Memories.

( M Solo Mast WS )

An old man lay in bed, his mind was vividly remembering, his right hand was gently touching his flaccid penis.  Holding the tip of it almost in the same way that he would hold a pencil or pen.  He loved the feel of the soft skin of the glans, his fingers moved softly on the head of his cock.  Occasionally a small drop of precum would wet him, and he would gently smooth the viscous liquid into the the skin.

His thoughts were on his own youth.  He hadn't learned to really masturbate until he was in high school, it was the year he had been in a boarding school.   He had been sleeping, when suddenly an older student had burst into his room, turned on the light and grabbed the covers off of his room mate in the lower bunk.  The noise and light had shocked him into wakefulness.  The harsh "Get out of bed!" had confused him.  The older student had pulled his room mate from the bed, out into the hall way.  But why? 

He climbed down from the top bunk, followed his roommate to the hallway a questioned look on his face.  He saw shame in Tom's face.  He heard the older student saying something about jacking off.  By then three more older students were there, and they were all making comments to his roommate, Tom, about jacking off.  Things like. . .

"What were you going to do with it when you cum?" 
"Were you just going to wipe it on your sheets?" 
"Were you just going to leave the cum on your hands?"

The old man thought of how little he had known about sex of any kind at that age, what had he been then, maybe 14 years old.  He thought, what had they been talking about?  What did they mean when they said cum?  What was there to need to wipe up.  Surely Tom wasn't pissing in the bed.  None of it made sense.  But he guessed that Tom must have been touching his own penis and doing something with it.  The old man remembered how he had decided then that what ever it was Tom had been doing must be something that felt good, or Tom wouldn't have taken the chance of getting caught like that.   He thought back, there had been another boy in his class who had been caught doing something, but he wasn't sure it was the same.  The other boy's name was Ron.  That boy had been teased almost beyond belief, they had called him "Thumper".  Thumper had been jacking off too.

He lay there in bed, still gently playing with his cock, still soft, his eyes still closed, and remembered how a few weeks later he had gone home from the boarding school, and thought about what he thought Tom and Ron might have been doing.  He had been so innocent.  Alone at home in his room he had gotten undressed and played with his penis.  It had gotten hard, and it had felt good.  He had played like this before, but had always stopped just after it got hard.  This time, he decided he had to know if there was more to it.  What would happen if he kept playing with it.  If he wrapped his fingers around it.  If he squeezed it. 

He could not remember back to when he had first played with his penis.  He always new it felt really good when he touched it.  But he also knew that you weren't supposed to touch yourself.  His parents had told him many times that his "privates" were private, and not to be touched.  He didn't really understand why, but they had told him. 

They had lived in a big old Victorian house when he was small.  He loved to play up in the attic, it was a big open space, and a small bedroom that had once been for a maid, when a previous owner had been there.  His mom had a bad heart and in all the years they had been in that house had never climbed the stairs to the attic, so he knew that he was alone, safe in the attic.

He would look at old adds for lady's lingerie, sometimes it made his little penis get hard.  He discovered that he loved the intense feeling that he had as he knew he needed to pee, but held his pee in.  If he did this, held his pee when he really had to go, at the same time he touched himself, and when he looked at pictures of bras and girdles in his mom's old women's magazines. . . . it just felt good. 

One day he had really had to pee.  He was in the attic, he was laying on the floor naked, just touching himself and he didn't want to get dressed to go all the way downstairs to go to the bathroom.  He held his penis tightly, almost holding the pee in, and then suddenly he let go and the feeling of the pee squirting out was wonderful.  The sudden release was amazing, it squirted up and landed on him.  He kept pissing, he soaked his chest, he soaked his hands, his legs were wet.  It felt great!  He loved the warm wet water as it landed on him.  He loved the feeling in his penis when he first started to squirt.

The old man kept gently playing with his penis.  Remembering how after that first time he had peed on himself, he had wanted to do it more and more.  How he had gone up into the attic other times and played with his penis and peed all over himself.  How after that he had played with his pee other times too.  Sometimes he would just stand at the toilet and hold his penis in one hand to aim, but put his other hand in the stream. 

There were times when he would do the same holding of the pee as he took a bath, and then he would get hard and pee straight up in the air.  He loved feeling the warm pee land on him. 

The old man thought back to when his room mate had been caught, and thought that Tom could not have been peeing in bed, but there must have been something equally, or maybe even more exciting.  That day when he was home from school, he determined that he had to figure it out.  He had kept playing with his penis, squeezing it, rubbing it, what was it that Tom, and Ron too, had felt that was so worth taking the chance of being caught by older students and then teased about mercilessly.
He kept touching himself, and then. . . it happened.  His penis grew suddenly harder, it felt like he was going to pee, but with more intensity than he had ever felt before.  He knew he had to pee, but it felt so good, so very good to keep rubbing the glans of his penis, and he knew he had to relax a bit to pee, so he kept rubbing, and then . . .WOW.   White sticky stuff came out in great gobs.  It wasn't like pee, pee just came in one great stream.  This came in spurts and then stops and then spurts.  And it felt sticky and gooy, not like pee at all.  But the intense feelings in his penis were amazing.

Now he knew what the others had been doing that was so important that they took the chance of getting caught.

The old man lay in bed remembering all of these things.  Remembering when he could cum so easily.  Remembering when he came in great gobs of cum.   How much there had been, and how he had made a mess of himself with cum.  He closed his eyes, held his soft penis in his fingers.  He fell asleep and dreamed of his youth.


