Dirty Love Memories
Author's Note: I want to thank the talented and gorgeous Skye_sub for co-writing and editing this story with me. It is because of her this was brought to life. If you have not read her work, you really need to do so. She is an amazing writer. I love you KYT.
In a much needed moment alone, Bob was sipping a beer, seated by his in-ground pool. His three adult children, their spouses, five young grandchildren and his wife of thirty years, Brenda, were all inside his home, celebrating her birthday. He had happily grilled burgers, hotdogs and steaks for his family. Yet, once the meal had been finished, he felt the need to rest in private away from all the hectic commotion. Now a wealthy man living in upper New York state, he reflected back to when his excavating business had taken off years before. That success had led to his current life, a life he found satisfying and content with a wife he truly loved.
If hard-pressed, his only wish was that she was more into "dirty" sex because that was all he yearned for in his life of fulfilled dreams. To Bob, "dirty" sex meant anything but the generic lovemaking his wife desired, be it taboo because of its sleaze, inappropriate place, time, or unlikely participants; it didn't matter, just as long as it was spontaneous and exhilarating. After a long pull on his beer he puffed his cigar and reminisced back to when he discovered the thrill of nasty, dirty and most importantly raw, unabashed sex. His current undeniably good life at age 62 was not always good when growing up. While he had tried to block most of it from his memory, there were some amazing experiences from his sexual beginnings that he clung to.
Growing up in the 60s and 70s in the heart of New York City as the son of an alcoholic father was rough. His mother died from an infection when he was young, but not before she started the trend of calling him Bobby which followed him throughout his youth. Independent from an early age, he was a solitary white boy among a demographic of mostly blacks and immigrants which led him to acceptance of other cultures from an early age with little fear or prejudice. When his father was drunk, which was most of the time, he would become abusive or if Bobby was lucky he would simply be an absentee father. All this propelled Bobby to run the mean streets at times no person should have been allowed out in the city that never sleeps. New York City had earned that distinction and when Bobby would wonder around; drugs, sex advertising, prostitution, and adult theaters were prevalent on every corner. These thinly veiled vices showed themselves in the dawning light of his sexual awakening even though he never partook in them.
Because of his family's several day visit, he had not been able to have sex with Brenda or even jerk off for some relief. He was horny. Tossing a cautious glance over his shoulder, Bob peeked back at the house to see if anyone in his family was in need of him. Confident he was in the clear, he made his way to his pole barn at the edge of his expansive property. Once inside, he stood back by his bulldozer unbuckling his pants for some release. Tugging them down to his knees, he slapped his flaccid cock a few times in order to wake it up before preparing to jerk it silly. Bob loved sensation on his balls so he cupped and fondled them like an eager young porn actress. Just as his manhood began to rise, he gripped it tightly and stroked his veiny eight inch member until it was full engorged.
Even at his age, he had no trouble getting hard when his memories and his fantasies of dirty sex came flooding to his mind. Internet porn was inferior to the power of his own imagination and the images of his youthful adventures imprinted in his brain. On that day, it was going to be his memories that did the trick. Enhancing the experience was the fact he was standing in his dimly lit barn, with his pants around his knees, about to beat his meat while his family was innocent to his shenanigans. Bob felt dirty and reveled in that familiar feeling especially since he seldom had the opportunity to feel that way anymore. Following that feeling, he drifted back into his memories with his eyes closed and his mind alive.
The year was 1976, New York and all of the United States, for that matter, were in the middle of an election year and Bobby had just turned 19: much too old for an attractive young man to be a virgin. A fact of which he was about as interested in as people were in the lackluster candidates of the day. Of much more importance to him was the stubborn existence of his virginity, even though he was superficially experienced with sex. How could he not be? It permeated everything all around him on a daily basis, but he was introverted and shy which kept him an unwilling virgin. Sure, he had been jerking off for a year, but that was where his sex life sadly ended; his hand partnered with the Playboy and Juggs magazines he would steal from his dad's closet.
He had ritualized how he would jack off, starting with locking the door, he would then get his lotion handy, and sit himself comfortably propped up on his pillows. Loosening his pants and pulling them down around his ankles where they would be easily pulled back up if his father should knock unexpectedly. It had started then, his love of playing with his balls. He would reach his hand down into the musky warmth of his jockeys, taking the time to caress and cup his sack; a habit that would eventually follow him into his sixties. After massaging himself to a throbbing erection, he would sort through his magazine of choice to find that perfect pose of a "slut" on those shiny pages. This was usually a girl on her back with her bush covered pussy on display. Eyes locked on his "slut," he squirted an abundance of lotion all over his cock and built up to his rhythm until it achieved that sloppy smacking sound made by fast jerking. Eventually, his face would contort as he shot his cum all over his chest and stomach. On average, Bobby would jerk off three times a day just to satisfy his urges.
Of course, Bobby's dad did not acknowledge the Saturday of his nineteenth birthday. There were no gifts for him or even a cake. He was used to that kind of treatment. As if to accentuate his apathy for his son, his dad had been out all night. Upon return to their home, he seemingly amped up his disregard for his son and his birthday by finishing off a bottle of whiskey, then passing out on his bedroom floor. Bob now knew with the wisdom of many years on this planet that his dad was likely trying to drink away the pain of his existence and the guilt of being a shit father. When his father's girlfriend, Shonda showed up at their apartment around 3pm; she just shook her head before demanding with disgust overwhelming her tone, "Where is Henry? Is the bastard passed out drunk again?"
Shonda was a thin woman of sharp angles, a 40-year-old blonde who looked much older because of her hard life. The smoking, drinking, and dating abusive men had taken its toll but she was bound by her circumstances. Working as a clerk at a local grocery store, she felt herself lacking the financial stability she craved. This made her feel indebted to Bob's father, Henry despite the constant shit he put her through. Yet, there were times he was decent enough and made a good living with his factory work.
"Yeah. He's in there," responded the downhearted Bobby.
While heading towards Henry's room, Shonda huffed, "I know I should leave his ass but life is hard. I guess I could do worse."
"At least you have a choice." Bobby mumbled almost imperceptibly as he turned to walk away.
