I left school in Surrey, England in July 1964, when I was a month short of my 18th birthday.....a child by all intents, because I had no idea what I wanted to become. I seemed to have done alright in my exams and my career had been 'planned' for me by the school careers master and my dad, but no-one seemed to have considered me! Because the last thing I really wanted to do was to follow my dad into accountancy or to do as my careers advisor suggested and try to become a lawyer -- heaven forbid, all those dusty tomes and lines of numbers; not to mention all those years and years of study!
And so I passed my 18th birthday while on extended summer holiday, with no more school, or a job, to look forward to -- not that I was particularly worried. Why wasn't I worried? Because I'd just found myself a real live girlfriend -- not just someone from school to take to the cinema or to the café......no, this was real love, and she was gorgeous! Very quickly we passed from virgins to practiced lovers and our romantic future was looking rosy as it always is with your first love.
However, I'm not going to let that get in the way of my story -- because basically, my mum saw better things for me than becoming a full time Romeo and she packed me off to college for a two year Business Studies course.
So, in the September after my 18th birthday, my parents set me up with some 'digs' -- a small bed-sit near the college, which was some 30 miles from home and with a bit of financial help from them and then a small inheritance from a great-uncle, I was sitting pretty! All I had to do was to attend lectures and try to behave......
I think that my mother was more canny than I believed though, because no sooner had I settled in, than they moved some 150 miles away (actually my father got a promotion and had to go to Head Office to work) and I was left to make my own way in life.
Truthfully, my parents were only on the other end of a phone line if I wanted a chat or a bit of loving, or even cash, but I certainly felt alone and I also realised that, without my own transport, I couldn't easily get to see my love-of-my-life and my crusty old landlady certainly wasn't going to let her come and stay with me! Now what to do?
I soon realised that if I was to pacify that damn thing that kept rearing its head in my trousers, I'd have to find other outlets for my sexual needs and I became a real expert at wanking. I could make myself cum in a matter of a few minutes or I could edge myself along for perhaps an hour or more before I just had to let it out. Usually I'd lay on my back on my bed to wank, allowing my spunk to spurt onto my abdomen and chest and I'd long ago found out about the taste, which I now rather enjoyed. Sometimes I'd lie on my side and then I could catch my cum in my hand and lick it all up, but I tended to vary my activities, so I always had an old towel handy.
Since I started wanking, I'd always wanted to be able to suck my own cock but I was short of some three or four inches of flexibility. The idea of perhaps arranging myself with my arse up against a wall was a bit of a worry because at home, mum or dad might have walked in and once I was in 'digs' I was always concerned that my landlady, who had a key to every room, might come in and find me in that strange position....so I'd yet to try sperm direct from the source.
But wanking, while good to release the pressure, isn't the same as having sex with someone else -- it's a "solitary vice" to quote the old 18th Century view -- a lonely way of having sex and I needed more than that.
My walk to and from college took me either through or past a local recreation ground, past the kids playground, the bowls clubhouse and past the public toilets and I was fortunate therefore -- because it was there that I found something better than just masturbation.
I think I ducked into the toilet entrance one afternoon mainly because it started raining heavily and then I realised that I might as well have a pee while I was there, so I moved from the doorway into the men's toilet proper.
There was a wall of urinals -- perhaps six of them I'd guess and at the far one a well-built man, perhaps in his forties, stood, looking down at the urinal in front of him. I moved to one further down the line away from him, shuffled close to the wall and pulled my zip down. I fished out my penis, pulling back my foreskin as I did so and waited for the wee to start, not that my bladder was under any great pressure.
For a while nothing happened and as I waited I glanced down the row of urinals and realised that the man was looking in my direction. My glance also told me that he was holding his remarkably large penis in his left hand so that my view was unobstructed and as I looked, my eyes now captivated by the sight of his cock, I watched him run his hand up and down it, slowly and smoothly.
I had to look away because suddenly my own penis was starting to get stiff.....and since I was holding it in my right hand, its enlargement from a limp object to around seven inches of tumescent flesh must have been at least partially visible to the man.
I couldn't help but take another sideways look -- and now the man had half turned towards me! More than that, he was holding his cock which was already massively erect!
'Oh my God,' I thought, 'I can't believe this is happening! This is so sick! What do I do? What the fuck do I do?'
My somewhat panic-stricken mind wanted me to run away but my stiff cock had other ideas, as did the man. Moving slowly, he edged towards me until he was standing at the next urinal to me. He looked down at my erection and then back at his own, which he was gently stropping. My cock too was now a rigid length in my hand and I was trembling with, well, not fear but anticipation, I think.
"Nice one you've got there," the man said quietly, still rubbing his own organ, "Can I hold it?"
'Oh God' I thought again, 'Do I let him?'
I was panicking really -- I'd never in my life let anyone anywhere, or for any reason, touch or hold my cock apart from me. I'd never even had to let a doctor touch me -- nor even my mum.....not since I was a baby.
"Come on. Feel mine then," the man suggested, reaching out for my hand.
And like a zombie, I let him pull my hand across the small space between us and rest it on his penis.
"Get hold of it then," he said as his hand closed my fingers over his shaft, "Beauty, aint it? I got seven inches, how about you?"
"Errrr, dunno," I said, flustered, speaking for the first time.
"Looks about the same," he said, "Let me feel it and I'll tell you."
Taking my other hand from my penis I let him grasp me and his firm grip made my cock jump with what must have been delight, because it stiffened further with the touch. The man ran his hand over my cock, smoothing his palm over and around my knob and spreading the little dribble of lubrication that had oozed from the tip.
"Feels good mate," he said, "You might be a bit longer than me, you lucky bugger! Come on, give mine a rub, will yer."
I could hardly stop my hand from moving, partially because he was now moving his hips so that his cock was pushed through my fist and partially because I now really wanted to feel that cock, so similar and yet so different to my own.
Somehow his flesh felt hotter than mine but the loose skin felt just like mine as I moved it up and down his shaft.
"Do it harder," said the man, now moving his hand on my cock more quickly, "Grab hold tighter and do it a bit faster."
For a little while we just rubbed each other, not talking, but both breathing quite heavily.
"Getting good, mate. Have a play with my knob," he asked, because I'd been concentrating on and enjoying feeling his hot smooth shaft, "Rub my knob for me."
