This isn't a straight-up gay fuck story – it's a longish build-up to a gay pairing between two elderly gentlemen which runs to 5 pages. So don't expect wild excitement and rampant action so much as excited anticipation and total pleasure. Please read and vote on this story with those considerations in mind.....
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Life's tough once you get 'over the hill' – or so they say.
And now I was indeed finding out the truth. I'd just celebrated my 70th birthday, much to my horror. It had been ok being 'just' 69 until yesterday but now I'd reached another milestone and another decade. I felt very old today. What on earth was there still to look forward to, at my age?
Ok – I had no intention of dropping dead or otherwise becoming a useless old bag of bones, so the future still existed. I was still pretty fit for my age – I'd completed the London Marathon earlier this year.....my fifth London Marathon and I'd finished once again in under 6 hours; hardly an earth-shattering time, but I'd made it to the end each year – and until my wife's illness I'd swum most days at the local pool. I always watched what I ate too.
I still wore the same size clothes that I'd been wearing for the past twenty years or more – helped perhaps by my relatively tall and slim frame – at just on six feet tall and 168 pounds I was adequately solid without being fat anywhere.
And for that matter, I still had most of my own teeth and quite a lot of my own hair – I'd lost my appendix many years ago but otherwise I was all intact, I reckoned. Among other trivia, I even still had my foreskin!!
And now I was a silver-surfer, loving the internet and the way it allowed me to tour the world from home.....and the porn, of course.
But now I was 70 – life had almost finished with me, I felt.
Because now, as a widower, I felt that I had very little left. Once my wife died, cruelly taken away prematurely at 65 by cancer, I was on my own, more or less. Our two children had long since married and had both migrated to other parts of the world. And those people who were 'our' friends when we were a pair now deserted me as a single man. Not only that but it seemed that every 'social do-gooder' seemed intent on getting me to partake in incredibly ancient activities that could only serve to make me feel even older.
So what was there left to do in my life? Oh – plenty actually but on a day-to-day basis, life was going to be boring if I wasn't careful. My wife and I had downsized some years ago into a two bedroom bungalow but I still had a nice compact garden – well, more like a large patio area surrounded by creeper-clad walls and fences so at least I had somewhere to potter and relax. Fortunately too, my bank balance was healthy enough for me to afford holidays if I was interested, although truthfully I had no great desire to go on holidays alone. My days of gallivanting around the world had long since passed.
So I was alone now and at 70, how do you 'pick up the pieces'? How do you get on with life by yourself? And sexually – where was I now?
Where indeed? Because that one thing was for certain – my sex life still needed looking after. I may have become old but everything still worked, even if it sometimes took quite a bit longer to achieve anything. But given the right stimulation, my seven inch penis would still become erect and my balls still carried a good load. All I needed was the desire to have sex, be it only with myself but the impetus was hard to find these days.
For a while I just meandered through life, not really knowing which way I was heading or even why because it takes a bit of doing to kind-of erase someone from your world after the best part of forty years......but gradually I found myself a bit more 'alive' once again. I settled into a routine; shopping regularly; paying more attention to the garden – and to my own appearance and generally trying to become part of society once more.
I don't know what started my new sex life off but I guess it was simply that I'd had no sex of any kind during the year or so leading up to and following my wife's death – I'd been too numb at the time, I think. Thereafter, I'd wanked occasionally but my heart wasn't in it, even if my cock had performed properly. But now my hormones must have piled up sufficiently to demand a release – and for some reason I found myself needing some plain simple sex. It had suddenly moved to the top of my agenda!
So, one afternoon, once I'd pulled the curtains and made sure the door was locked, I stripped naked and made myself comfortable at the computer, soon bringing up one of my favourite porn sites from years gone by. I won't tell you which one it was for fear of their site crashing from the sudden additional interest, but suffice to say it gave me access to video clips from right across the sexual spectrum and today I clicked on some of my old favourites – cumshot compilations.
Soon massive eruptions and waves of gleaming white spunk were splashing across my screen – and my hand was working away hard on my quickly rigid erection.
There's something about cum – to me it isn't all gay; cum happens with each and almost every sexual act whoever it's between and it's the most evocative and erotic sight I ever wish to see. The squirting of spunk is the culmination of a 'successful' act of stimulation. I feel sorry for those ladies who never squirt or produce their own version of cum; I feel doubly sorry for those men who are unable, through injury, illness or otherwise to produce anything.
Because the sight of a large glistening throbbing erect penis recoiling as it spits out its gushers of sticky white cum is the epitome of delight for me and could easily bring me to a crescendo.
Gone were the days though when it was my own tower of strength that was doing the gushing – nowadays a good steady dribble or perhaps one long streamer of cum was about the best I could offer.
But the pictures on my screen still brought my penis to orgasm almost as quickly as they used to do and moments after watching one last magnificent erection squirting fountains and sprays of hot cum in the air I felt my own cock jerk hard. Seconds later my body stiffened; my breathing ceased; even my blood seemed to freeze – until it all let loose!
Exhaling from the depth of my lungs; turning into jelly all over, I held my penis tight and felt the power of an unstoppable jet of cum as it left my body and erupted a good six inches in the air – maybe even a bit more!
"Aaaaaahhhh!" I cried, "Oh God! Oh yes! Oh fuck!"
The days when I could fire my sperm up and over my head were long gone but I hadn't cum so strongly for years as perhaps six months or more of pent-up spunk sprayed and ran from my cock to soak my penis, my pubes and my fist.
Eventually I collapsed; a spent husk with a drooling cock and a sticky wet groin and hand. The last few dribbles of cum were still at the tip of my cock; an occasional involuntary internal quiver causing another small blob to appear from time to time that in turn dripped onto my abdomen.
I leaned back, panting hard and slowly recovering from what had been the best orgasm I could remember, in ages. Phew – I'd enjoyed that!
And somehow that fantastic bit of excitement seemed to set me off.
Within days I'd changed mentally – within days I became a sex-hunter; prowling the net for the best cumshots; my now ever-ready cock almost as stiff as ever it used to be; my orgasms now more powerful and exciting than I could remember; my eruptions stronger than for years. I felt almost rejuvenated.
But something was still missing and it took quite a while for me to make the simple deduction – what was missing was a partner.
We all wank; some more than others but the majority of us use wanking to add to our sexual pleasures, not to be our sole method or release. Often in the past I'd find myself tossing myself off to relive the excitement and pleasure of a particularly good session with my wife but doing so wasn't an alternative to sex – it was an addition to our normal sex life.
But now, it was all I had......
So what to do?
