The Adventures of Urlen – Chapter 5
It's funny how differently men grasp their cocks when they masturbate. Maybe it's in the genes or maybe it's happenstance and perhaps it also has to do with whether or not they're cut or how tight their foreskin is. I guess there's no school for masturbators because no-one ever teaches us how to do it. My friend, Steve, was an uninhibited wanker and only too happy to let me grasp his fantastic dick and let rip into a tremendous orgasm; whereas Tony, who really liked me (and the liking was mutual) had been led to believe that all wanking was lustful and wrong and that physical contact between men was to be condemned. And yet a mutual friend, who knew him better than me, said he masturbated almost every night before he went to sleep!
Looking at him in the shower I could well credit this. He had one of those dicks that looked somehow shrivelled and wrinkly with use. Low-hanging balls swung between his legs and his dick hung slackly above them, the large glans covered by a loose-fitting foreskin. It looked somehow red and well-used. I could imagine it increased hugely in size when he got round to stroking it.
I remember two things very clearly about him. One was his love/hate relationship with his mother. During the University term Tony neither wrote home to his parents nor phoned them. I did this from time to time - and looked forward to my mother's reply. But Tony never did, nor did he receive many letters. One that did come, I remember, enclosed a stamped, addressed card inside the envelope together with a short note "Dear Tony - please return the enclosed card asap. Love, Mum."
On the card, together with his parents' address, was written "I am well/ not well* (*Please cross out whichever does not apply.")
I don't think he sent it off.
The other thing I remember was that he wrote poetry. I can't remember what he wrote but it was soulful stuff, full of frustration and loneliness.
During my first year at University I got to know him really well and was able to sense his feelings of frustration. We were both good games players and were well matched at the game of squash, which we used to play vigorously whenever we could. It was therefore a simple matter for me to suggest that during the long summer vacation, especially as he seemed lonely, he should come and stay with me so that we could play a game. He jumped at this opportunity and his mother even phoned mine to arrange it. He came by train and I met him at a nearby station. He was to stay one night.
Meeting him outside the pressure cooker that was University life was enjoyable, I think, for both of us. We were more relaxed, more "ourselves". We had a great game of squash, though it was a very hot day and squash is a hot and exhausting game even in cold weather. My mother made him welcome and my father even offered us beer and wine at the evening meal. And I was able to talk with him about his home life, learning that his father was often abroad for long spells and that his mother seemed unhappy. He was an only son and not interested in his father's busy life of financial affairs, nor in his mother's social circle of coffee mornings and afternoon tea. They lived in a large house with a large garden, and employed a gardener and a part-time maid. This was out of my class, but I warmed to him in that he disliked it too. He had no idea what he was going to do when he left University and said, rather lamely "I think my parents would like me to marry someone rather rich ….."
This was a long way ahead of my thinking. Instead I was concentrating on how I might make the most of the night to come. He would have to be "wooed" if I was to get anywhere with him.
