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Gay Stories
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Gay Male / 73
At This Age I Get To Reminiscing About The Pleasures Of Youth
Maybe I should keep this to myself. It is personal. But it is also a long time ago and life is a fabric of thousands of experiences. Today there is a new morality. It's new because morality is situational and changes with time. Back when this story took place things were different.
I grew up in a small town where nothing happened. All around our town were farms and farms and farms. I grew up in town, my father was the Mayor. He sold insurance, loaned money, own real estate, owned the small store and the gas station. He was rich by small town standards. When we were kids and we went around the town knew who we were and they would report back to my mother or father if they saw us behaving in a way that deserved to be reported. There were a thousand eyes, my mother told us.
Well around the time I was old enough to ride a bike but not old enough to drive I would 'take off' and not be seen till the sun came down and dinner was on the table. I rode my bike all around, but I learned to sneak off by going back behind the train station and down to the pond and I had a secret hiding place. I went their to beat off, I guess today they would say I was addicted. I sure was, I loved my dick and I loved to beat off.
There was an old man who worked odd jobs and people put up with him. My mother said he was a drunk. He followed me one day and caught me with my pants down and my wet dick in my hand. He put his hand over my mouth and held me down, he was strong, too strong for me to break his grip. He told me to shut up and he took my dick in his hand he sucked my dick. He really enjoyed dick because he spent a long time sucking my dick, and the truth be told I started liking it.
He pulled my pants down so my behind was exposed. He said it was going to hurt, he was sorry about that but I was going to like that more than anything else. He got on my back and he started, his dick rubbing up against my crack, against my hole. That felt good and then groaning he started until he got it in a little and more and more, and more and more. It hurt but it felt good. You know damn well it felt good. You don't want him to stop. He kept going and he was far enough in he started humping, the more he humped the easier it got and he humped until he came, with a series of jerks.
With a reminder not to tell he pulled his pants up. It was when I got to see his dick. An old man dick, wet and still have hard from fucking me. I beat off that night in my bed thinking of that dick. For that summer that was what was interesting. Going to my beat off place, having my dick sucked, sucking his dick which I enjoyed, and enjoyed holding his dick in my hand. And of course, getting fucked. I waited all day for that, Yes, it is an addiction. But isn't everything you like an addiction?
For some reason, there were no thousand eyes. My mother never knew. No one knew in my small town. Jack, that was the old man's name. Jack left that winter for parts unknown. I went onto grow up, and when my time came I went off to parts unknown myself. I joined the Navy, a farm boy in the Navy. There were lots of us, and over time I learned that a lot of farm boys liked dick and some really liked to suck and others liked being sucked and I found out that getting fucked meant you were one of those. If you did the fucking you weren't. I was one of those and I was discharged without ceremony. But by then I was older with experiences that I carry with me.
I'm an old man now and I look at these young men and ask myself. How many of them go to their favorite hiding place and suck dick or get their ass fucked. I'm sure there are quite a few. There's a new morality out there. But the pleasures of youth are the same.
I grew up in a small town where nothing happened. All around our town were farms and farms and farms. I grew up in town, my father was the Mayor. He sold insurance, loaned money, own real estate, owned the small store and the gas station. He was rich by small town standards. When we were kids and we went around the town knew who we were and they would report back to my mother or father if they saw us behaving in a way that deserved to be reported. There were a thousand eyes, my mother told us.
Well around the time I was old enough to ride a bike but not old enough to drive I would 'take off' and not be seen till the sun came down and dinner was on the table. I rode my bike all around, but I learned to sneak off by going back behind the train station and down to the pond and I had a secret hiding place. I went their to beat off, I guess today they would say I was addicted. I sure was, I loved my dick and I loved to beat off.
There was an old man who worked odd jobs and people put up with him. My mother said he was a drunk. He followed me one day and caught me with my pants down and my wet dick in my hand. He put his hand over my mouth and held me down, he was strong, too strong for me to break his grip. He told me to shut up and he took my dick in his hand he sucked my dick. He really enjoyed dick because he spent a long time sucking my dick, and the truth be told I started liking it.
He pulled my pants down so my behind was exposed. He said it was going to hurt, he was sorry about that but I was going to like that more than anything else. He got on my back and he started, his dick rubbing up against my crack, against my hole. That felt good and then groaning he started until he got it in a little and more and more, and more and more. It hurt but it felt good. You know damn well it felt good. You don't want him to stop. He kept going and he was far enough in he started humping, the more he humped the easier it got and he humped until he came, with a series of jerks.
With a reminder not to tell he pulled his pants up. It was when I got to see his dick. An old man dick, wet and still have hard from fucking me. I beat off that night in my bed thinking of that dick. For that summer that was what was interesting. Going to my beat off place, having my dick sucked, sucking his dick which I enjoyed, and enjoyed holding his dick in my hand. And of course, getting fucked. I waited all day for that, Yes, it is an addiction. But isn't everything you like an addiction?
For some reason, there were no thousand eyes. My mother never knew. No one knew in my small town. Jack, that was the old man's name. Jack left that winter for parts unknown. I went onto grow up, and when my time came I went off to parts unknown myself. I joined the Navy, a farm boy in the Navy. There were lots of us, and over time I learned that a lot of farm boys liked dick and some really liked to suck and others liked being sucked and I found out that getting fucked meant you were one of those. If you did the fucking you weren't. I was one of those and I was discharged without ceremony. But by then I was older with experiences that I carry with me.
I'm an old man now and I look at these young men and ask myself. How many of them go to their favorite hiding place and suck dick or get their ass fucked. I'm sure there are quite a few. There's a new morality out there. But the pleasures of youth are the same.
- That's Juicy! 25
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