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A Wanker's Lament

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With poetic license, this is my true story!

 

A Wanker's Lament


When I was just a little boy,


I thought it was a funny toy.


When I was but two or three,


I used it so to spray my pee.


But, one night, when just e.......,


I entered into my seventh heaven.


Lying in bed, I played with my cock


And felt an urge my legs to lock


And then came a great sensation.


My own, very first, ejaculation!


In the morn, my face turned red -


The sheet was stained in the bed!


So, I became a callow youth


And I'll now tell you all the truth.


A wanker I was on every day


Except for twice on each Sunday.


Most of the time my dick was hard


My hand around it, well on guard.


Although I did it on my own


My secret sin, all alone


Until, one day, my best friend


Wrestled me to the end


And we found our cocks were stiff,


Not the moment for a tiff.


Down came our pants in a flash


Just the time for a bash


With our hands on the other's thing


All the bells began to ring,


As we made each other shoot


Our cum from chin to boot.


Thus my life mixed with other boys


(Sometimes careful with the noise).


When I left school, back to my own,


I kept my hand on my bone.


Then, one day, I became twenty


With daily wanking a-plenty.


But it was at twenty-seven


That I entered my second heaven;


With my wife there was a wedding


Followed by an active bedding.


This did not stop my want to jerk


But twice a week became hard work


After thrice a week with my dear wife


It really was some irksome strife.


By the time I was thirty


My thoughts were still quite dirty.


I wanked and wanked and wanked


A large credit had I banked


In the wanking stakes so clear


In perfect shape my sex gear.


Then, it started, when I was forty


Although I dreamed of being naughty,


When I tossed myself too often,


I found my dick would start to soften.


On trying hard three times a week,


The fourth time would be too weak.


A decade later, it was much worse;


I thought I had a bloody curse.


I still loved my cock in hand


But cumming twice, t'was all but banned,


Whether with my hand or wife,


This seemed to be my fate in life.


Let us skip a score of years


Or I'll end in floods of tears.


Today, my age is a noble eighty


Believe it or not, my matey.


My sexual life is nearly over


Rarely is my hand my lover.


I wish to vote in my election


To have a good, firm hard erection.


Alas, it rises not too normal


But just a tiny, formal


Swelling, so difficult to handle;


Were it hard and long, a candle!


With loads of gel and much foreplay


A weak orgasm does foray


And a drop of cum on the head


Is all I can produce in bed.


When, in the shower, I am wetter,


Things are surely not better;


It matters not lathered with soap,


A stiffy? Not much hope.


I'm now back to when I was three


With a toy just with which to pee!


Howsoever, I do well recall


My callow youth and all.


With joy, the days when it would work


When it would be a joy to jerk


And I could get a damned good stiffy


With my hand around, in a jiffy,


Treating my cock with utmost pleasure


And wanking off was a treasure.


Just leave me to my past thoughts and monthly try


To get sufficient hard-on to an orgasmic cry!

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