Old man gay sex stories
The last appointment! Friday was nearly over at last. This had been a hell of a week, and I was anxious for the weekend to start. I'm a doctor, a urologist to be exact. Yeh, I know what they say, 'he's a dick doc'! My name is Jim Morris, and I'm 53 years former, six feet even, and weigh 172. I've been divorced for almost ten years, and wanted to retire by now, but the divorce decree stopped those plans. And, oh yeh, I love cocks! Figures doesn't it. During my 25 years of practice I estimate that I have conservatively seen at least 15,000 pricks. All sizes, shapes, and colors. I picked up the folder of my last patient of the diurnal. I glanced through it quickly looking for the notes my assistant had taken during the telephone interview after booking the appointment. Her notes were readable, a vice I didn't contain. Oh shit! A new patient! That meant an extended session as I noted that he needed a consultation and initial exam. Crap! There went any chance of ge...
Older for Older
It was one of those early spring mornings that I couldn't sleep. As I have grown older, the nights have left me more restless. Not only was I restless, but also my cock was stirring in my briefs. That's not too bad for a guy of sixty-five. Most of my life I have acknowledged I was different. But don't all of us consider ourselves different in one way or another?
For the majority of my years, even though I had married and had a attractive daughter, I have always considered myself a bi-sexual man--a keen attraction for both men and women. But in my senior years, I have become more and more attracted to men. To me a man's cock is a thing of beauty. I love the hardness, --the mushroom head--a pair of complete balls that I roll in my fingers feels like immense erotic beads and I yearn for a firm ass that I can squeeze like loaves of homemade fresh bread. Just to lie naked next to a man with my eyes closed and kiss him deep and fondle his cock and balls brings great excitement and pleasure to my chosen sex spouse and me.
In my soon forties when I played with men, I usually only liked to be sucked and oral reciprocation was not part of my sexual experience. I reside in New York C
I've been interested in older men since I was 19 years old. I'm 30 now and still can't shake the images of beautiful, older, weighty men. The older, stockier, and hairier, the surpass. Though I fantasize about laying face down on a pillow while a big, sexy, bear slides his tongue in and out of my asshole, you can count the number of times I've had relations with men on one hand. I guess you could utter I'm a little timid when it comes to approaching men for sex. If you don't actively seek encounters its simple to go for a couple of years without feeling the warm, hairy, softness of another mans balls. Thats the way it is for me. All that being said, I have to accept that I recently had a fantastic experience with a man I met in a local manual store. The story goes like this:
I recently moved out of state for a fresh start at a new job. I found a new house, settled in, and started working. The new employment was ok and I really like the area I moved too. However, like any new person, its hard to produce relationships with people who already have a position of friends and relatives to spend time with. Needless to say, lots of alone time let your mind to wander to the most engaging subjects. A
I was sixty-five years old, when my wife, Mary, died. She'd been sick for some moment so we hadn't had sex for a couple of years. And, it's funny, but I didn't even fail it. Maybe I'm getting old. And Mary hadn't been looking so fantastic. I mean she wasn't attractive to me anymore, so I was just as happy that my sex animation had come to a close. I tell this to people and they laugh at me, because I stare much younger than my age. Everyone says I could pass for forty-five. My hair is still full and black. Yeah, there are a couple of grey hairs next to my ears, but otherwise not. I don't have a lot of wrinkles, and my body is still fairly solid. Hey, I'm not a twenty-year aged kid, but for sixty-five, really not too bad
The only thing was that after the funeral, I started losing weight, and not shaving every-day, and all that. I guess I'm not that good at taking care of myself. I've always had a chick to cook for me, and explain me to spruce up and everything. First my mother, then my wife. I never had to do anything for myself. My son, Michael, was getting very concerned about me.
"Dad. This is no great. You're not taking care of yourself," he said. "I'm really worried about you."
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