I heard Jack moan, the arousing kind. Through the crack in the bedroom door, I peered in. He was alone in his sexual enjoyment. It was private but the voyeur inside me forced my stillness.  My palms sweated and my heart rate increased. It wasn’t the first time I had snuck a peek.

The intensity with which he massaged his penis through his clothes gutted me. I loved his sturdy hands. He worked himself deep, getting revved up. I lived for the expanse of his breath knowing his abdomen responded, moving up and down and creating that magnificent center ridge. He was a man’s man with all his hard edges and control.

In my mind, he was already naked. The technique with which his fingers slid over his penis intrigued me. His middle finger ran over the top, in command, down to the head of his penis with a slight flick and back up again. At the same time, his pointer and ring fingers trapped the sides of his penis and edged down. I wanted to know how good those three pressure points would feel on me. The heel of his hand pushed out, on the down stroke and I could see the resistance and his erection growing. God, he drove me insane. I couldn’t see his thumb, but I knew it had to be working some compression. His motions were so controlled and deliberate. My body craved an invitation. I wanted to touch, and taste him.

For a moment, I lost myself in the repeated hand motions. It felt measured and as masturbation techniques go, it had a specific meaning. I knew it, because my own did. The stroke told a detailed story, but wasn’t that so in all sex? In the past and present, it revealed our wants, desires, needs, and cravings. I knew those sensations well and enjoying him today stirred my first, shared, masturbation memory.

Jack’s deliberate movements transported me to a hot and humid, summer night. We had driven down to Lofton Creek. My friends, Howard and Dee, hopped out of the car laughing and giggling, unable to keep their hands off each other. I sat in the backseat of Howard’s car and considered how freely they explored.

 “Jake, we could have some fun, too,” said Robert. He reached over and touched my thigh. I looked down and marveled at his hand on my leg. His touch electrified. All the hair on my body stood up.

“They won’t be back for a while,” he said. “You game?”

Lust and fear became my friend. I hadn’t done this before. I froze in place for a moment, curious, and then made my decision. I popped the button on my shorts and for each click of my zipper going down, my erection grew. I wanted this. Robert knew just what to do. He activated the small space underneath my penis, working it over and over. It lifted me off the seat. My cock engaged and pre-cum oozed out. He cupped my balls when he finished long strokes and as he got the right rhythm, he fisted me to an explosive orgasm. I had never known this type of pleasure before but I knew I wanted more.

The backseat of Howard’s car held the musky scent of sex and leather mixed with the aroma of the pine trees lining the creek. The rushing water mimicked my heart surging. It was the first time another man placed his hands on me. By that creek, my sexual-self emerged.

Jack’s exaggerated breathing pulled me from my thoughts.  It had become louder, steady, and rhythmic. It hit me. He was in a scene. It was as if he responded to another person providing the strokes. He relived a different time and place. His resilient hands replicated the hunger of another. I knew that trance well.

I dropped the band on my running shorts down low on my hips. I freed my erect penis and took it in hand. I pumped several times as the sexual energy washed over me. The layers of sex pushed me further. Robert’s tentative first touch, from so long ago, carried my lust but no longer fear. Jack’s current sensual reprisal fueled me. The ghosts of the past mingled here, bringing forward robust sexual energy of another time. Could I keep quiet? Did I want to?

I imagined it was Jack’s hand stroking my penis. A groan, then a gasp, came out of me as my orgasm erupted. Sexual power and pleasure owned me. Jack turned his head. Through the crack in the door, he spotted me holding my cock and shuddering through my body quakes. He stroked harder. His head pressed back into the pillow as his orgasm tore through him.

Our slowed breathing echoed in the hallway. In the quiet moment of resolution, Jack rolled over on the bed facing me. I pushed the door open a little further. His look of heated desire charged me up again.

“You game?”

His words shattered me. My invitation had finally arrived.

Enjoy your Monday hand play with other stories from MASTURBATION MONDAY. Click here.




 


Comments

04/04/2016 8:35pm

I love everything about this. Not just because male masturbation is a major turn-on. I love the observation, the realizations, the memories...and of course, the invitation at the end.


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