down to my ankles, then return to my groin and soap all around my cock. In the past week or so I'd lingered longer in this area than I'd done for many a year! Leaving my left hand `washing' my penis I then move my right hand round onto my right buttock and soap all around that, going right down underneath and round my anus then back up the crack to the small of my back. Then I return the soap to the dish on the wall and start to rub myself all over with both hands, making a thick and creamy lather that covers the whole of my body from the neck down to my ankles.
I'd also started to linger a bit longer on this phase over the preceding few days, allowing my hands far more time to slide around the places which give me pleasure. Starting with one hand on each nipple, circling them then pinching them slightly and letting them slip through my fingertips. Then around my buttocks, feeling the roundness where they go under to join the tops of my legs and caressing them back up to where they meet my back, clenching my glutes as I go to appreciate the firmness that's still there even at my advanced years. Holding my palms flat, like I'm about to deliver a karate chop, and slipping them down one after the other between my bum cheeks, pulling the buttocks apart to expose my anus and working my hands down between my legs to explore down there with the tips of my fingers. Then back up again, dragging the flats of my hands across the underside of by buttocks and around my hips to my now erect penis. Then the standard routine now is to use the huge quantity of lather I've created to worship my cock. One hand at a time, starting at the top, creating a tube with my fingers and sliding it down the shaft. Then moving the other hand to take over at the top so that it's like my penis is going into a continuous tube. After the first downwards stroke my foreskin is fully retracted, and on subsequent strokes I'm wanking as I imagine a circumcised bloke would be doing it with no foreskin getting in the way, stimulation directly onto the head of my cock. It's pretty hot...
This gratuitous penis pleasuring phase had also become longer by the day as I'd explored self-pleasure more fully than at any time since I was a teenager. On this particular morning, as I was standing there playing with my cock, I noticed, in the corner of the bathroom, the shower stood we'd bought when Anne had broken her ankle and spent several weeks with it in plaster. Basically it's a slightly curved plastic seat, approximately eight inches wide by a foot and a half long, totally waterproof with height adjustable legs. As I continued to soap myself I had a flash of inspiration. The dongs that Alan had lent me all had suction cups on the bottom of them, and as the stool seat was plastic I thought they'd probably stick fast to it. And as the legs of the stool were adjustable I'd be able to find the perfect height that'd allow me to lower myself onto the dong and simulate what I imagined would be a good fucking. And finally, as the whole contraption was waterproof I could get it as messy as I liked from lubrication or spunk and then just hose it all down afterwards. It was a `eureka' moment!
I quickly stepped back under the shower and rinsed off the soap that covered my body, gave myself a very brief wipe with a towel to get rid of the worst of the wetness, and rushed into the bedroom. I opened the bedside cabinet and took out the middle sized dildo – the eight inch one – and the pump of lube, then returned to the bathroom. The tiles around the shower area were still wet, so I rubbed the bottom of the dildo in the water then went over to the stool and tried to work out the best place to locate the imitation cock. The stool curved down slightly from each side in towards the middle, and I decided to press the cock onto the left side, roughly halfway across the seat width-wise and facing inwards towards the absolute centre of the stool. If I adjusted the legs to just the right height, I thought, I could then stand over the stool facing away from the penis and lower myself onto it. The orientation of the dildo would make it just like I thought it would be to have someone stand behind me and fuck me. I did a few squats over the stool, and adjusted the legs accordingly, then pumped several squirts of lube onto the top of the dong and smoothed it all over the shaft, right down to the silicon testicles that were stuck fast to the stool. Then I squirted another dollop of gel onto my fingers and began rubbing it around my anus, squatting slightly to allow me to introduce first one then two fingers into my arse to open it up ready for the cock to enter.
I straddled the stool and reached behind me to locate the imitation penis. Its head popped inside my anus pretty easily, and the lube inside my tunnel and on the surface of the dildo helped it to slide in easily for the first couple of inches. Then things became a bit tighter and slightly painful as I worked the dong further inside, so I started to move up and down to ease it in more gradually, each time getting the penis to make its way into my rectum a little further than it had done the time before. When the tip hit my inner sphincter I shoved down as I was now accustomed and with only a little pain the cockhead pushed through, and from then on made quicker progress all the way up until I was sitting down on the stool, on top of the make believe testicles, with the dildo completely inside me. I paused to take a breath, then began moving myself up and down gently, the dildo slick with so much lube that it slid in and out effortlessly. As I continued to move up and down I closed my eyes and imagined another man was behind me, fucking me gently. It was inevitably the image of Alan that came into my head because I was now determined that early the following week when he returned I would lose my anal virginity to my lifelong friend.
I started to vary the way I moved on the dong. I lifted myself up several inches off the stool to bring the penis most of the way out of my arse before sliding it gently all the way back in. Then I sat on the cock for a few minutes rocking backwards and forwards so that the thick shaft put pressure on my prostate. I was surprised how much pleasurable stimulation I got from even very subtle movements. I circled my bum several times to feel the cock searching out all the corners of my insides. After several minutes with the dildo inside me I raised myself up, leaned forward, and started to move my body forwards and backwards onto the shaft with a bit more speed, as if I were being fucked quite vigorously. I clenched my anus tightly around the dong as it slipped in and out, and felt a fluttering in my tummy as I experienced what I assumed would be the same feeling as a penis inside my arse fucking me deeply. Without wanting to be crude, as I forced the thing up and down my tunnel, right in and then almost out of my hole then back in again, it gave me a similar pleasurable feeling to that I feel when having a really good dump. Does everyone get that? I've always enjoyed it since I was a kid, but I've never said anything to anyone because I thought it was a bit dirty. Now, as I was getting that familiar feeling from thrusting a dildo up and down my arse I began to assume that many men must find it pleasurable, because I'm sure many men do something similar to what I was doing. But this pleasure was far, far greater, because it didn't just stop with something being expelled out of my anus. It went on and on as the dildo slipped in and out, in and out, the sensations becoming stronger than ever I'd felt before.
The tip of my penis began to leak pre-cum as I continued to move up and down on Alan's toy. I went back to fucking myself gently once more, as I was hoping Alan would fuck me in a few days' time. I'd seen videos on the internet of men ejaculating purely as a result of anal stimulation, and as a tingling feeling built in my stomach and deep inside around my prostate I tried to get myself into that state, but after some time trying this I realised it wasn't going to happen for me. At least not there and then. So I grabbed my cock and began to wank it as I moved backward and forward on the dildo. From that point on it didn't take me long to come. Within a couple of minutes I could feel the start of the build up towards my explosion, and instinctively I started to move more quickly. Then, when I knew I was about to spurt I took my hand off my cock and focused on the dong slurping in and out of by bum. Within a few seconds, without touching my penis again, I felt myself start to cum. And this was not my usual spurting. For a start the spunk shot out with far more force, hitting the tiled wall of the bathroom at least a yard away from me. And I didn't come in squirts, either. It was like having one gigantic jet, rather than a number of smaller ones. I almost felt as if I was pissing rather than cumming, but it was definitely semen shooting out of my cock rather than urine. The feeling was exquisite – the longest sustained orgasm I'd ever had, for sure, with the driver of the stimulation being the dong going up and down my arse and rubbing across my prostate to bring me to an absolute nirvana.
When the stream of semen dried up I sat back on the dildo for a good minute or so, totally drained. Then I lifted myself gently off the cock and felt a final shiver of pleasure as it moved quickly down my arse and popped out of the end. Looking around me I couldn't help but smile. Here was me, respectable retired professional gentleman, pillar of the Rotary Club, life member of the local Rugby Club, principle trombone player of the local brass band, standing in a bathroom looking at a wall coated with my semen, and a bath stool with an imitation penis stuck onto it which had been up my arse and was still slick from lubrication. If only they knew!
o-O-o
Just after lunchtime on Sunday I drove the seven or eight miles to the nearby village where Doug, the retired masseur, lived. We'd corresponded by email over the week, and we'd agreed he'd give me an intimate wax followed by a sensual massage. For twenty quid all in it seemed a bit of a bargain.
Doug's house was on the edge of the village, up a long drive. As I drove up the track I'd expected to find a rambling old house at the end – a former vicarage perhaps – so was surprised to find a very modern-looking house. I parked in front of it, walked up to the front door and rang the bell.
Doug answered it dressed only in a pair of thin baggy shorts and a tee shirt despite the autumn afternoon being really chilly. "You must be Roger." He shook my hand. "Come in out of the cold," he smiled, gesturing inward with a nod of his head.
It was very cosy inside the house. Almost too warm for me, dressed as I was in my ski jacket, sweater, thick shirt and jeans. As soon as Doug closed the door behind me I unzipped my coat.
"Let me take that," he said. "You'll not be needing it for a while."
I gave it to him, and kicked off my shoes without bothering to undo the laces. He hooked my coat onto an old fashion coat rack near the door, then led me through to a large room in the corner of the house which overlooked the garden. It had floor-to-ceiling windows along two sides, some of which looked like they could be sliding doors. Despite the huge amount of glass, and the chilly northerly wind blowing outside, it was still toasty in the room.
On one side was a traditional massage table, prepared for action with a towel laid over it and a trolley standing nearby covered in what I assumed were massage oils and the various things necessary to carry out a waxing. On the other side of the room there was a large structure on the floor that looked like a bed without legs on it. It was more than just a mattress as it had a headboard at one end, but less than a traditional bed as it was set directly on the floor.
"We'll do the waxing first, if you like," Doug said, "and then the massage."
I turned to him and nodded. "Ok. Whatever you think." Alan had told me that Doug was in his late seventies or early eighties – Alan wasn't absolutely sure because the old man had kept himself in good shape and looked younger than many guys of our own age. He had a deep tan which was emphasised against his tee shirt and shorts, both of which were clean, freshly laundered and white. I looked around the room again, not sure what I should do. "Should I get undressed now?"
"Could be a good idea. Be difficult to wax through that." He reached out and rubbed my crotch through my jeans. He smiled, and there was a wicked glint in his eyes. "Take everything off, and let me have a good look at you. You won't be cold – the whole house is triple glazed. Swedish design. Made for places where it's minus twenty outside!"
I walked over to a small armchair in the corner of the room by the windoprstws, pulled my sweater over my head and put it on the chair. I looked around the garden, trying to work out where the neighbouring properties were.
"It's ok, I'm not overlooked at all." Doug had obviously sensed a bit of insecurity. "When the weather's warmer I push the doors right back and do my massages and stuff to a background of birdsong. And when it's really warm I take the table out into the grounds and work al fresco. Most men like that. So no need to worry about prying eyes."
I pulled my shirt from my jeans, unbuttoned it, took it off then placed it on top of the sweater. Then I unbuckled my belt, undid the buttons on my jeans, pulled them down to my ankles and stepped out of them. After placing them on the chair I pulled off the tee shirt I was wearing in lieu of a vest and turned to face Doug.
He nodded at my crotch. "Still won't be able to work through those," he smiled. "Look, would you be more comfortable if I stripped as well? I don't mind. I'm naked most of the time anyway." He didn't wait for an answer, but just pulled his tee shirt over his head and threw it on the floor, then slipped down his shorts and stood out of them. "There. As Mother Nature intended us all to be!" He pushed his arms out wide and high above him and stretched, making a Y, then relaxed.
For someone of his advanced years I have to say that Doug had an amazing body. He'd clearly kept himself in shape down the years because there few wrinkles in his skin, which was a golden brown all over. He was completely hairless and stood with his hands on his hips, a significant cock dangling between his legs. I couldn't help but take a good look at it, wondering whether his circumcision had been done as a child or if like Alan he'd decided on it later. When I looked up from his dick to his face he smiled.
"Come on then, chop chop. Off with those things."
I pulled down the old fashioned Y-Fronts I was wearing. I'd considered putting Alan's jockstrap on, but didn't know whether that would have looked a bit odd to wear them as underwear beneath jeans. Doug's reference to my underwear as `those things' made me wonder whether the jockstrap would have been a bit more fashionable, however.
Once my underpants were off Doug gave me a good look up and down, then moved closer and began to rub his palms over bits of my skin. `Hmmm... Apart from down here," he rubbed my dick as nonchalantly as if he were pointing to something on the back of my hand, "you've not got much hair at all, have you? And what you have got's quite fine." He moved around behind me, and ran his hands over my buttocks and down the backs of my legs. "I reckon that we could get rid of everything, not just your pubes, you know." He moved back round the front. "Leave the underarm, of course. But otherwise... this bit on your chest," he touched the area he was referring to and circled his fingers around my nipples, "this little tuft in the small of your back and then the lower part of your leg and that's pretty much it. As well as your pubes and your crack, of course."
I was a bit taken aback by how bluntly he was discussing my body and what he was suggesting we did with it. But also, in a way, it turned me on. After years of living a life full of inhibitions I'd met someone else who seemed totally lacking them, and by standing naked in front of him and letting him paw me all over I was helping to exorcise my own hang-ups. "If you reckon that'll work," was all I could think to say. "I'm entirely in your hands."
He laughed. "You naughty boy!" he said and his eyes twinkled again. "Come on, perch yourself on the table." He patted the massage table. "I'll get the instruments of torture..."
Doug turned round and began to fiddle with some of the stuff on the trolley, and I went over and sat on the edge of the table. I noticed that on his right buttock he had a tattoo of a crab. It looked quite sexy, and made me think of the scorpion I'd seen on Alan's bum. A fashion amongst the mature liberated male, perhaps? I'd found Alan's tattoo quite erotic, and having seen a lot of men with tattoos having sex on the internet over the preceding couple of weeks I'd occasionally wondered what it would be like to have one done myself. Anne had been vehemently against them and had had a fit when our daughter turned up from university with one. But perhaps it wouldn't be so bad. I'd have to have a think.
The waxing was painful, but not as painful as I feared. While I sat on the table Doug stood behind me and started with my shoulders. As the warm wax was spread around my skin I felt a bit of trepidation which grew as he smoothed the paper strip over where he'd put the wax and tensed because I knew the pain was imminent. Then, with a tug he ripped the strip off taking my body hair with it. It did feel a little sharp, but not too bad. Once he'd finished my shoulders he told me to get on the table, lying on my front so he could do the tuft in the small of my back and move on to the backs of my legs. The legs were a bit more painful. "It's because you've got more hair there," he said. "This'll probably be the worst area." I sighed and gritted my teeth. "Apart from your pubes, of course." I began to wonder what I'd let myself in for. I knew I could take a bit of pain. I'd been thrashed quite soundly as a child on many occasions – we all were back in those days – but that was all so long ago and although such agony had been a frequent occurrence back then I'd grown unaccustomed to it down the decades.
"Up into the doggy position," Doug said once he'd done both legs down as far as my ankles.
"Sorry?"
"Doggy position. On your knees, arse in the air, open your legs a bit. I need to do your crack and around your arsehole."
I hadn't expected this, but did as I'd been instructed. Doug pulled my cheeks apart a little and felt the hairy sides of my crack with his fingers, then probed around my anus a bit. When he spread the wax onto the hair between my buttocks it felt warmer than it had been on my legs – I assume that's because I'm more sensitive up there. He rubbed a strip onto one side of the crack and smoothed it over the wax. "Clench your bum as tight as you can," he told me. "That way the skin won't move too much. The more it stays in one place, the less painful it is." I clenched tightly as he held my buttock firmly with one hand and quickly he pulled the strip away with the other. Given that he'd just yanked hair out of my crack less than an inch from my bum-hole there was surprisingly little pain, although I did feel a bit of a tug around my anus. He did the other side using the same technique and with the same result. "Stay there just a minute," he said, and started to dot little bits of hot wax closely around my bum hole. "I'll just get a few stragglers."
Once he'd finished doing my arse he got me to turn over. "Doing ok?"
"Not too bad."
"Worst's over. Honestly. I do a really thorough job on your crack, and that can be painful for some, but it's well worth it. You won't believe the difference you feel the next time you wipe your arse!"
I laughed. "I look forward to it."
"No, seriously. It'll feel so much cleaner when you've wiped your arse without all that hair there."
He took a small cordless razor from his trolley, and trimmed my pubes a little. "We're looking for the Goldilocks situation here," he said. "Not too long, but not too short."
When he'd trimmed my pubic hair to the length he wanted he swapped the razor for his wax applicator, grabbed my penis in his left hand and began spreading the wax around my pubis. His grip on my cock was firm but gentle, and he squeezed it a couple of times so that my knob retracted further into my foreskin. He did this with nonchalance as he worked, effectively wanking me. I started to become hard. The state of my penis wasn't helped by the fact that as he leant in to work on me his own penis dropped into the open palm of my hand. As he worked his body pushed downwards a little, causing his cock to move in my hand. Instinctively I closed my hand around it gently and moved my fingers up and down the smooth shaft. My own prick continued to react, growing ever harder.
"Sorry," I said. "I seem to be getting a bit excited."
"No - that's good," he said. "Easier to keep your dick out of the way if it's not all floppy." He gripped my penis firmly and pulled the strip away from my skin tearing more hair away. "Almost done now, anyway", he said.
A couple of minutes later I was lying back on the massage table, my cock as hard as an iron rod, while Doug massaged lotion all over my pubic region. "This is the most sensitive area, so I'll put a bit of something on to soothe it." He ran it across my pubis then around the base of my cock, massaging it gently into my skin. As he worked he gentle ground his own penis into my open palm, become hard himself in the process. He applied a bit more lotion and ran his hands down between my legs, rubbing it around my balls, then continued deeper in towards my arse making sure the crack was well covered before finishing up rubbing a little around my anus with his fingertips. "Ok?" he asked as his fingertips circled my hole, finding their way inside very slightly.
"Hmmm" was all I could manage. I was glad the ordeal was over, that there would be no more sharp tugs as hair was wrenched from my, and that I could now begin to enjoy the rest of my time at Doug's.
He wiped a bit of the lotion around his own stiff cock and dropped it back into my hand. I closed my fingers around it and he began moving it gently in and out as if fucking my hand. He said nothing but just continued massaging all around my pubis where he'd spread the lotion until most of it had been absorbed into the skin. Then he finished off by dragging the last traces from around the base of my cock and spreading it up the hard shaft – working it in with his hand as it slid up to the top, slipped off at the tip then started at the base again until all of the lotion was gone. When he'd finished I was almost ready to shoot.
"Right", said Doug. "Fancy a cup of something, or would you like to go straight to the massage?"
My mouth was actually quite dry – probably as much as a result of the careful attention Doug had been paying to my cock and me to his as anything – so I accepted the offer of a drink, and Doug helped me down off the massage table. The first thing I did when I was on my feet was to touch myself all over to see what my new state felt like, starting of course with my cock and balls. It really did feel amazing – the same silkiness I'd felt on both Alan and Doug's penis and scrotum. I moved my hand behind me and explored down between my arse crack. It was an odd feeling – I was so used to there being hair between the cheeks that it almost felt as if it were wet, but no liquid was on my palm when I brought it back out. I moved over towards the chair where I'd piled my clothes.
"Cold?"
"No," I replied. "It's just right in here."
"Then no need to get dressed," said Doug. "Unless you want to."
So I followed Doug out of the room and into the kitchen, both of us naked and erect.