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At the age of forty, a colleague that was working at the same company approached me and suggested that we start our own business. He was ten years my junior and very bright. Ralph, the person in question, also had access to finance because he came from a well-off family. His dad had retired at an early age and sold his company for a small fortune a few years before. It seemed a very good proposition and with the modest amount that I was able to invest, I became a twenty-five percent shareholder in our enterprise.
Fourteen years on, the company had done very well but my presence was becoming a problem for my partner. At the age of fifty-four, I had become a dinosaur in his eyes and it was clear that he was of the opinion that I should be put out to pasture. With my fifty-fifth birthday a year away, it was ‘mutually’ decided that I would take early retirement twelve months hence. During this period I would be paid out for my shares on a monthly basis. The pay-out was very satisfactory and I really had nothing to moan about.
In all honesty, I was sick and tired of city life and had begun to yearn for solitude. Four years before, my long-term relationship had ended, and I had vowed never to get involved permanently with anyone again. If I met anyone interesting in the future, I reasoned, we would live in our own homes and only get together when it suited us.
Once my future fate at work had been sealed, I took a four-week holiday to a coastal area I had always loved, to find my future home. Strangely, I ended up buying a home fifteen miles inland from the coast in a remote and picturesque little village. It was a quaint home that I bought for a song, but as one would expect, it needed a good deal of upgrading. The added benefit of living in this enclave was that there was a substantial city two hours away and so if I developed cabin fever, help was close at hand.
I am sure that in the lives of everyone there are periods that are infinitely forgettable. I shan't bore you with the eighteen most tedious months of my life, suffice to say that the first twelve were spent seeing out my time at the company prior to retiring, and the latter six renovating my new home. The renovation was a huge strain, but ultimately everything turned out fine and I was over the moon with the final result.
Even more satisfyingly, in the six months of arduous renovation, I grew to love the village and its people. Very early on I let it be known that I was gay. I simply didn’t have the time or inclination to deal with expectant widows and divorcees. It always amused me how often I had been told; ‘I would never have guessed you are gay.’ In a world where the media always portray gay men in a stereotypical fashion, I supposed that this was to be expected. Standing six-foot-tall, I had a good physique and no feminine affectations. Gratefully, the locals seemed totally unfazed by my sexual orientation.
The local pub and grill was my only entertainment during the renovation period. With work also taking place at my home on many a Saturday, my city visits had been placed on hold for the time being.
The pub was located about a mile and a half away from my home. My routine visits to the pub took place on Wednesdays and Friday evenings. On Wednesdays, they had a special menu for all the locals and the prices were so inexpensive that it really wasn’t worth cooking at home. The food they served was also excellent, but with the place as busy as it was I never stayed very long. Fridays, however, were much more to my taste and was very much ‘the men’s’ drinking evening.
Other than a guy called Cedric, who was as camp as a row of pink Ferraris, I appeared to be the only other gay person frequenting the bar. Cedric was the local hairdresser and lived on a smallholding five miles out of the village. He took care of all the local ladies coiffure requirements and thankfully only visited the pub once a month. I always avoided him like the plague.
All the local guys looked like your farmer Joe types and there were a number of ‘beauties’ among them. Top of the list for me was a thirty-year-old bachelor who was renowned as the local stud. Needless to say, he was very popular among the ladies and if rumours were to be believed, even some of the married women. There was also a handsome trio consisting of a farmer and his two sons. The farmer was in his mid-forties and the two boys twenty-two and twenty years of age. They were all friendly and great to chat with.
A particular favourite of mine was a man named Danny and I enjoyed his company the most. Danny was six-foot-three-tall and huge of stature. Danny had a huge jovial visage that instantly made you smile. All his oversized features were overpowered by the most impressive moustache I had ever seen. It was like he had a huge bristle broom stuck under his nose. His large gut and mitt-sized hands were a thing of wonder. I was always crazy about shaking hands with him, a ritual he never overlooked, and the way he always seemed to be clamping your shoulder as he spoke to you. Even at the age of sixty, he was a very handsome man.
Sadly, several weeks after I met Danny one of the other men at the bar informed me that his wife was not in a good way and only had a few months to live. “She was never one to complain and sadly, when the doctor saw her a week ago, well…” He never finished his statement, merely spread his arms open in a ‘what the fuck’ gesture.
Over the following three months I saw Danny on very few occasions. When he did pop in he was there for a very short time before leaving.
Three months later Danny’s wife finally passed. Although I had never met her I did attend the funeral at the local church. It was a sad day and Danny looked very distressed.
Over the following four weeks, I did not see Danny until I arrived at the pub one Friday at nine-thirty, which was later than normal. As I drove up to the very full parking area I simply pulled into the first open parking available, which happened to be furthest from the entrance. I must just explain one thing about our village; because there was no street lighting, most people drove to the pub because on moonless and cloudy evenings one could barely see where you were walking in the dark.
Inside the pub, as I did my usual circuit of greetings I observed a sombre-looking Danny on the far side of the bar. After a short while, I eventually made my way in his direction and sat on the stool next to him. Danny had already consumed quite a few beers and continued to do so over the following hour or so. What amazed me during our time together was that given his intake of liquid, he never once had to relieve himself. This guy must have had a bladder of incredible proportions, I thought to myself.
On this evening as Danny progressively got more pissed, he showed me a small photo that he extracted from a wallet, of a picture of he and his wife taken thirty years earlier. As I had suspected, Danny had been unbelievably good-looking when he was younger.
In this village most people lived their lives by the famous Benjamin Franklin quote: ‘Early to bed and early to rise.’ Resultantly, after ten o’clock the bar rapidly began to empty. By ten-thirty, when Danny got up to leave, only a handful of stragglers remained.
As I watched him unsteadily move towards the exit, I was concerned about his condition. I did not want to annoy or affront him but decided to follow him at a respectable distance to see if he was okay. When he arrived at his truck, which happened to be a car's length away from my vehicle, I saw him place his hands on the roof above the driver’s door before his head slumped down between his shoulders.
I simply couldn’t allow him to drive in his condition and gingerly approached him.
“Are you okay, Danny?” I inquired.
“Yeah,” he replied, his speech stilted by alcohol.
“Let’s leave your truck here and let me drive you home. We can collect your vehicle in the morning,” I suggested.
“Nah, I’m fine,” he countered.
“Please, Danny, please let me drive you home. I would hate anything to happen to you… Please,” I pleaded.
There was a sustained silence before he acceptingly said, “Okay.”
Lifting his head he looked at me and said, “But before we go you are going to have to help me out, buddy.”
“Sure,” I replied.
“Thing is, I really need to piss before I wet my pants,” he answered.
“Okay, no problem,” I replied.
Turning his body with his right hand remaining on the roof of his truck, Danny now began to fumble with the front of his tracksuit pants with his left hand. “Fuck, I can’t do this, buddy,” he exclaimed, before continuing, “I’m sorry, pal, but you are going to have to give me a hand.”
My heart almost skipped a beat as I said, “Okay, buddy, just place your left hand around my shoulder.”
As I pulled the front of his tracksuit pants and his boxers down, he let out a chuckle before saying, “I suppose this won’t be the first time you’ve touched another guy’s cock?” We both had a good laugh at his comment.
In the faint light I wasn’t able to get a good look at his dick, but when I took hold of his thick cock a shiver of delight ran down my spine. It had been more than six months since I last touched another man’s knob. As I gained a firm grip on his meaty uncut tool I told him to let rip.
A powerful stream instantly began to flow as Danny let out a sigh of relief. Unable to resist, I fractionally moved my hand to and fro on the shaft of his dick. I was not only very pleased that he had such a large bladder but elated when I sensed that his knob was getting stiffer. A further bonus for me was that as his cock grew harder, it retarded the flow of piss. I would have been happy to remain in that position for another hour. After an age of ecstasy, the stream from his knob regrettably became a trickle before it finally stopped.
As I continued to hold his fully erect cock in my hand, Danny said, “You’d better squeeze my cock to build up some pressure, so that I can make sure that I get rid of all the piss.”
I did as instructed, and then as I released my grip a spurt of piss shot out. “Do that again,” Danny instructed.
For the following minute or so, to my great joy, this procedure was repeated another four times.
Next, Danny issued his new directive. “You had better give my knob a good shake.”
Happily, this new game also lasted a couple of minutes as Danny kept telling me to give his cock another shake. Truthfully, the shaking had turned into more of a tugging action as my hand now liberally moved up and down his shaft. Not only was Danny’s breathing also becoming heavier, but his voice had also turned into a horny growl.
I was dying to simply drop to my knees and suck his knob but decided to let him control the action. I did not want to overstep the mark and possibly mess up the fun I was already having.
After the ‘shaking’ episode, I was directed to squeeze the moisture out of his foreskin. I commenced vigorously toying with the sheathed head of his dick like a racer with a stick shift in my hand. As I did so, I felt Danny’s broom bristles against my ear. He didn’t kiss my ear, but the feel of the moustache accompanied by his hot breath was sensational. This, along with his pulsating hand on my shoulder, was heavenly.
“Yeah, squeeze it out, fuck yeah, milk that moisture out,” he kept on intoning, between gasps.
As I kept working his dick-head I felt warm liquid oozing out between my fingers. “Jesus, buddy… I’m sorry, looks like my bladder wasn’t completely empty,” he groaned.
“No problem,” I replied.
“Sorry for the extra work, but it looks like you have to keep massaging all the moisture out of the hood,” Danny lustfully sighed.
“No problem at all. Let’s make sure we get rid of it all,” I hornily mumbled.
This now became the new game as frequent trickles of piss escaped from his disobedient bladder.
When this turn of events ended, the tickling broom announced, “Shit, buddy, now my fucking balls are misbehaving. They also want to be relieved.”
As my hand moved from his cock-head and back onto his shaft, I replied, “Well, then let’s give those naughty fuckers something to gush about.”
My hand now began to move to and fro in a steady rhythm. I didn’t want to rush things because I was having the time of my life.
“Fuck, yeah, empty my fucking nuts,” Danny began to intone after a few minutes. “Jesus, buddy, fucking go for it!” he pleaded.
My hand now went into overdrive and shortly his body began to shudder as ropes of spunk sprayed out of his dick. Danny was practically hyperventilating after his release.
I was so overwhelmed at this point that I plucked open my jeans with my left hand. After I did so, my spunk and piss sodden hand immediately grabbed hold of my aching knob and commenced plucking at it in an agitated manner. As I did so, a tongue protruded out of the bristles and started prodding into my ear. A vice-like hand also began to clamp my shoulder excruciatingly and I knew I would be bruised the following day. The ache, however, did not perturb me and, if anything, added to the intensity of the moment.
With all the excitement I had experienced thus far, it only took me two minutes before I shot one of the most incredible loads of my life, and it felt like I was being exorcized from a protracted sexless existence.
When we arrived at Danny’s home I helped him undress and get into bed. Once his head hit the pillow he instantly drifted off to sleep. As I stood there looking at him before I left, I wondered if this had been an aberration or if we would again indulge in an occurrence of this sort.
The following week when I bumped into Danny at the bar, I was very pleased when he comfortably engaged with me. In fact, he later invited me to his home for a nightcap.
I am very pleased to report that I only left his place the following morning.
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