Harry 5

I think you can guess what happened next time I visited Harry’s shed and after Harry joined me.   I was so anxious to look again in the tin box.  I had been thinking of little else for days.  Had found myself lying in bed with my hard penis in my hand stroking with thoughts of girls being fucked, girls stroking cocks, girls sucking cocks – men taking one girl from both directions.  Most everything was in that tin box.

Behind me the sound of Harry in the shed, I raised a hand but did not look away from the magazine I had removed from the box.  I heard him undress and then sensed him right behind me looking over my shoulder.  I even felt the touch of his penis to myshoulder, perhaps from him leaning forward over me in his armchair.  I put down box and magazine and stood.  Two friends, two friends of such different ages, both naked but just me erect – for the moment.

That just seemed wrong.  On impulse I reached out and lifted his balls, they were hanging slackly.  Quite weighty things really.  I think I said something about not wanting to be erect on my own, but Harry was already on the way up.  I reached and slid his loose skin, pulling his cock into his impressive erection.  So much bigger than mine was.

For a moment I was tempted to pull both together and wank them as one.  That was not something in the tin box photographs.  An idea all of my own.  What would his male hardness feel like against my own?  A double wank.   But Harry settled himself in the armchair and picked up the tin box.  His selection back to those photographs of the pretty Nordic girl, all blond hair (everywhere) and blue eyes sucking that cock.  I settled my bottom on the arm of the chair as Harry talked about the girl, about sucking and how nice it would be to have her suck us both.

I closed my eyes and thought and imagined.  I was not surprised to feel Harry’s fingers encircling my cock and gently wanking it.  What I had not expected was the sudden feel of lips, wet lips descending over my knob.  What a feeling!  Remember, I hadnot been out with girls – then – had not felt either the wet warmth of a vagina or a girl’s mouth.  This was totally new.   The thought of the Nordic girl, her image in my mind, and then Harry’s mouth sliding rhythmically up and down my cock.  His fingers working me as well – still wanking.  I didn’t stop him.  You will not be surprised either that I came quickly.  Could not help it.  All with my eyes closed, imagining pouring my stuff into that girl’s mouth.  Perhaps her blue eyes wide in surprise.

When I opened my eyes there was Harry sitting in his armchair.  Nothing to suggest he had just been fellating me.  My cock still standing, a little wet at the end but no semen in sight.  ‘Sorry’ I said, I think, ‘I just couldn’t help it.  I didn’t expect that.’

Harry said something about it did not matter, he hoped I had enjoyed it and it saved all that bother with the tissues.  ‘Neat and tidy.’  He might even have mentioned the bother of the clearing up from the previous session.  That had been a mess!

And there he was, sitting naked and with his rather impressive cock sticking up from his grey and white hair, smooth bulb at the top, all hard and, importantly, unejaculated.  I knew I had to offer to return the favour.  No imagining the Nordic girl this time for me – I needed to be the Nordic girl.  I could imagine myself a Nordic boy – but that didn’t really help!

“Would you like me to… does Mrs…”

“Not for years, unfortunately.  I used to very much like that.”  Harry talked also of his younger days, and other women, as his cock stood rigid and he remembered.  I heard him, enjoyed the reminiscences, but all the time my eyes were on that cock.  The one I was to suck.

Harry had just had to lean across to me sitting on the chair’s arm. For me it was kneeling between his legs, his legs apart and his balls hanging below his very upright penis, and me leaning forward, my, no doubt, hot breath on his knob.  In position I lookedup at Harry, “Shall I?”

He picked up the magazine to look at the photos of the Nordic girl.  Were his thoughts of her or was he imagining me, instead of being male, being a schoolgirl who had come to help in the garden and, rather than Harry discovering me with my cock out and wanking, had found her, knickers around her ankles with her hand up her skirt, perhaps her budding breasts out there in theshed.  Difficult perhaps to believe she would be looking at those girlie mags as I had been.  There would not have been twin ejaculations onto the tissues, just him but perhaps she might have dabbed at herself with another tissue, mopping up her flood of schoolgirl wetness from her own orgasm.

How good it would have been for Harry to have a schoolgirl come and be naked with him in the shed.  Perhaps she wanking him onto a fresh or, indeed, girl wet tissue, perhaps onto her breasts.  Him jilling her.  Giving her the first feel of another’s hands bringing her to orgasm – male/female masturbation.  And then would have come the day when he showed her the ‘Continental’ magazines.  Pictures of other erections for her interest and delight.  Male climaxes, aplenty, from ‘Color Climax’ and the like.  I can remember the titles to this day.

Would he have got down on his knees as I did to tongue her before she in turn got on her knees to suck?  And, of course, one day might there be a brand-new wrapped packet of condoms greeting her upon the table – the young eighteen-year-old girl’s virginity to be taken by a seventy-year old man in his shed.  If she wished.  Would she?

Looking back with me now almost Harry’s age, I am not sure that is so awful.  Better the girl to find out about more than the theoretical ‘birds and bees’ from someone experienced, careful and considerate.  Practical lessons.  Not the overanxious schoolboy who is going to ‘come too soon’, be careless of contraception and brag all about it.  The discreetness, the concern for her welfarethat I am sure Harry would have shown, so sensible for a first sexual experience.  Harry as teacher or trainer – as he taught me.  He would not mess the girl up any more than he messed me.

I wasn’t a girl and Harry did not have a schoolgirl visiting – just me.  Me there with his cock to suck.  Harry above me looking at the magazine, no doubt in excited anticipation of a tongue, lips and mouth about to engulf and play upon his knob.  Something seemingly not experienced by him for years.  Of course, I had wanted to suck my own and now here was a cock to suck, only, not my own at all.  All rather reminiscent of an ice-cream or ice-lolly - perhaps.  It, though, was not at all cold.  I could feel its warmtheven with that first raspy – not raspberry! – lick of my tongue.  And then I was sucking cock, the only cock I was to suck for fifty years.  Yeah, I still haven’t been able to reach and suck my own!

Hard and warm, hardness within the softness of skin but most especially my thoughts were on how big it was in my mouth.  Bobbing my head, licking it a little underneath where it pushed down my tongue, trying to do what I had liked Harry doing when he had sucked mine.

Easing back to look at it.  Reaching to wank him a little by hand as I prepared myself to suck again.  Moving his saliva wetted loose skin, looking at its little mouth, thinking about Harry ejaculating.

I didn’t try to ‘deep throat’ him – I didn’t even know the term then and don’t think the film was even made, I just did what he had done so well to me.  Once started, once having taken the cock into my mouth, it was not exactly difficult.  I do not know if Harry looked over the pages of the magazine at me or just concentrated on the pictures of the Nordic girl.  Maybe he looked at other photographs as well, revelling in his cock being pleasured without him taking any action, letting his thoughts fly as his cock was(inexpertly) sucked.  Perhaps he tried to hold back and prolong the pleasure, or did he just go with it – delight in the flow which certainly came, hot and salty into my mouth.  It was a full fellation.

It was not the only time; we did not give up on wanking to a finish, but the tissues became less well used.