I am overjoyed at discovering Solo Touch and have been reading your stories and am aroused (masturbating!) So here is a true one of my own.
The current recession: the bad news is I lost my job two days after my 61st birthday; the good news is I found a renewal of my lagging sex life. Too much time on my hands got me a lot more in my hand. I live out east on Long Island about 10 miles north of the eastern end of Fire Island. It was mid-June and during the week I began going down to the beach in the morning after my wife left for work (fortunately she had a good job still). I soon discovered that there is a section in the isolated eastern part of Fire Island where nude bathing is at least tolerated and on weekday mornings many others one ran into out there were other middle-aged married men with time on their hands and desires on their minds.
It became my habit to strip in the parking lot naked under just an oversized T shirt down to my knees and head off the mile or so down the beach to the unofficial nude area. Most mornings I'd be in complete solitude-just me and sea, sand and sky-and the result would be one long gradual edging masturbation with a final exploding ejaculation of sperm like little jelly fish in the edge of the surf. I began masturbating again as violently, excitedly as I had at puberty.
Not every morning out there was it just me. Often in the 1/4 mile or so nude section I'd see another body on the sand or maybe two or three others all uniformly spaced a discreet 20 or so yards apart and I'd locate myself accordingly. Discreet glances back and forth would verify that almost every time my neighbors were in the process of just what I started doing-naked masturbation. One morning it was just me out there until I saw another guy approaching down the beach-out there you could see one coming a 1/4 mile in either direction. As he got closer I checked him out and he looked about my age, wearing just the tight bulge of a very brief strap, lean, fairly buff and nicely haired although balding on top.
As I sat there still in my shirt but with my knees up we made eye contact my glance quickly diverted from his bulging pouch, and he paused by me and despite the unwritten convention, spread his towel about 10 feet from mine. We exchanged.'Hi's' and sat there facing each other. I wondered at how physically similar we were, lean, fit, late middle age but very masculine in a blue collar sort of way. He too was in construction and recently out of a job. I asked if he came here often and this was his first time although he had heard about the 'freedom' of this section and felt like trying it out. He added right on top of that the strain this economy had put on his working wife and though younger had lost her interest in the 'things a man needs'.
Well, agreeing about our similar situations the subject of masturbation came up and I suggested that was why I came here although I hadn't shared one with another guy since my teens. He responded with he wasn't into fruity things with other guys but why not? I'd taken off my shirt and was sitting on my haunches standing out rigid and uncut. He responded by on his knees pealing off that strap (literally!). He knelt there long and similarly foreskinned dangling against his inner thigh and began to work himself. That was the beginning of a mutually needed friendship and we met there at least a couple of times a week throughout the summer. Our openess even when others were out there gradually expanded mutual beyond just the two of us and the place backed by walled sand dunes for added protection became known by the initiated as 'Circle Beach'.