Granddad's Jerk-off Lesson

Grandad's Jerk-off Lesson

My grandad was my father's father, who used to stay with us for a week or so, a couple of times a year when I was a child. He was a cabinet maker and carpenter, and when he came to stay, he always had a project to do on the house. We lived in a rambling old farmhouse and in the room Grandad used as a bedroom, he had turned the closet into a small bathroom, with just a toilet, sink and shower.

The greatest project he ever did, at least in my 10-year-old opinion, was the treehouse he built for me in a big hackberry tree at the back of our property. It was about 14 feet off the ground, with a ladder made of chains and plastic pipe, so once I was in, I could pull up the ladder and keep everyone else out. It had board walls about 3 feet high, and a sturdy wooden floor big enough for me and three or four of my friends to sleep on comfortably. Also, it was far enough from the house that I knew when anyone was coming, long before they got close. And I had a pair of binoculars that I used to survey the view of distant hills and woods. I was the envy of my school because of the treehouse, and after I learned how to jack off, I discovered it was a great place to take guys to compare dicks and beat our meat.

How I learned to jack off is something I give Grandad credit for, although he didn't know it

One afternoon Grandad and I were sort of wrestling and horsing around, and I reached between his legs, and brushed my hand and arm against his crotch. I realized Grandad had an enormous hard dick in his pants. I was maybe 11 by then, and knew what a "stiffie" was, but although I had seen my dad naked a few times, I'd never seen, much less felt, an adult man's erection. I was thrilled, but also a little frightened, and I didn't know what to do.

"Oops," Grandad said, and laughed a little. "Not to worry, nothing unusual. All men get a hard one now and then. Unless they're mighty unlucky, that is. But I guess it's time to stop. Go on out and play, if you want. I've got some work to do in my room."

So I went out to my treehouse, not able to think of anything but Grandad's hard peter. I had only passed my hand over it through the overalls, and pressed my arm against it for an instant before I realized what it was and pulled away, but the feeling of the heavy appendage against my hand and arm kept replaying itself over and over in my mind. I had a "hard one" of my own, and didn't have a clue what to do with it.

My hairless little dick was so hard it hurt, and every touch through my pants only made it hurt more. I wanted desperately to ease the pain, but was afraid if I touched it, it might split open, or some equally terrible result might occur. I picked up my binoculars more from a desire to distract myself than anything else, and started scanning the surroundings for something worth looking at. The distant hills yielded nothing, and there was no activity on the neighboring property, but when I passed the binoculars over the back of my own house, Grandad's bathroom curtains were open, and he was completely visible to me.

From the height of the treehouse, I looked into the small room, and saw him masturbating, although I didn't know that word at the time. There is no way he could have known I was watching, because the treehouse was so far from the house, and was hidden inside the tree's foliage. Also he didn't know my mother had loaned me her birdwatching binoculars, much less that they were strong enough to let me see him as well as if I were in the room with him. I think he was just in a hurry to jerk off, and it did not occur to him to close the curtains on a second floor window, with nothing outside but a long view of hills and trees.

He gave me an incredible lesson in how to stroke a cock. There was a full length mirror on the back of his bathroom door, and he stood facing it, with the bib of his overalls dropped, still wearing his T-shirt, and with the overall straps over the shoulders still in place.

I had never seen an uncut cock at that time, but I had heard that the doctor "had to cut off the end of a baby's dick" at birth. I didn't understand that at all, and thought it sounded like a horrible thing to do. My dad and I were both circumcised, and I couldn't imagine how a dick would look without the surgery. My grandad's uncut one instantly clarified the issue for me. Over and over, first slowly, then faster, he pulled the skin back, exposing the head, then pulled it forward, creating the appearance of what I thought of as an anteater's snout. I was thrilled by its appearance, and wished desperately that I still a dick shaped like that.

After a few minutes of slow pulling on his dick, Grandad squirted some hand lotion into one palm, pulled the foreskin all the way back, and used the hand with cream in it to rub circles around the dickhead. The overalls slipped off of his shoulders, and fell to the ground. He stepped out of the pants and stood with his feet wide apart, thrusting his hips toward the mirror. He pushed his T-shirt up to expose his chest and nipples. He alternated holding or tickling his balls with the hand he wasn't stroking with, and pinching and playing with one or both of his nipples. He grimaced and bared his teeth as if he were in pain, and his head rolled back on his neck, and seemed to have a life of its own. His eyes were glazed even as he watched himself, and he looked as if he were gasping for air.

I could tell something was about to happen when he began thrusting his hips faster at the mirror, and pulling hard on a nipple, and he pulled his foreskin forward to cover the cockhead, and began twisting his dick in a circle, hard and fast. My face was hot, my dick was as hard a tiny rock, and I was holding the binoculars with one hand and pinching my own dickhead with the other, because I was afraid I was going to pee all over myself.

Suddenly, he pulled the skin back, turned to the sink, and contorted into a twisted motionless statue while he came into the white porcelain bowl. After a few moments, he started milking his penis again, very slowly, squeezing out the last of the cum. He touched the opening at the end of his cock with the index finger of his free hand, and then licked it.

I dropped the binoculars and grabbed my dick with both hands through my pants, and before I could open my fly, I came for the first time, in a tingling spasm that made me think I was dying, pissing, and bleeding out my dick all at once. I kept holding my crotch hard with both hands as I lay on my back in the treehouse, and gradually came back to consciousness.

I wondered how I would explain to my mother that I had peed my pants, but when I looked, there was no moisture that showed from the outside. I pulled my pants down and my underwear were dry, too, except for a tiny wet spot smaller than a dime. And when I examined my dick, there was a drop of cloudy-clearish fluid in the pee opening. I touched my finger to it and then licked it.

My dick was still hard, and it hurt in a really weird way that I liked, so I started rubbing it. I remembered how Grandad had stroked his dick, and used hand lotion, so I spit into my hand and imitated the stroking motion, and it was unbelievable to me how great it felt. In a few minutes I had the same kind of spasm, and came again. It wasn't as much of a surprise the second time, and I could enjoy the feeling more than I did the first time, but this time there wasn't even a drop of fluid, although once again I felt like I was peeing on myself.

After a few minutes, I sat up and looked carefully at my dick. That was when I noticed, for the first time, a small patch of tiny white hairs above the base of it. I felt as if the mysteries of the world had been revealed to me, and that now I understood what it meant to be a man. --Anonymous