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JUST AN ORDINARY GUY

Posted by: SoloTouchArchive Author: admin Posted on: 30 Aug 2001 1 comments
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by Andrew I've enjoyed this site. Through reading others' stories but also by attempting to write my own I've become aware that when we recollect an occasion of emotional and/or sexual intensity, we tend to exaggerate the physical characteristics : size of penis, weight of balls, volume of load, height and number of ejaculations, time "on edge", amount of pre-cum etc. For me it's the feelings for another person that matter most. I think that an orgasm is probably as meaningful and intense for someone with a 5" dick who "oozes" as it is for someone who shoots his load into his face from a tool twice that size. A bi-sexual friend in his forties told me not long ago that he had become so used to "edging" his orgasm that he was now finding it difficult to cum; and another, after a lifetime of jacking for as long as possible without cumming, admitted that he was now impotent and needed a pill to help him to orgasm. Another, who jerks off to a porn video every night, said he was finding it harder and harder to cum. When I suggested he lay off for a night or two and he might then find his orgasm more intense, he looked at me pityingly for a moment and said "There is that, I suppose" - but without any conviction. Both these friends look as if they could be destined for impotence in the next few years. I've also noticed that guys with uncircumcised dicks tend to be more sensitive, have less control and cum more easily than those who are cut; and that cut men quite often wish they had kept their foreskins. This suggests to me that when we are born, our genes dictate where we are placed on a continuum of sensitivity which stretches from the far left (as it were) where premature ejaculation and cumming very quickly takes place, to the far right where impotence lies. As with most continua, most men are probably to be found around the middle, and there will be those who are cut (like my friend Phil) who are extremely sensitive and to the left of the scale. But I suspect that cut men, as a group, will be further to the right than those who are uncircumcised, just because the tip of the penis is made less sensitive by contact with clothes. Also, as men age, I think they move to the right of the continuum. Of course, trying to maximize the intensity of "falling into the abyss" of orgasm is a natural thing to want to do, but it may have its dangers. Do men who cum quickly necessarily have inferior orgasms to those who "beat their meat" or stay on edge longer ? Anyway, the following story is an attempt to illustrate these thoughts by relating the feelings involved between two people, both of them rather shy and unable to talk directly about sex with each other, and where the sex was not "terrific" but highly memorable� Just under thirty years ago, when I was 23, I worked for an Engineering Company in the English midlands. As I had a degree I was taken on as a management trainee, though I still had to get my hands dirty, and not long after I started the boss called me into his office and said he had been persuaded by a social agency to take on as a new employee a youngster who had had rather a rough time. The firm would be paid a small allowance to take him on and his wages would be met by the agency. Would I look after him and get him started, please ? Of course I agreed and he handed me a file of papers relating to the lad. He was 17 and had spent the last few years in an Approved School. This is a special boarding school for children who get into trouble with the police and/or whose homes can't cope with them. His name was Ian and he came from a very rough area of the city and was the second of six brothers. His elder brother (whom he both admired and hated) was illegitimate and his mother had married Ian's father and had three more boys by him in rapid succession before separating from him. She had then taken in a series of lovers and had two more sons by them. The three eldest all had considerable intelligence but they fought a lot and they formed the nucleus of a gang round the estate which was more for self-preservation than it was to beat the living daylights out of other gangs. By the time he was 13 Ian's elder brother had been sent away to an Approved School and Ian was considered by the police to be similarly at risk, so after studying the difficulties his mother was having raising her family and rather than let him drift into delinquency (for an intelligent delinquent is a much worse bet than a thick one) they sent Ian to a similar school. He had normal school holidays at home but he got a lot more attention from his teachers and the social workers than if he had been left alone. And it soon became clear that he had a specific talent : mechanical engineering. The file showed that he had been well behaved at school and it was considered that with the right kind of help he could make a reliable and able employee. He had his own motorbike and was looking forward to work and earning some money. There was no phone at his home, so I rang the Agency to tell them the good news that he could start the following Monday and sure enough, he turned up promptly at 8.00 am on his motorbike, ready to learn and to work. He was slim and of slightly less than average height (about 5' 8") and he turned out be quiet, waiting for others to talk to him and responding mainly with nods to convey his understanding. He learned quickly and without fear and he volunteered nothing about himself to the other lads when they gathered together for tea breaks. He wasn't the kind who could be intimidated in any way. I noticed that just about everybody looked at him twice because he had what in the world of pop groups and razzmatazz would be called "film star looks". It's not that he was particularly good-looking, but his was a very masculine face and you couldn't help feeling that he had any amount of sex appeal, whatever that elusive quality is. When, later, he came round to my parents' house (where I was living at the time) to borrow a tool for his motorbike, my youngest sister exclaimed "Wow - HE's attractive!" He settled down well, though I never got to learn much more about him than I had read in his file. He soon learned that I had a 1942 Jeep at home, as well as the Norton motorbike I came to work on, and he turned out to be a good mechanic with a natural "feel" for the way engines and transmissions are put together. Because he was my special "charge", I spent quite a lot of time with him and became more and more curious about him - and more and more fascinated ! He didn't have a girlfriend because he spent his weekends maintaining and riding his bike; and it's not that I lusted after him - I was too shy to do that; but I was increasingly interested to find out what would get him aroused. One day at work we were drilling metal with a high speed drill, and as the drill bit into the metal it whined in a crescendo of tension and noise until the "release" as it pierced a hole right through. I grinned and said to him "It's a bit like sex, isn't it?" but got not a flicker of a response. Once we were under the sump of an engine and were struggling to remove it from the crankcase, and I had almost to put my head in his lap in order to get my fingers in position to tug at the metal tray above our heads, but for him this seemed to have no sexual connotation at all. I found him so attractive that, though hopelessly shy about such a move, I stood next to him in a urinal and looked down to see if I could see his dick, but all I could see was our hands, each holding our dicks out of our flies to pee. I had peeled my foreskin back and my glans was clearly visible, whereas he had wrapped his hand right round his dick and I could see nothing except his urine jetting in a yellow stream into the bowl. It seemed strange that a lad should have such sex appeal and yet give no indication of his awareness of it. After a few months I made my first, tentative effort to see if he could be made to respond. He came round to my home on a Saturday afternoon to work on the Jeep and I said that I was tired and wanted to lie down for half an hour. "Would he like to join me ?" He just shook his head and went off to continue work on the Jeep while I lay on the bed and fantasized about what it would be like to explore between his legs. At that time I had not yet decided that I was Bi. I had grown up with sisters, so girls were not a romantic mystery to me but I enjoyed their company. My girl-friend lived in London so we only saw each other about once a month and she was not prepared to have sex with me unless I put a ring on her finger. My next attempt to get him aroused was a touch more determined but just as unsuccessful. On a lovely summer's day on a Sunday we drove out into the countryside in the Jeep and discovered a farmhouse with a long drive winding over the fields. It looked untenanted, there were no animals in the fields, and the gate was padlocked, so we parked the Jeep by the roadside and vaulted over the gate. The farm buildings were built close up to the side of the house and it was not long before we found a window which could be opened from the outside. To reach it we had to stand on bales of straw stacked high in the adjoining barn and we soon made our entrance. It felt spooky with the shafts of sunlight lighting up the cobwebs and the dust on the floor. There was no furniture and the house gave the impression that it was waiting for something to happen though this may have had something to do with my heightened sensitivity. Here was an opportunity I could not afford to miss ! We stood at a window overlooking the sun-soaked fields. I had a track suit on and he was wearing a T shirt and jeans. I just didn't know how to proceed, so I mumbled something about it being "very sexy" to find ourselves all alone in an empty house and placed my finger on his chest over his heart and said that I felt that there was invisible cord stretching between him and me. He didn't object, but he didn't agree either, so I felt unable to go further and say what I wanted, namely that I had something I would like to show him. What I wanted to show him was making a tent of my tracksuit and I had thrust my hand into my pants to prevent it seeming too obvious but also to show him what I would like to do. Still no reaction, so, feeling once again that I had failed, I climbed through the window and onto the straw bales. These proved much harder to climb down than to clamber up and - going first - I knocked several down in front of me, making a convenient slide to the floor. I therefore slid down and landed in a heap of straw at the bottom. It was very prickly ! Suddenly, before I was aware of it, Ian had thrown himself onto the straw bales and was sliding down, out of control, towards me. He fetched up in a heap next to me, his panting body close to mine. I have often re-lived that moment. Had he jumped down on purpose to land up by my side like this, or had he slipped ? He still said nothing as my arm, which had reached round him to stop him rolling any further, rested for perhaps twenty seconds round his waist. I thought "Can I undo his belt ?" and then I thought "This straw is far too prickly and uncomfortable to lie on for long. If we get round to feeling each other, the prickles are going to be the main sensation." So - to my ever-lasting regret - I removed my arm and we shook the dust and straw off our backs and went out into the sunlight. I had failed again ! At work for the next few weeks he was just the same as ever : not a flicker that anything in any way inappropriate had passed between us. I realise now that the gap of six years between 18 and 24 seems larger, especially to the younger person than it does, say, between 30 and 36. Also, though I was in no way his boss, I did supervise some of his work and I'd had a University education whereas he came off a scruffy housing estate. But he was much more street-wise than I and he handled the situation well. If only he hadn't been so confoundedly attractive ! Anyway, he came round to my home for an afternoon each weekend to help put the finishing touches to the preparation of the Jeep, which I was getting ready for my annual two weeks' holiday. I was going to Yugoslavia in it with my London girlfriend and another friend and we duly set off, crossing from Dover to Ostend and making good progress towards the Alps. Then disaster struck just as we were crossing the river Rhine. My friend was driving when we heard a dull thud from the engine, which continued to run but without power and in a lumpy fashion. We pulled over onto the walkway of the bridge, stopped the engine and discussed the most likely cause. My friend, who was also a Jeep owner, reckoned a piston had broken and as the war-time Jeep's cylinder head is relatively easy to remove because of its side-valve design, he suggested we take off the head to find out. Meanwhile the police had arrived to say that we couldn't remain on the bridge and they arranged for us to be towed to a convenient parking under some trees where my girlfriend pitched our tents (she went solo in hers!) and Richard and I set about the engine. It was indeed a piston crown that had shattered and we telephoned the motoring organization we had insured with to have another sent from England at express speed from a specialist Jeep supplier. It arrived 36 hours later, we had the engine all ready for its insertion and a few hours later we were on our way. I wondered what Ian would have said and done if he had been with me ! I wish I could say that the holiday was a success, but as the world knows, "two is company but three's a crowd" and the stress of the mishap affected our spirits. When we reached the Dalmatian coast I wanted to sleep most of the time, lie in the sun on the beach and eat the delicious chocolate pancakes they make there. Maybe my feelings for Ian, which were something quite new to me, had something to do with it too, for when we got back and we took my girlfriend back to her mother in London, I kissed her goodbye, both of us knowing, I think, that this really was "Goodbye". The trip had always been partly about whether or not we should get engaged to be married, and - well we weren't ! I dropped Richard off at his home on my way north and was at work the following Monday, telling Ian all about the misadventure with the Jeep but not how things had worked out with my girlfriend. About six weeks later my boss had a contract in a city about 100 miles from the works which meant staying away for a couple of weeks and he asked me if I would like to undertake it - on my own. It meant supervising the installation of a new machine in a factory and, he said with a wry grin, I was good at installing engines. This was a good opportunity for eventual promotion so I said yes and booked myself into a small hotel not far from the factory. The job entailed some weekend work so I suggested to Ian that he might like to come down for the weekend and stay with me. Again, not a flicker when he said he would like to but I was in a kind of heaven for here was the make-or-break opportunity I had been looking for. The work went well, Friday evening duly arrived and so did Ian on his motorbike, parking it next to mine on the hotel car park. My room had twin single beds and he put his rucksack on one of them and we went out for a meal and then to a pub for a couple of pints. I didn't want to drink too much and we got back to our hotel bedroom relatively sober but comfortable with each other at about eleven o'clock. I suggested he got changed while I used the adjoining bathroom and when I came back into the room in my dressing gown he had put himself in bed and was sitting up against the pillows. I could see he had a pyjama jacket on. I put the light out and in the dark we started to talk about motorbikes. Maybe he was nervous too because he talked with fluency - quite different from the quiet, withdrawn Ian at the works. And maybe that's how things would have stayed, with us just falling asleep with the effects of the long day and the alcohol we had drunk. With a kind of lump in my throat I let a gap fall into our conversation and wondered how to get round to what I wanted to do. Then, after a pause, I said hesitatingly �"Ian �.?" It had the kind of lift on the second syllable which indicates something new and meaningful is about to be said. "Yes ?" he replied slowly, as if he hadn't the first idea of what I intended. "Would you mind terribly if I came and lay beside you ? I get lonely down here and I don't mean anything unpleasant." (By that I was implying that I was not interested in anything anal but whether he picked this up or not I shall never know.) There was a long pause and then he said "Well, it's a bit queer-like �." And because of the way he said "Well �." I knew he was not going to put up any serious objection. I rolled out of my bed, asked him to move over as far as he could in his, and lay down beside him. Oh the bliss of at last feeling intimate with that secretive, attractive body of his ! I had dreamed of this on the beach in Yugoslavia. Words were unnecessary now and feelings everything. Gently I put my arm half over his chest, letting my hand rest lightly on the topmost button of his pyjama jacket. Then I moved my hand over his chest, caressing it and moving back slowly to the button. He gave a sort of sigh but said nothing. Carefully I undid the button and then the next while he breathed deeply and still said nothing. Slowly I opened all the buttons on his jacket and rested my fingers on the band of his pants. How close I was to the excitement that lay between his legs ! My own dick was rock hard and pushing against my pants and I had to be careful not to press up against him in case he took fright and chucked me out of the bed. Slowly - oh so slowly - I found the drawstring and undid the knot that held his pyjama pants up. All this in total silence until he suddenly said "What's going on down there ?" As if he didn't know ! With the way open to his dick I put my hand down onto his thigh and drew it slowly up towards his crotch. Suddenly it was my sharp intake of breath that could be heard in that tense hotel bedroom : he had shorts on under his pyjama trousers ! Well, I had gone too far now with my explorations to be put off by this and he did actually help me a little by wriggling so that I could take them down to his knees. And so at last I reached heaven ! I put my hand straight down to his dick and there it was at last - in my hand ! And another shock - he was cut ! I had not expected this as circumcision is not generally practised in England, being mainly reserved for those whose foreskins are abnormally long at birth. Like me, he was oozing pre-cum and I used the fluid to slide my fingers over his cockhead and down his shaft and - another shock - though it was wonderfully hard, it was only about 4 inches long. Nor were his balls, when I fondled them, any larger proportionately. However this didn't matter at all : what did was that I had Ian, aroused, in my arms. We both remained silent as I slid two fingers (it was too short to wrap my fist round it) up and down his slippery shaft and over the head and I felt it swell and contract with pleasure. And I don't know whether or not he came off because after about half an hour of this my arm began to tire and I needed to get some sleep. At no stage in these proceedings did he try to touch my tool even though it was rock hard and firmly pressed against his thigh. When I rolled out of his bed into mine, not having had an orgasm, we both fell asleep almost immediately. In the morning I had to go to the factory again and when the alarm clock woke me I lay looking at Ian and smiling at him in the morning sunlight. He was so good to see, lying there looking so sexy that I wanted to jump into bed with him there and then. I could see that he knew what I was thinking of but time was against me and it was with huge reluctance that I left him to catch up on his sleep while I went to the factory. I got back at lunch time and we went out on our bikes into the countryside during the afternoon. No need now to look for an empty house - we had Saturday night in the hotel bedroom to look forward to. Did he look forward to it too ? I think he did, though we said nothing about it. Indeed we never discussed sex and I didn't even know what he called his dick. (There are so many variations in the English language !) But there was a sort of consciousness of what we had done the night before - and a pleasant one at that. Saturday night could not come too quickly for me. Once again we ate out and had a couple of pints at the pub and then it was time for bed. Once again he got into bed while I used the bathroom and once again, after I had joined him in his bed, I slowly undressed him and caressed that gorgeous dick of his. What if it was small - it was HIS ! And this time, because again he made no movement towards mine, which was really straining at the leash, I dropped my shorts, reached for his hand and placed it firmly round my throbbing flesh. I had skinned back the foreskin so that it seemed like his and his touch was electric. He stroked me gently as I was doing to him, with his index finger under the sensitive head sliding in the pre-cum, and it was not long before I knew I was going to climax. I said "Ian .. Ian �I'm going to cum ��. You do know what that means, don't you ?" and he said - yes, he actually said - "I think so !" Anyway I could hold out no longer and I came all over his body, the sheets and everywhere, whilst - in my ecstasy - holding on to his dick. His swelled and gave a sort of twitch as I shot my load, but I have no idea whether he came or not because there was so much pre-cum around that it was impossible to say. But I went to my bed totally satisfied and was out like a light as soon as my head touched the pillow. And the next morning I didn't have to go to the factory and I did rejoin him in bed and we did it all over again, taking just as long to undress him as before. Whether he came or not I still don't know, but I did and his touch was just as good and sure as the night before. Ah, the raptures of being young and learning about sex under the sheets in the days when there were no videos and porno magazines to learn from. Three weeks later I had again to come down to the factory to see that all was well with the newly installed machine but this time a work colleague (Mike) came with me, a straight friend whose elder brother had been in love with my elder sister. I chose to be there for the weekend and again asked Ian if he would like to come. This time there was a slight flicker in his eyes when he said he would but I don't suppose anyone else would have noticed. And how things can go wrong ! I confidently expected Mike to return to his home in the north on the Friday night, but with Ian expected and no way of telephoning him, he informed me that he would be staying the weekend too as he had some work to do in a neighbouring town on the Monday. I was shell-shocked because he was occupying the second bed in the hotel room. I hope I did not show it. Ian duly arrived and we spent rather longer over our meal and in the pub before returning to the hotel after midnight. Ian was 19 by now so it was legal to drink but what we had in mind for later definitely was not. The age for "consenting adults" in those days was still fixed at 21. Mike was asleep in his bed when we got back, his regular breathing deep and slow. I had told him that Ian was arriving and that I would sleep on the floor using those extra blankets that hotels carry in the wardrobe. I had got them out in advance and taken one of Ian's pillows to rest my head on. So, in order not to disturb Mike, we climbed out of our clothes, Ian climbed into his bed �. and I climbed in immediately after him ! It was essential to make no noise because if Mike had woken up our jobs, our reputations and our future prospects would have been at risk. The danger however - as danger always does - heightened the excitement and I relished the fact that this time he was dressed only in his shorts. I was quick to place his hand on my rock-hard tool and he soon had me fighting to restrain my groans as he pushed me over the edge into the free fall of orgasm. What a touch the lad had ! And again I've no idea if he came off too, though I wanked his little rod with all the deftness that he had used on me. Fortunately Mike did not wake up but the following morning it was (sadly) not possible to continue our activities and we rode our bikes back to our homes on the Sunday afternoon. Things happen quickly when you are young; there were no further immediate opportunities to have sex with Ian; and I got another, better paid job with another engineering firm. I moved away from my parents' home and hired a flat to be near my work and in due course I learned that Ian too had left our former employer. Also I met the most wonderful girl and within six weeks we were engaged to be married. My former girl friend came up from London to look her over and decided from seeing how happy we were that there was no hope for her. We got married six months later and I heard nothing more from Ian for about eighteen months. Happy as I was with my wife, I still thought about him occasionally and a chance encounter with a former colleague told me that he was spending time in a Young Offenders Institution (YOI). I was really sorry about this because my interest in him was genuine, whatever the world in its wisdom might have thought of our relationship, and I wanted to find out what had happened to him. I therefore called on his mother. She was pleased to see me and told me that Ian had been released and was working as a mechanic in a local garage. He was married (she said) and was living in small flat at the back of the garage. She gave me the address and I went round to see them. They were both in and I saw that his wife was very pregnant indeed ! Ian welcomed me, though there was not a flicker of consciousness in his greeting, and he made me a cup of tea - something his wife said he never did for anyone else. He had taken to smoking and seemed happy but she did let it fall later to me that she was not completely sure that the baby was his. It was not the time to discover too closely what had gone wrong but I formed the idea that he had stolen someone's motorbike in revenge for his having been stolen and he had thrown it into a canal after the police came round to interview him. He was never a violent person (just thinking of his touch on my dick told me that!) but I could believe he might take the law into his own hands if his precious bike was threatened. I asked him if he would like to come out and see my new home and new motorbike one weekend, and he said that he would after the baby's arrival. And that's how we met again. My wife and I had a child by this time, whom we kept in a cot in our bedroom. Ian came for a short weekend, arriving on the Saturday afternoon and returning Sunday morning. He had to sleep in our living room on a mattress because our house was small like our income. My wife was tired because our son often got us up in the night and went upstairs to bed early, leaving me and Ian to talk about bikes and cars in the sitting-room below. Does it surprise you that I stayed with him as he undressed and got into the sleeping-bag we had provided ? Or that I lay down beside him and put my hand down the sleeping bag ? It surprised me ! I considered myself "straight" now and in those days you were either thought of as "straight" or as "queer". This time, as my hand reached down the sleeping-bag, there was some resistance. He lay on his tummy and refused to roll over and I had to say - with some frustration - "Roll over for me, please, Ian." After some further persuasion he did so reluctantly, but his prick was sticking out of his shorts and it was slippery with pre-cum ! I badly wanted to see him cum, if possible, so I asked him to get out of the sleeping bag and lie on top of it so that I could get a good grip on his shaft. He did this and I stroked him, using the pre-cum to smooth the passage of my fingers under and over his swollen cockhead. "Come for me, Ian" I breathed and at that very moment our cat jumped onto the sleeping bag on which Ian was lying. "It'll drown the cat" he gasped as a single, small jet of spunk jumped from the end of his engorged glans and landed on his tummy. So much pre-cum and so little sperm ! But I had at last seen him cum and I now asked him to wank me off, which he did with all his old skill and sureness of touch. I asked him to clean up and went upstairs to join my wife on a high of satisfaction and without any feelings of guilt. What we had done seemed good and "normal" - not dirty and queer. I loved my wife and child and I was fond of Ian. Do YOU think I should have felt guilty ? This ushered in a brief period of warm feelings, I think on both sides, in so far as Ian ever allowed himself to show feeling. I still had the Jeep, and though he had had his driving licence taken away I was able to collect him from his home, even though it was over forty miles away and I did this one Saturday when my wife had taken our son down to see his grandparents for the weekend. In the evening we walked to a local pub and on the way home after several pints of beer I asked him about his former girl-friends and he said that he had "had" many and that they were "always coming back for more." Given his film-star looks this didn't surprise me and I privately admitted to myself that I, too, was always coming back for more. He said that "keeping control" was important to him, by which I understood that he was able and liked to control when he "came" and that he prided himself on his way with women and would be appalled if his friends had any idea that he had ever had sex with a man. When I got into bed with him that night, maybe it was the beer we had consumed, but he was so slow coming off that I almost fell asleep on the job. I had to jerk myself awake and remind myself that this was Ian I was stroking ! The only sign he gave as he finally shot his load under my caressing fingers was a sharp intake of breath. I noticed that his pre-cum suddenly became more slippery but I couldn't find much spunk to rub into his tummy. The next morning I brought him a cup of tea as he lay in bed and got in next to him. We were very relaxed and twice he stopped my hand as he got close to the brink, finally saying "That's enough !" Maybe his idea of "control" didn't allow an orgasm in the morning after the night before or maybe he thought things were in danger of going too far on the "queer" side. I was sure I was the only man in his life, as indeed he was in mine. It was about a month later that I collected him again to help work on the Jeep but I had to drive him home in the family car the same evening. It was late autumn and thick fog shrouded the darkened road as we climbed the long hill away from my home. I dared to place my hand on his knee and his immediate reaction was to swing it away and close his legs, but I kept my hand in place and to my great satisfaction he swung it back again so that I was able to caress the inside of his thigh. We climbed into thicker and thicker fog until we came to a place where I could safely park the car on the side of the road. I was still very shy and had never had sex with anyone in a car before, so I said I needed to check that the back doors to the car (it was a kind of shooting brake) were properly closed. So I got out, checked the firmly fastened doors and got back in again. My hand rapidly found his knee and this time there was no drawing away. I drew it slowly over the bulge in his pants and up to the belt of his jeans and undid the buckle. When I fumbled with the top button of his fly he helped me to undo it. As soon as his fly was open I dived my hand into his shorts and the joy of bringing out his cut dick, stiff and glistening with pre-cum in the dim light of the dashboard lights, was overwhelming. I couldn't, however, get a good grip of it as there was so little length to work on, so I said "You climb over the seat and lie with your head towards the front, and I'll get in via the back and join you." Without a murmur he started to move into the back of the car and I went round to the doors, opened them and got in beside him. He lay on his back with his hands behind his head, having closed his fly to make the transition from the front to the back of the car, so it was my pleasure again to undo the buckle, reopen the fly and extract his neat dick. Soon my fingers were sliding up and down his shaft and over his slippery glans and I think that he would have cum quite quickly (for him) if suddenly we had not been aware of headlights looming up in the fog. He rolled over, stuffing his stiff dick into his pants and I lay flat with my head down, pretending I wasn't there. The approaching car went slowly by and now I was urgent to finish the job. Instead of fumbling with his fly I said "Take it out for me, please, Ian" and he did so. On past occasions he had always made me make all the running but this time he seemed keen too. Even so it was some time and quite a lot of stroking from my urging fingers before I felt his dick stiffen and he shot his single spurt of sperm onto his leather belt. "Wow, thank you, Ian" I said gratefully. If his dick had been twice as large and his cum four times as heavy I could not have been more satisfied. But he said with heavy feeling "Don't thank me - I wanted it." This rough reaction surprised me at the time because he rarely if ever displayed any feeling and this was raw. Much later I realized that he said this because he was afraid of letting himself go and enjoying it too much in case he should consider himself in any way gay. I said nothing in reply until his dick, which remained stiff for some time after the ejaculation, began to soften and then I asked him if he would mind bringing me off. Always before I had had to place his hand round my dick for him to stroke me, but this time of his own accord he reached over and took it in his hand. "Take it slowly" I begged, and he did just that - so lingeringly that I remained on edge for the longest period of time I have ever experienced. "A little quicker" I groaned; and with a slight speeding up of his hand I fell over the edge into the best orgasm I had ever had. Was it luck on his part that he knew just how to do it; or was it a technique that he had long practised on himself ? I shall never know. After this climax in our affairs I hoped to see more of him but it was not to be. Work for me became all absorbing as I founded my own start-up company and worked long, long hours; and when a rare opportunity for a meeting did present itself he failed to telephone me at work in answer to the letters I sent to his home. Eventually I gave up hope of seeing him again. But about eight or nine years later I found myself with an hour to spare in his home town and I went round to the flat he had occupied, only to find someone else there. On enquiring of the occupant if he knew where Ian lived, he said that he had bought a small house near the city centre by the side of the canal but he wasn't sure if he was there at present. The way he said this made me somewhat suspicious but when I got there, Ian was in, and so was his wife and their son, now about ten years old. He didn't look much like either of his parents and Ian did volunteer during our conversation that only one child in ten years wasn't up to much. I was pleased to see him but there was a marked change in the way he looked. His face had coarsened and his film star looks had disappeared. He was drinking between ten and twelve pints of beer each evening in the pub and he had a beer belly of ample proportions. I learned, too, that he had recently done time in prison ("all wanking and waiting") probably for theft, but I didn't enquire too deeply into that because it was good to see him, however altered, and I had always been fond of him. I asked him if he would like to come out to my home to see the Jeep, which I still had, and said that the next weekend my wife was taking our family down to her parents and I would be able to collect him on my motorbike, if he liked. He thought for a moment and said he would come on the Saturday if I could collect him at about ten o'clock and get him back home for his tea at 6.00 in the evening. During those intervening years I had had no time for any extra marital relationship and I was very excited at the thought of renewing my acquaintance with him, even if he was much changed, and I set off to fetch him on the Saturday morning with hopes as high as my dick had been stiff the night before. He wasn't in when I first got to his home, but he arrived later, mumbling an excuse I couldn't hear. Maybe he had thought better of it and hoped I would leave before he arrived. Anyway we set off on the forty mile journey with him riding pillion and I showed him my new home and gave him lunch. After lunch we went for a walk and I noticed how unfit he had become. When we got back to the house I offered to show him some photos of the rebuild the Jeep had had on the bank of the river Rhine. These were kept in my bedroom so we went up there to look at them. From there it was but a short step to my inviting him to lie down with me for half an hour's "rest" before we set off for his home. He said nothing at first and - to urge him on - I started taking off my clothes. Then, when I had undressed to my shorts, he said irresolutely "I've been thinking all morning what I should say if you asked me and I still don't know what to say." He hesitated : "You see, I used to be completely straight, but I enjoyed going with you, so there must be something a bit queer in my nature. Now I don't think I'm anything." I put my arms on his shoulders, dressed only in my underpants with a semi-hard-on beginning to make its presence felt, and said with feeling "But *of course* you enjoyed it, Ian, *anyone* would have done." He seemed relieved at this and said "OK, I'll join you." And so for the last time we got into bed with each other. Time had come a full circle since all those years ago when I had vainly invited him to have a "rest" with me. He stripped down to his underpants, which looked slack and empty underneath his beer belly, and lay down beside me, his arms above his head. I rested my arm lightly on his chest and caressed his nipples. They stiffened under my touch and I traced a passage down from them over the new swell of his belly and on to the band of his shorts. Then slowly down onto his thigh. I could sense rather than feel a swelling in his crotch so I laid my hand on it and found the expected bulge, but it was a fairly limp one ! And I wish I could say that the ensuing sex was worth waiting all those years for. He let me wriggle his pants down and I took his four inch dick in my fingers and discovered that that, too, was changed. Gone was its former stiffness, there was no pre-cum and I thought "So this is what 12 pints of beer a night does for you, plus 40 fags a day" and was sad. He was only just over thirty years old. Hoping (amongst other things!) to stiffen his dick and start his pre-cum by getting him to hold mine, I reached up for his hand and placed it on my hard rod. He showed all his old sensitivity in stroking me and I was so excited by the renewed contact of his hand that I was soon close to cumming. "I'm going to cum in a minute" I gasped as I - in turn - increased the tempo of my stroking on his dick, which remained dry and enlarged but not as stiffly erect as I remembered it. "Mine won't" he said, but I could hold out no longer and I shot my load onto my stomach. As ever he kept stroking it gently until the spasms had passed. Then he stopped and as he did so his own dick deflated in my hand. Our sex was over : he had, I think, become impotent. Later I made him a present of the shattered piston I had taken out of the Jeep by the side of the Rhine, took him to a railway station, paid for his ticket and put him on the train. And that was the last I saw of him. He was just an ordinary guy but I had been fond of him and he was the only straight fella I ever seduced. He bore me no ill will but he must been a long way towards the right end of the continuum I wrote about at the start of this story. And I never did get to know what he called his dick !