Harry

It is interesting isn’t it.  Some stories on here are about boys wanking with boys, others older men wanking with older men but some get a mix of ages. Of course some are about boys and girls masturbating together

Some kids get really messed up by adults interfering with them but not me.  I wasn’t that young when I met Harry.  Puberty passed, I’d got hair around my cock, under my armpits and, if I wasn’t yet shaving, there was certainly bum fluff all over my face!  Hey, I was fair so didn’t have that five o’clock shadow look.  White haired now but this story was when I was past fifteen. And I was masturbating by then and plenty of the stuff came out – so well past puberty!

Virgin of course, not so much as seen a girl’s boobs then.  All in the imagination – undressing girls in my mind and guessing based on Mayfair, Playboy, Penthouse, guessing what they might look like with their swelling breasts, newly hairy mounds and wide hips. Well, I somewhat assumed ‘hairy’ as that was all air-brushed out in those days.  No hair and no slit.  And certainly no open-crotch shots, so quite what girls were like between their legs rather limited to biology text books.  Forget the Internet – not invented.  And, of course, no way of seeing photos of actual intercourse, still less sucking or anything else you might like to see.  Not a picture of an erect penis to be seen either, so the only one I’d seen was from above or in the mirror – my own.

Teenagers need money and my parents, whilst I’m not saying weren’t fair and generous with pocket money, did not supply what I felt I needed or what many of my friends got.  Looking back some were spoilt and my folks were sensible, and I thank them for it. So, I did odd jobs like clearing leaves or digging and earnt some extra money that way.

Harry lived up the road and I got to help him in his garden.  A nice old boy, and his wife generous with tea and cake.  One day when working there, I went to his shed to get a spade and stumbled on a room or area at the back.  Harry’s wife had told me he spent a lot of time in his shed, and I sort of discovered why.  It wasn’t the workbench or the lawn mower set upon it for repair which kept him there but his stash of girlie mags!  He had a nice little snug area at the back.  Carpeted, with armchair and small, full height, table.  Bottle or two of whisky and not a few back copies of just the mags I liked.   Of course I started looking.  Only to be discovered by Harry, not only gazing at a centrefold of a really big boobed black girl but with my cock up, out of my fly and in my hand.  I was still standing up, hadn’t even got around to sitting down.

Harry was just so good about it.  Anything but fly into a rage.  He chuckled, patted me on the back and said, looking over my shoulder at the centrefold, that ‘she was nice.’  I was desperately trying to get my hard cock back into my trousers but he told me to leave it out.  He said all boys wank and it was perfectly natural.  He said it was pretty obvious so did he, otherwise he would not have the mags.  They were not photographic magazines!  Old men need sexual release too and wank just like lads, especially perhaps when their wives are not as accommodating or enthusiastic as they once were.  He turned a few pages as he explained, or justified himself, that this was rather better than seeking out other women.

“May I join you?  Shall we, together?”

I could hardly decline, was it not something I’d thought of doing with a friend and, well, there were all those mags. to look at.  Harry, as calmly as anything, got his cock out.  It was already hard.  As I’ve written, I’d not seen another erect cock before.  It wasbigger than mine, craggier; the knob more bulbous.  Older and, of course, more used, much more used than my smooth almost virginal cock. 

As if it was a completely normal thing, he plucked the magazine from my hand and smoothed it out on the table so we could both see it easily.  Doing it all with his erection sticking out of his fly and his penis pointing.

For a few moments I watched not the girl mag but Harry’s cock, the more so when he began to wank it and it seemed to swell the more.  A great big thing rising from his trouser fly.

He talked about the pictures, he knew the magazine I was looking at, had read and looked at it all.  He turned to the girl who appeared to be his favourite.  An outdoor photo shoot on the beach.  Some of her in a bikini, some with it coming off and plenty with her posed, draped over a breakwater, standing ankle deep in the sea but the one he really liked, and I sort of agreed, was her walking away from the camera up the dunes, just a back view but naked and her bottom just looking so fine and curvaceous.  I just wanted to press myself into those cheeks.

“I’m a bit of a bum man,” he said and asked about me.  I replied I liked all about the girls but perhaps especially breasts, though agreeing that photo was a bit special.  A ‘tit-boy’ he said!   He also told me to come when I liked.  To just do it, over the mag. if Iwished.  We were standing together, our two cocks jutting out over the table and towards the mag.  Between the sight of the photographs, the thought of the girl’s bum and seeing this other cock being wanked next to me, and perhaps not having wanked for a couple of days, I found myself unable to prevent it happening.  And it was, indeed, right across the mag, right up her bum! Long streaks up the page and onto the table.

I was just at the dribbling stage when Harry came too.  Amazing, I’d not only found a large stash of girly mags to view, but seen another erection and now was seeing another man come.  Out it came as his fingers moved his mobile skin.  Out it came across mine, not so spurty but further covering the girl.  She ended up a bit swimming in it – even if the photo was of her walking in the dunes.

Tucked away, we sat and talked.  Harry said I could pop into his shed anytime.  If I came round the back way into the garden his wife wouldn’t know.  ‘Best,’ he said, ‘best she doesn’t see you going to the shed.’  I should feel free to stay as long as I liked, rifle through the mags and wank.  I could put the electric heater on if I remembered to turn it off afterwards.  He also said it was better wanking naked and more comfortable to sit in the armchair.  Harry pointed at a nail driven into the shed’s frame and said he always hung his clothes there.  Easier to imagine, he suggested, being naked with one of the girls – or two – if actually naked.

I went back to the gardening.  Harry said he would clear up.

And that was the start.  It was not just that one time in the shed with Harry.  He had known it would not be, I’m sure.  Had known I’d be back, like a wasp to the jam.  Known too, it would not be just my clothes hanging on a nail, but his as well.  But that is for another time if you’re interested.

I never saw that wonderful photo again.  The pages were just too stuck together.  But I haven’t forgotten it!