sfcalguy
I’ve written before about my destiny as a chronic masturbator. I still feel a thrill recalling being nine years old, after school at the library, standing in an aisle reading the definition of “masturbation” over and over from a dictionary. My young cock tingled.
I went on to grow up and fuck my share of beautiful women. I loved every second of every encounter.
Tonight, nearly five decades later, I woke up as usual in the middle of the night, leaving my SO in bed to go downstairs to the basement to masturbate my needy penis.
As I let my boxer briefs fall to my ankles, I was unexpectedly transported. I was flashing back to different times in my life when I bedded beautiful women.
More specifically, I was recalling the gentle, insistent art of removing a woman’s panties for the first time. The way they arch their backs and lift up their asses in consent. That amazing moment right before penetration.
I’m every bit as excited now, today, at the age of 58 — the woman of my dreams upstairs, asleep, unfucked for so long — to sit down and spread my legs on my basement couch and be the pussy-free masturbator that I am today.
Life is a journey. I love where I am today.