We currently have stories with more being added every day
Memories of a 61-Year-Old
Memories of a 61-year-oldA week before my 14th birthday (1953) I arrived at boarding school and like most boys, I struck up a friendship with a boy called Doug.S. A day or so after my arrival I was talking to Doug and he asked "Have you had a wet dream yet"? My reply was "What's a wet dream?"He explained that this was a surge of fluid that would leave my pjs all wet and sticky. A few days later I dreamt again of an event that has stuck in my memory since the age of about 11 or 12. I had left my bed to get a glass of water from the kitchen and on my way I saw that my parents bedroom light was on so decided to go down to see them . As I reached the door I was confronted by the sight of my father and mother, totally naked, about to assume the missionary position.I froze to the floor and watched in total awe at what I was seeing. My eyes could not have been more than eight feet from the foot of the bed so the detail of the sight was total. My father began to enter my mother and his movements were slow and unhurried. The act seemed to go on forever but could not have been more than about 5 or 10 minutes and then my fathers pace began to increase and the noises from them both became louder. Their orgasms were almost frightening. As they came to rest I managed to snap out of my trance and went straight to bed where my regular fondling still did not lead to the final result. To this day I am sure that my mother knew that I was there but for some reason said nothing.This was the trigger of my first wet dream and many other masturbatory events and dreams over the past 47 years.I told Doug the next day that the predicted dream had happened and he then said that I would now start "pulling myself" (an old Australian term not used much anymore) . At this point I should explain that the dormitory at the school consisted of a very large room with 4 rows of double bunks made from 1" tubular steel. There were rows down each wall and two rows, head to head, down the centre line. Within a few days the urge to play with and fondle the demanding organ between my legs became too much, but now the result was far more dramatic and left me in a state of amazement.It was not long before this ritual became a daily (or nightly) event and after some time I noticed that the metal frame of the bunks was transmitting a regular shaking from the lower bunk to mine. The boy down below was masturbating just the same as I was. I made my business to check out the bunks on each side of me and sure enough the sheets were moving up and down in rapid urgency. None of us ever mentioned any of this in the two years I was there.My friend Doug had found a trapdoor that led under the stage of the assembly hall and at some time in the past had established a hideaway with a couple of blankets , candles etc together with a few "nudist" magazines to use as inspiration. I was invited down there and so began a regular masturbatory heaven that sometimes included mutual masturbation but no real homosexual activity.One day, on an afternoon leave pass from school a group of us went for a stroll in the bush and at a clearing we sat down to rest. Someone started talking about sex and masturbation in particular and we all confessed that we did it regularly. I had decided that the habit was universal and that if the rumours were true then all the men in the world should be walking around with white canes. This talk led to the challenge of a race to see who could "come" first, thus I had my first and only circle jerk.I remember the showers in the dormitory were rather Spartan and consisted of about 10 or 12 shower roses with no privacy screens. It was my great fear that that raging organ between my legs would stand up and disgrace me, which it did sometimes. One boy at the end shower line had a full erection and he turned into the corner as if to shield himself from view and after a while the movements of his shoulder and right arm made it obvious that he was masturbating. No one said anything as I think we were all scared it could have been us.On my return to my home after my stay at boarding school I had my own room and soon discovered the joys of humping the bed (or pillow). This led to a large yellow stain on the sheets by the time it came to wash them. I must confess that the thought never entered my mind how obvious it all was and my mother never mentioned it. My mastubation rate was rapidly reaching 3 and sometimes 4 times per day and I was scared the whole thing was getting out of control. One night I knelt down beside the bed and prayed for help in reducing it to once per day. It did not do a bit of good and as soon as I got into bed I was off at it again.After about 8 months at home my employer transferred me to Melbourne (capitol of Victoria) and so I began to lodge in private homes, fortunately in my own room. Here the stains mounted rapidly on the sheets but not one landlady ever mentioned it. One day I came home from work and saw that a large deposit of sperm had flown over my head and landed on the bed head and dribbled all down to the bottom. Again not a word was said.As often as possible I returned to my home town to visit my parents and at this time Australia was in the midst of a rabbit plague and I often went out with my .22 rifle to knock over a few. I remember walking across some farmland and coming across an old abandoned farm house. I looked inside and saw an ideal spot to satisfy my raging penis that was demanding attention NOW. On another occasion I was walking through some fairly thick scrub and had to lean back against a tree, drop my pants to my ankles and masturbate in full view of the birds. The Murray River has many sandbanks on the inside of bends and I was walking along one of these when the urge to masturbate became too much. I lay down on the sand and proceeded to revel in the freedom of the open air. As I stood up I saw that a fisherman was sitting on the opposite bank of the river about 50 yards away. He could not possibly have missed what took place.Having settled down to a daily average of about 3 masturbation sessions a day my thoughts now turned to the object of my fantasies. My brother, who was 4 years older than me and far more successful with the opposite sex was going out with a girl of my age (about 16). The girl had an older sister who was about 20. My brother and I went around to the sisters place one evening and the parents were out somewhere, my brother and the younger sister went inside and I was instructed to stay outside. the elder sister and I retreated to the back seat of the family car parked in the driveway. We soon began kissing and cuddling and with no objection (encouragement even) from the girl we rapidly progressed to the stage where her clothing had been removed or hitched up above her waist, with her underclothes removed I now had an unrestricted path to that which I had dreamed so often.The next step was to unloose my throbbing penis that felt so huge but was really only average. The task had almost been completed when to my horror the lousy so and so ejaculated everywhere but where it was supposed to and left the sperm all over my hand, her stomach, and probably some of the car seat also. I was so disgusted, as at that moment I remembered how my father had moved so slowly and deliberately (and longer) when I had witnessed my parents at the age of 11 or 12. I could not talk to her or my brother from embarrassment and shame and returned home, never to see the girl again.The next year passed with constant masturbation sessions that I remember accepting to myself were necessary before I could go to sleep at night, and were the usual result of my morning shower. The cleaning process usually had it standing to attention and I rarely managed to postpone the inevitable. A quick trip to the toilet cubicle was often needed during the day. My employer from time to time sent me to various country towns to take the place of staff who were on annual leave and at the age of 17 I was staying in a town about 200 miles from Melbourne and I struck up a friendship with a young girl about my age. One evening the events unfolded in an almost exact replay of my last fiasco a year before. The girl was just as eager as the first one and her clothing proved no hindrance as she removed her underpants and awaited the proof of my manhood. My performance was only fractionally better than my first, for as soon as the head of my penis approached her wet vagina I ejaculated again. The sperm this time was much closer to the bulls-eye but my distress was almost too much to bear. The girl was a bit mad about it too and that was the last I saw of her.On my return to Melbourne I met a girl who would "never do such a thing " , being a good Catholic girl, but that did not stop her passionately massaging me penis in the back seats of the picture theatre. Many was the time I took her home with a growing wet patch in the front of my pants. Still the drought continued and it was at the age of 18 1/2 that I met the girl who was to become my wife of 40 years so far. I decided that night that she was the one and so my desperate search for sexual nirvana was centered on the new girl. Unfortunately she also was one who did not do such a thing and my trips home on foot if I missed the last bus were sometimes interrupted by a desperate search for a dark spot to relieve the sexual pressure. I remember on the last bus one night I had a woman opposite me who had obviously noticed my wet spot in the front of my pants.My girls mother was a widow and she had a fiancée who owned a holiday home down at one of the outer beachside suburbs. I was often a guest over the weekend and as I approached my 20th birthday, the slow journey of my girl and I to the consummation of our relationship neared its end. Her mother watched us like a hawk and after the evening meal we would take a walk along the beach to get some time alone. The beach area was backed with "tea-tree" through which many walking tracks had been worn over the years. Beside one of these was a small grassed area and it was here that we sat down for a talk and as one thing led to another the talking became cuddling and kissing and soon we lost all care of our surroundings and who may come along. Our sexual desire took over and this time I managed to keep the raging thing under some sort of control and whilst not lasting any where near as long as my father I still managed to set a new personal record for the event. From that time on we managed to have sex about once a week and of course I had to make up the difference by making passionate love to the mattress or my right hand.We married in Feb 1960 and my staying power slowly reached reasonable times. My wife let me know fairly early that she felt that masturbation was a waste of an ejaculation that should have been reserved for her. As both our appetites were of the at least daily level I had no cause for complaint and only resorted to my old habits during her period etc. After my marriage at the age of 21 in 1960, my masturbation sessions became much less frequent because my wife felt that the ejaculation should have been reserved for her . My wife confessed that she had been masturbating regularly since her childhood. At night we would play with her very wet pussy and stimulate her clitoris to orgasm before, during and after intercourse. The sight and sound of my wife during masturbation and orgasm was too arousing for me to have been offended by her solo efforts and it all just added to the joy of it all.My masturbation sessions were mainly as a result of my wifes period or her feeling a bit off colour.When I was about 25 something happened to me that my wife does not believe and I am too scared to relate directly to anyone as it is hard to be believe but never the less it ACTUALLY HAPPENED.One day I was in the bus heading home from work, I was seated away from the window with my shoulder towards the aisle. The bus was packed like a sardine tin and the day was a scorcher of about 100 degrees.I was wearing a light cotton shirt only with no T.shirt underneath. After awhile I noticed that the woman beside was being pushed against me by the pressure of the crowded passengers. It became apparent that her lower stomach area was making contact with my shoulder bone and that in fact I could feel the area below her pubic bone.I attempted to move my shoulder away by only about 1/2 an inch or so but as I did so she moved her body the same amount to re-establish contact. I was now in a state of amazement as I realized that she was doing all this on purpose. The vibration coming up through to body of the bus from the road surface was causing her to gain stimulation of her clitoris from the movement. I am sure that I could actually feel her clitoris becoming harder and the slight up and down movement of her body against mine was being ever so slightly increased by her own actions. I cannot remember how long all this went on for but I remember that the bus was an express which did not stop for about 1/2 an hour til its first stop on the way to the outer suburbs of Melbourne. She left the bus then and I could not make eye contact with her before she left.I have heard of men who do this in crowded buses and trains but have never heard of women doing it. I would be most interested to hear of anybody who has done or had it done to them ().Our marriage continued on for many years in much the same way as most others and when my wife reached menopause her liido faded slowly over the next 5 years to the stage when it was non existant. Fortunately she understood that my needs continued on and had no objection to me masturbating either in bed beside her or in the shower.After our retirement we took up the lifestyle of caravanning around Australia, following the sun wherever we wished.This meant staying at caravan parks in many places and having showers in the shower blocks. One day I was in the shower cubicle with a 10 - 12 inch gap under the dividing wall between each cubicle. I happened to look down one day and noticed that the overhead lighting, combined with the water on the floor of the shower was creating a mirror effect in the floor of the cubicle next door. I could see plainly that the man next door was masturbating. I had been in the habit of masturbating in the showers whenever I felt the need and it amused me to know that I was not the only one. From then on I began to take notice of the efforts of the men in the next cubicle and it became obvious that the habit was very common.After a while I realized that many men in my age group who were also retired probably had wives who also were effected by menopause and so the men needed to mastubate from time to time and used the showers for private pleasure.One day I had had my shower and had finished drying myself and felt the urge to masturbate rapidly coming over me. I lent against the side wall with my left arm and proceeded to play with my rapidly rising penis. The ejaculation sent sperm dribling down the wall of the cubicle and after I had recovered a bit I wiped it up and prepared to leave. I looked to my left and saw that a man was waiting outside my cubicle and through the gap between the door and the frame he could see all that had taken place. I left with a cheery "good morning" and the grin on his face told me that I was correct.Many is the time that I have been a witness to men masturbating next door and a couple of times saw men sitting on the floor going to town, some with tubes of lube applied both front and back. Some don't even bother turning on the shower, just go in, use the privacy and leave. I often wonder how many witnessed my efforts over the years.It is funny that from the age of 14 I began masturbating on a very regular basis either with my right hand or humping the mattress and at the age of about 54 on I was back to my regular mastubatory life. I have no desire to hurt my wife by having sexual relations with someone else and am quite happy with the present situation.
You must be logged in to post wall comments or like a story. Please login or signup (free).