This was unexpected.
I am 73. I wrote three years ago about the pleasures of my time with men to celebrate turning 70, to give hope to younger guys wondering if there can still be great sex later in life. That said, my last guy was a beautiful Chinese 20 something. You know the type and if you are into Asian guys, he fit the bill: Slender, boyishly handsome, smooth as silk with tufts of armpit hair, lustrous head of black hair, nice cock, just long and thick enough to deepthroat without choking and to enter me without much pain. But this time it was different -- I hired him as my 70th birthday present. Picking up such an attractive guy was out of my league at this point in life. I felt the reality that hire for money was the only way I will ever feel a man again.
David was new at this, tentative. Turns out he was also just coming out as gay, so the whole scene was novel to him. Satisfying enough for sure, just gazing at him and grateful that I could have such a beautiful guy. No complaints. I came twice, riding him like a bucking bronco and then on my stomach with him plowing my ass. He came deep inside me, I could feel the tremors and the lubricating wetness. We slept sweetly that night until in the dark I was awakened to him slipping inside me, pleasuring me, bringing me to orgasm.
You see, I am happily married -- that's what a gay guy who wanted a family did fifty years ago. And at this point, it felt like I had to stop. Really, how could I continue -- too complicated, too dangerous, and paying for sex felt even more like cheating. So this beautiful guy would be my last hurrah. Sigh, the perfect memory to hold on to. I would have to be satisfied with this as a final present to myself.
The pandemic made it easy. Years passing by. I would jerk off to Literotica or watching young guys cum online. My hand would have to be my sex partner. Time to move on.