Older Sadder Wiser

The Adventures Of Urlen – Chapter 14

"Is that..er.. Urlen?"

"Yes."

"Funny name."

"Yes."

" This is Chris. Jeff said I should phone you."

"Yes." (I was becoming as monosyllabic as Chris, but I wanted him to make the running.)

"He said we should meet."

"Yes."

"Meet me in the shop, then. Come to the kitchen exhibition centre at 11.00 o'clock tomorrow. I'll be there." And he rang off.

Hurriedly I rearranged my work schedule and the next day I reached the shop in good time to search the warren of different kitchen layouts which were on display at the back of the shop. Chris was in a far corner, dressed in his white shop coat, poring over some literature. He hardly looked up as I came alongside him.

"Good to see you" I said conversationally.

"Can't talk long" he said, looking down at a brochure he had been pretending to read. "If you're interested, the only time we can meet is on my afternoon off. That's Tuesdays between 1.30 and 3.15. I've left my address and phone number on the back of this brochure. Only phone me if it's urgent and only on Tuesdays between those times. Come next Tuesday at 1.30 if you can. Wear your hat and carry your briefcase." And with that he left, meeting my gaze but without smiling. As he turned to walk away I noticed that his shop coat was open at the front and that unlike Jeff he hardly had a waist. He was stocky but not fat and his jeans rested low on his hips giving him that curiously short-legged appearance I had noted before. Now that I was looking at him with special interest, I noticed that he was very light on his feet. He had short, light brown hair, blue eyes and, as Jeff had suggested, a very masculine- looking face. My interest in him quickened and I was surprised that I had not noticed him before. I was puzzled as to why he had brought me to the shop for so short a conversation when what he had said could have been said just as easily on the phone. I took the brochure with me and went back to work, making a mental note of his address and telephone number in my head.

The following Tuesday I was held up at work and was a little late arriving, even though I had driven out at the weekend to familiarize myself with where he lived. It was a bungalow on a road with several similar houses, about a quarter of a mile from the Builders Merchants. They had small front gardens and a garage at the side. I parked round the corner and walked to his house, wearing my hat and carrying my briefcase. He was waiting for me and opened the door before I could knock. "Sorry I'm late" I said, "I got held up at work."

He just nodded. As he was expecting his daughter back from school just after 3.30pm and it was now nearly two o'clock we didn't have much time for casual conversation. He offered me a cup of coffee and as soon as I had drunk it he said shortly "Shall we go into the bedroom then?" When I nodded he opened the door which led into it. It was the room he shared with his wife, with a double bed and the usual furnishings. There were net curtains covering the window and the room was fairly cramped. There was a rack of her shoes and the wardrobe door was partly open showing where she hung her dresses.

I felt a little uncomfortable, a little rushed. I wasn't sure what I was letting myself in for. "Where shall I put my clothes?" I asked; and he gestured towards a chair by the side of the bed. I moved towards it and took off my pullover and shirt, then turned to face him to see that he was on the other side of the bed, about to unzip his trousers. He stopped when he saw me watching, so I said "Do you want me on the bed – or in it?"

"On it," he said. "I like to see what we're doing."

I turned back to my chair and continued with my undressing. It was all a bit sudden and I had only the beginnings of a hard-on. When I was naked I turned round and found he was already lying on the bed. His body was a real surprise – and a real turn-on! He looked superbly fit and I felt a tingle, which became a rush of blood to my dick as I looked at his. His hand was round it, he was fondling it gently and it was growing mightily!

I lay down beside him, still feeling a bit embarrassed but fully hard by now, and he rolled over onto his side and immediately took my dick into his hand.

"Nice one," he said, "Longer and stiffer than mine but not as thick."

I lay back and let him play with it. His fingers were not as sensitive as Jeff's but they felt good; and he soon had the foreskin rolled back and was stroking me with his fingers lower on the shaft than I did it myself.

"Would you like me to suck it?" he asked.

"Go ahead" I said, "But I operate on a hair trigger and might cum very fast."

"That's all right by me" he said, and shuffled down the bed so that his lips were close to my throbbing cockhead. The moment he took it into his mouth was delicious. I shuddered with pleasure and stretched out my arm to reach his dick. It was a complicated manoeuvre, given our respective body positions, so I said "Can I hold yours while you suck mine?"

He moved so that it was easier for me to grasp it.

Unseen, it felt wonderful in my hand : soft, succulent and excited all at the same time. It wasn't long but I think it was the fattest I had ever felt. As he bent his face over my dick and softly caressed it with his lips, so I felt his stiffen, then soften, then stiffen again in my hand.

He gasped. "Take it gently and we might cum off together."

And now he was sucking me more urgently and I was stroking his dick with longer and quicker strokes. I could feel his foreskin sliding in my hand and sense the gathering tension in him as he tried to time his rising orgasm with mine. There was no way we could stop now.

"I'm close" I muttered through clenched teeth and beginning to arch my hips upwards.

"So am I."

"Here it cums, then."

"Me too."

And he withdrew his lips and stroked me with his hand while I bucked my hips and shot my load with the force of a rocket, all the time keeping my hand pumping up and down on his shaft. He groaned and I felt my thumb and forefinger suddenly turn damp, slippery and slimy. He kept on panting and I realized, though I had seen nothing of his orgasm, that it had been very intense.

When his spasms, which went on for a long time, were finally over, he rolled over onto his back and I saw that my hand was covered with thick, creamy-white sperm. Spunk also formed a pool at the end of his dick in the hollow made by the foreskin closing over his knob, for all the world like snow lying in a small hole on the hillside. Some of it had detached and lay in a white blob on his belly and there was a long ribbon where he had spurted onto the upper part of his belly. His dick, warm, fat and soft, was now lying spent and curled on his pubic hair. His balls looked floppy and relaxed too.

He sighed deeply. "I needed that. I've been looking forward to it all day. I came really quickly for you. It usually takes much longer. That's significant I suppose."

I was not sure what he meant but took it as a compliment to the amount of excitement we had generated together. Then, with a look of satisfaction he lay back against the pillow, closed his eyes, said "Sorry if I go all flat now," and started to go to sleep.

It gave me the opportunity I had missed earlier to take a good look at him. His body, as I have said, was quite short and stocky but it was the body of an athlete. His abdominal muscles rippled and he had the upper body strength of someone who worked out in a gym. In his shop coat I hadn't noticed what a great shape he was in. I thought it extraordinary that his wife cared so little for him. His dick, even in its limp state, was like him – fairly short but stocky, and his balls were a good size. His sexual endowment struck me as being ideally masculine and his dick looked beautiful in the daylight coming through the window. Funny how some guys have dicks which are aesthetically pleasing – and some don't! Chris's didn't have a mushroom head standing out from the shaft. The knob, in itself a very beautiful dished expanse of that special purply skin full of nerve endings, was a smooth extension of his six inch shaft. It had a pronounced rim picked out in a deeper shade of purple When I got to know him better I realized it was one of those dicks which never get specially hard but which remain softish and supple, even at the moment of orgasm. I wondered if he often came home on his afternoons off and lay on the bed for a wank and a sleep before his daughter arrived home. I was again surprised I had not taken more notice of him before.

He opened his eyes. "We make a good pair," he said ironically. "Both married men, both let down by our wives, both with children. I've often come home on a Tuesday afternoon and wished I could have it off with someone, but if my wife found out, there'd be hell to pay. Usually I just have a wank. If she knows, she doesn't seem to mind. She hardly ever lets me make love to her and even then it's rubber on rubber. She doesn't enjoy it and I take an age to cum. She's mortally frightened of having another child."

"But you've had Jeff for company sometimes haven't you?"

"Very rarely. Our half days don't coincide. Saturday afternoons I play football and go down the club in the evening and Sundays she's home all day. Every now and again she takes Amy by car for tea to her mother's thirty miles away but that's not always suitable for Jeff if he's looking after his granddad. He's been a good friend, though. As we're colleagues at work we've avoided getting too close. It makes working together uncomfortable."

For Chris, normally so monosyllabic, these were long speeches, seeming to well out of him from a pit of loneliness. He was not someone I felt I could be fond of in the way I was fond of Jeff, but sexually I found him extraordinarily attractive.

I put my hand on his limp dick and he said "There's no time to do it again now. Anyway I never could do it twice. If she offered me sex tonight I'd be hard put to do it. Anyway, she won't."

"So how often do you wank then?"

"More or less only on Thursday afternoons. And Sundays – if she goes to see her mother. How about you?"

I told him I had no particular pattern. If I was turned on by the thought of meeting him or Jeff I might do it in bed at night, or I might do it to relive an experience.

"You mean you might do it again tonight, thinking of what we've just done?"

"I might."

"Lucky you. Just think of me lying beside my missus and wishing I could suck you off again."

"How did you get into this game to begin with?"

"Ah – that's a long story. I'll tell you when we next meet. Time's running on. We'd better put on our clothes."

And with that we both rolled off the bed and he pulled his pants over his gorgeous dick and I prepared to leave his house.

"Same again next Tuesday?" I asked.

"Come a bit earlier" he said, "And we can take more time."

That evening, after I had made the family meal and my daughter had gone to bed I reflected on what had happened at Chris's house. I would have felt a heel towards Jeff if he himself had not suggested that I meet with Chris in the first place. I wondered about the relationship between them and felt that Chris was more "male" and less sensitive than Jeff. Chris's white shop coat at work disguised his physique and his sex appeal, whereas Jeff did not wear one. Chris also had a kind of low centre of gravity because, as I realised now, his legs were relatively short compared to his body. He was only about five foot six inches tall. I realised too that being monosyllabic at work did not mean that he was always like that. Once warmed up he could speak with fluency and feeling. I looked forward to our next meeting and made sure I arrived on the dot of one thirty.

He was waiting for me and I placed a couple of bottles of beer on the kitchen table, which we drank together with a meat pie I had also brought. Having our lunch together like this was good and there was none of the nervous tension that had preceded our previous meeting. When we made our way to the bedroom it felt just right to be taking off our clothes and lying together on the bed. We were both horny and this time I was able to take a good long look at his dick. The most striking things about it were its uniform thickness from base to knob and the pronounced "spunking tube" from the base to where it disappeared just under the knob. Because the glans itself was no mushroom, the foreskin didn't slot into the space below the rim. Instead it moved easily up, down and over the large expanse of shiny purple- red surface, and when soon afterwards I took it into my mouth I had to hold the foreskin down with my fingers in order to concentrate on the nerve endings contained in that shapely knob. It was so big it seemed to fill the whole of my mouth.

I took it very slowly at first. I admired the flat firmness of his abdominal muscles and I could sense the pleasure he felt as I fondled his balls, caressed his knob with my lips and slid the fold of foreskin to and fro with my fingers.

"Hold on a moment," he said, "I don't want to cum immediately. Lets have a go at you."

We exchanged positions, with me on my back and him on his side, taking my dick in his hand. "Hey, this is a great dick" he said. "Must be at least eight inches long."

"May be" I replied. "But it's how it feels that matters. Yours is thicker – I like it a lot."

"Does this feel nice?" he whispered as he caressed my rod with his lips and tongue.

"Wonderful," I gasped. "Just keep doing that – gently."

"How long do you usually take to cum?" he asked.

"It depends. If I'm very highly stimulated – like now – not long. I've always cum far too easily, I think. I don't need much movement to make it spurt. Just a finger gently rubbing the sensitive hot-spot under the tip will do it."

"Show me."

He took his fingers off my dick and watched as I caressed my knob in the way that most prolongs feeling without immediately sending me over the edge.

"I don't do it like that," he said. "I hold mine lower down and take much longer strokes – like this." And he demonstrated, with two fingers wrapped fairly low round the shaft. His technique was very different from mine.

"Funny how we all differ," I said. "People cum differently too. I have about four or five spurts, the best of them always the first. But some guys have more than that and some less."

"It's my second spurt that shoots furthest," said Chris, "But they all feel great. Even when I've finished pumping the spasms are fantastic."

"Show me," I said.

"OK – but suck me first and then I'll take over."

I closed my lips round his dickhead and moved my head up and down. He put his hand on top of my head and gave me the rocking the rhythm he liked best. If he'd had a hand round my dick too I'd have cum off in a flash. He took his time. About four minutes into this stimulation he became much more urgent, rocking my head up and down in a quicker, rougher rhythm. He began to pant and moan; and then with a quick movement of the hand he withdrew his pulsating tool from my mouth, threw back his head, thrust his hips forward and wanked his dick with long, firm strokes, wrapping two fingers, as he had shown me, round the shaft quite close to the base. A "show" of creamy white spunk appeared at the tip as his foreskin slipped up and down, only partly exposing the glans. Then a spurt of sperm shot out, followed shortly afterwards by another which flew high onto his chest. His hand flew as more spurts burst out. Looking up at his face I saw that he had his eyes closed and his lips drawn back in a rictus which could easily have been mistaken for an expression of pain. I noticed, too, that the muscles of his midriff were shuddering and creasing with the spasms of his orgasm. It reminded me forcibly of Des (see Camping in France, Chapter 8 of these Adventures) and was perhaps the most amazing orgasm I had ever witnessed, making mine seem somehow humble and less exciting.

His spunk was thick and white; and some of it dribbled onto his fingers as he slowed his movement to a stop. Gradually the soft hardness left his dick until it was all soft, lying used and forlorn on his belly. I realised then that I enjoyed watching another man masturbate in cosy, intimate surroundings as much as having my own hand on his dick when he spunked.

Chris sighed deeply. "I've never shown anyone before," he said, "But that's how I do it."

"You're wonderful," I said – and meant it. "You're a very virile person."

"You're not so bad yourself," he said, smiling. "Give me a moment or two and I'll be ready to see how you do it."

And I went on to show him. He was surprised that I concentrated on the tip and he replaced my hand with his to copy what I had been doing. "That's it," I said, "Just keep rubbing very gently and it'll send me over the edge."

It did. As he felt my orgasm mounting he slipped his hand down to the shaft and stroked it vigorously. I rather wished he had kept it up at the top but it made no difference to the result : a jet of spunk erupting as the first ejaculation, followed by some smaller spurts, then the end-dribbles.

"I see what you mean" he said. "Jeff's more like you than me, I think."

"Tell me about you and Jeff" I said. "How long have you been friends?"

"You mean, how long have we been having sex together? Not long – and not very often. I was employed by the firm before him," and he went on to tell me that Jeff had arrived two years ago, when his grandfather first became ill. The owners of the Builders Merchants business were Jeff's cousins, so they'd given him the job as the best means of supporting his Granddad. Chris had helped Jeff get established and had admired the way he picked up the business. Everyone liked him, both customers and staff, and people were often amused by his wide belt, his corduroy trousers and his pullovers. He didn't seem to have a girl-friend and some were suspicious that he might be queer, but his excellence at the job and his devotion to his grandfather, plus the fact that he was related to the owners silenced any gossip. He was a sympathetic listener and it was after Chris had told him about his life at home that they became friends. They met each other in the pub on Sunday evenings and it was on one of these occasions that Chris had told him that his wife had taken their daughter to see her mother that afternoon.

"You don't go then?" Jeff had said; and Chris had told him how he couldn't stand his mother-in-law and how welcome he found the quietness of the house after they had gone. "I love Amy, my daughter" he had said, "But time on my own is precious."

"Precious? Precious... for what?" Jeff had asked, leadingly; and Chris had blushed, looked down at his feet and stammered "You know..."

"If you mean, you have a wank when they're out, well I imagine lots of married men do that," said Jeff. "I'm not married, nor likely to be, but I often have a wank on Sundays as a way of relaxing. Tell me, have you ever had a wank with another man?"

Chris had felt uncomfortable but compelled to tell the truth. "When I was younger I messed about a bit," he confessed. "And I've often wondered what it would be like now. I don't have anything against it, if you see what I mean, as long as there's nothing anal. I shouldn't like that."

Their eyes met and an understanding dawned. "Next time she goes to see her mum, let me know," said Jeff; and that was all that needed to be said. They had met four weeks later, Jeff had made everything easy for him, and he had enjoyed it. It was just a pity they could meet so rarely. Their half days didn't coincide and at the weekends they only had Chris's place to go to when his wife went to visit her mother. He hadn't minded when Jeff had started seeing me; and now, in view of what had happened, he was glad of it.