A Wanker's Lament

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!