I lie on my back, calm and sure in the warmth, and slide my hands down my skin. There's a certain inevitability in the movement, despite the fact that I'm convinced I could stop.

I like to wake up early.

While the sky is still dark, and the air is still cold, I like to wake suddenly from a dream, not quite knowing what the dream was about, but knowing I liked it; knowing it was sexy; knowing that it is the reason my cock is so hard.

I like the way the night is so dark, and silent. I like that I can hear her breathing slowly beside me, her own dreams exciting, evidence sometimes apparent despite her heavy sleep.

I like the feeling of warmth next to me, and the assurance that she won't wake until she's ready. The near-nakedness of her pantied skin next to mine, and the taut cotton covering of her tempting cleft.

There's a certain power in the resistance of that temptation; in the decision to let her sleep. There's a freedom in the knowledge that she would like to be left, and like to encourage me.

There's a familiar pressure of cock against underpants, the entrapment of the willing. A memory prods me, of when I was younger. Before women, before sex, but after the discovery of pleasure. I remember the motion and the feeling; the pure wanton release of youth, and the unbelievable frequency of it. I blush, remembering the stiff stained sheets; proof of the act, or sometimes just the dream.

I lie on my back, calm and sure in the warmth, and slide my hands down my skin. There's a certain inevitability in the movement, despite the fact that I'm convinced I could stop.

Fingertips slide gently over the cloth at first, proud of the bulge, and the subtle leak from its tip. There's a sensitivity that's almost feminine at this point, where every touch produces a mental gasp, despite the almost complete lack of movement. The very tip of one finger, the very tip of one cock.

I tease myself from the outside in. Sometimes a thin sheet helps, an additional covering to numb the pulse. I rub, slowly but surely; sliding fingers down the sides of the solid shaft; tracing the familiar outline of the hardness.

My cock isn't unusual, I don't think. It's soft over hard, stretchy skin covering a rigid shaft. It's almost flat when I'm on my back, and slightly curved towards my body. Its girth is an unknown. Small enough that I can encircle it with forefinger and thumb, heavy enough that the sleeping one beside me cannot. Slim enough to slide carelessly in my hand, portly to the extent that I'm told it spreads her, and that she likes it that way, fortunately.

The head feels distant through the cotton, and I peel the covering away, sliding the underpants down off my cock, past my hips, out from under my ass.

Occasionally I wonder what it might have been like to encircle the head like this with its skin still intact, but I like the immediacy of my touch, the tender sensitivity uncovered. My fingers feel slightly cool on the bulbous skin; the head hot in my hand.

It's not as though I need to wait for instructions, so I start to stroke.

A light slide over the bulge, fingers open slightly to keep things casual. It's like a first date. Sexy, but not too tense. Just getting a feel for what's to come. Down the shaft then, not stretching the skin. Just sliding on by, checking out the options.

A movement beside me grabs my attention as a breast pushes against my arm. I revel in the softness of it, and the heat. I know how I want it now, and slide my hand back up my cock, firmly, taking charge at last.

My fingers rub up over the top and my shaft jerks with anticipation. Back down again, the skin of my hand feeling rough over the head, and then smooth against the loosely coupled skin of the shaft.

I've studied the texts when I wasn't stroking myself, and I know something of penis anatomy. I'd always thought knowledge would remove the wonder from the wank, but it doesn't. I like the way the correct words roll around in my mind as my fingers slide up again, over the glans. Down past the frenulum, where all the nerves are, and back over the shaft to the base.

My other hand helps out here sometimes. I wrap my balls in my fingers and squeeze just a very little, move them around in the sack that holds them, and generally hold them close.

Sometimes the mood takes my fingertip an extra distance, between my legs and across the sensitive bridge of skin. The puckered hole is a little further, and it's easy to caress that if my legs are apart.

This morning though, my needs are simple. My fist sails up and down, sliding over the nerves in a familiar dance. Images flash through my head without sense or reason. Things that arouse me for reasons unknown. Memories that are etched in the private part of my mind. Scenes that a camera would never capture.

The tip of my cock continues to dribble, and it feels nice as I rub it into the skin.

Somehow an edge of the dream I had plays across the darkness of the room, and I recall what I'd been doing when I woke.

She'd been above me at the time, telling me how she couldn't do what we both wanted, and rocking back and forth, sliding herself up and down my body, over my hard naked cock. She'd kept her black panties on as insurance against changing her mind, and she came just as I woke, her drenched shiny briefs sliding over my hot skin.

I know that word too. Frottage, it's called. I would have told her, if she'd stayed. Of course, she can. She does.

Now, in my mind, she has changed her mind. She slides from my body and removes the black wetness, then returns to complete the job.

My fist pumps around me, as my mind presses myself inside her. Hot needy skin envelopes my thoughts. Her breasts dangle closely and I squeeze them hard. Her thighs close around me, she gasps...

My hand almost stops then, enjoying every stroke, and as she makes me come, in my mind, inside, I actually come, in my hand, over my stomach.

Hot come spurts from the tip of my cock, pounding and pumping, releasing and relieving. My muscles jerk, pause, jerk again.

I groan, and let the liquid fall where it will, and rest for a moment, just lying back, replete. I reach for some tissues, and clean up the mess before turning to the side and pressing my hot body against my love.

She mumbles, and I turn to her and ask her what she says.

"You'd better be ready for some more in the morning."

I promise, and we both fall asleep. At least, I think we do. I can feel someone moving...

Jun 2010
I adore stories about male mast. Its always a turn on for me. This was a cool story. Wish it was longer.

May 2008
That's pretty much how it is for me.. only.. I dont sleep in clothing, neither does she...

May 2008
This is the first one I have read that has been purely from the man's point of view. I have to say I enjoyed it, it wasn't as I expected but then to be honest its not a point of view that I would normally be curious about.

May 2008
Gentle, you know that I like your little stories, thank you. Did you ever get woken by a hot little mouth sucking and rubbing, seems it was her favourite wake up drink. Unless it was the orgasm that I gave using tongue and fingers, it rarely sto

May 2008
Ah, youth! As I am months from sixty, masturbation then love making in the same morning just isn't happening for me. Thirty years ago, maybe.

May 2008
I enjoyed that. I wish it would happen to me, but that doesn't seem likely at the moment.

May 2008
Fucking Fantastic! Very unique, LOVE IT!

May 2008
it all sounds pretty true to me! :) masterful! you remain the absolute best at this!!!!

May 2008
This is a great story and I love it. I'm glad someone is in tune with masturbation. I know all men love to do this, and I certainly do. It's a private pleasure I just love to perform. Of course, it's always better when someone else does it for you. Ther

May 2008
Gentle if I had a dollar for every time I have done what you just wrote Bill Gates would be a pauper. This was very very nice, :-) a nice waker-upper, or should I say wanker-upper. You write beautifully, Thanks..