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!