It’s Never Too Late Ch. 2

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He was stunned when I told him and pleaded with me to reconsider. We had had sex in our usual way, and we were both very loving, not having met for a number of months. In the four years that we had been meeting I think the most we ever met was five or six times a year. This was because our work schedules and times free from family responsibilities rarely coincided and our homes were twenty miles apart. In some ways we were very different. He was seven years older than me (I was 38 when we started) and was self-employed. In fact he was the boss of a small electrical firm, while I was just an employee in a large factory. These differences, and the difference in our education, only added to the excitement of our meetings – and we had much more in common on the sexual front. Neither of us was much experienced with other men but both of us enjoyed wanking; and both of us enjoyed wanking each other. Sometimes we met at his home, sometimes at mine, but after my son was born and my girl-friend (now my wife) moved full-time into my home, my house was not possible, so we sometimes met in my car, down a deserted lane. Usually it was night-time but we once had sex in the car in full daylight and I was terrified that a passing car would see me, my dick sticking out of my trousers and Bernard bending over it, wanking it. After about two years we graduated to sucking each other but withdrawing before we came. Usually I came first, saying “Berny … Berny … I’m going to cum” and he would finish me off with his hand. My orgasms with him were incredibly intense and the results messy. I would have to clean up before I turned my attention and my mouth to him. He never lasted long once I got going, and he liked to keep his hand round my softened dick while I moved my lips up and down his swollen knob. He would gasp “I’m close, Darren … very close …. Here it cums!” and I would withdraw my lips and watch his sperm fountain out of him.

Talking of sperm, my girlfriend – as she then was – wanted to have a baby. She was 35 and said she didn’t mind if I married her or not but she wanted a baby by me. We had been trying for several months before I first met Bernard and we went on trying, but without result. We thought maybe it was my fault so I applied through my doctor to have a sperm test. I told Bernard I was having this done and he just laughed. He had three children himself and he said he’d never seen anyone more fertile than me.

He proved to be right. When the results of the test came back the doctor told me I had enough sperm in the sample I’d given to populate a village.

Doing the test was quite embarrassing because the sample had to be fresh. When I arrived at the hospital I was given a small, sterilised jar like a jam jar with quite a small opening at the top and told by a nurse to go into a curtained waiting area (with a bed) to produce my sample. Not only was this rather embarrassing but figuring out how to get my first jump into the bottle presented problems because I spurt quite high. In fact I took much longer to cum than usual and I partly missed with my first spurt but managed to get most of the next – and the next – into the glass jar. I handed over my sample when I came out with the reddest face I’ve ever had, refused a cup of tea and made a rapid escape to my car in the car-park. As I’d got time off work to have the test I suddenly realized that because it was over so quickly it might be safe for me to visit Bernard, so I phoned him on my mobile and told him I’d just done the test.

“How do you feel ?” he asked, so I told him “All right.”

“Come along and see me, then” he said “And I’ll add some more juice to your little pot. Meet me at my home in half an hour. Don’t worry if you can’t cum again. Just come.” And with that he switched his mobile off.

We deneme bonusu veren siteler met half an hour later at his home. He gave me a big hug and offered me a cup of coffee, which I accepted. Usually our meetings could only last about half an hour but today I didn’t need to be back at work for two hours so we could take our time. But we didn’t linger over the coffee – or taking our clothes off once we were in the bedroom. I’d had plenty of time to recover and I was as stiff as a poker. So was he. We stood there, in the bedroom, and embraced, our stiff dicks pinned to our thighs by our mutual pressure. Then I dropped to my knees and took his knob, all wet with pre-cum, into my mouth. He was so excited that he said he was in danger of cumming there and then, so we transferred to the bed, lying there on our sides with our fingers clasped round each other’s dicks. I could tell immediately that I would be able to cum again but he invited me to suck him first by rolling onto his back. He came very quickly in great jets of spunk; then said that he might be able to cum again in a few minutes, so we talked quietly for a bit until we found we were both stiff again. This time we did a hand job on each other, both at the same time, and I soon felt the unmistakable sensation of cumming. As my sperm burst out for the second time that day I said “And I thought it was you who were going to cum again.” I don’t think there was so much juice this time, but even so there was still quite a lot, and this time I felt satisfied and tired – too tired, too satisfied to finish the job on him. He didn’t mind. He just said “That’s great, Darren. For a second go you’ve produced a huge amount of spunk. We’d better clean up and get back to work.”

It was not long after that first sperm sample that my girlfriend told me she thought she was pregnant and it was confirmed a month later. During the seven months that remained of her pregnancy I met Bernard twice and each time he asked after her health with real concern. The same happened two years later when my daughter was on the way and it was from Bernie that I took the advice to have the vasectomy after she was born. It did seem odd to be having this affair while I was also having a family, but I can only say that we were genuinely fond of each other and shared similar feelings about sex. We were also very well tuned to each other whenever we were able to meet, which was not often. That’s not to say that we didn’t like sex with our wives too. We did – but we enjoyed each other’s dicks too. I usually came first when we were together, hoping to keep the best – Bernie’s cum – to the end. I think he thought mine was the best, so we were well matched.

Writing this reminds me of three years later when I had had both my kids and had my vasectomy. After the op I had to wait five days, using a rubber when I had sex with my wife, and then give a sperm sample to test that there were no live sperms in the spunk. It was the same hospital and I had the same small bottle to produce my spunk in. This time I knew the ropes and was less embarrassed about it, but it gave me another opportunity to see Bernard with a safe excuse for being away from home. So I phoned him on his mobile and he said he would go to his home and wait for me there. Half an hour later we were in each other’s arms and about ten minutes after that we were both shooting wads. He was a passionate but gentle lover and I always felt safe with him. It never took either of us long to cum once we were lying down together.

It had, of course, to end. And it was Bernie who wept after I told him. There were no reproaches. He thanked me for everything we had done together and said I had always been as honest with him as he had been with me. I got into my car and drove away with sadness in my heart, but also relieved that the affair was now over and I wouldn’t have to tell any more lies about where I was going. My wife had begun to be suspicious about my going out and wondered if I was meeting another woman now that she was tied up with a young family. I asked him not to phone me, and he kept his promise. For three years I often thought about him but all communication between us was at end. Then one day, while I was having a week’s holiday from work, I was in a large DIY store when suddenly I saw him come in through the main doors with a woman by his side. My feelings were all confused. Part of me wanted to hide – but where ? I was in the row which contained all the paints and I didn’t know where he would be heading. But another, deeper part of me wanted to meet him. I had never felt guilty about what we had done together. It had seemed totally natural, I had been fond of him and still thought about him quite often.

He stopped near the entrance and I could see him talking with the woman and pointing down one of the aisles. Then they separated and she went in the direction he had pointed at and he came towards the shelves of paints. At least I had some forewarning, whilst he had none. I was reaching up for a tin of paint (to hide my confusion) when he saw who I was. There was a start of recognition and then he said in a low voice “My God – Darren !”

I put the tin back on the shelf and turned towards him. “Hi !” I said, simply.

He put his hand out as if to shake mine, then thought better of it and – turning to see if the woman had disappeared – said quickly, “Meet me outside in two minutes by my car. It’s parked to the left of the entrance.” And he turned and went through the exit, leaving me to follow him after he was out of sight. I never thought of not doing so. His request had been too urgent for that. He had opened his car door when I reached him and was pretending to look for something. He straightened up when he saw me and this time he did shake my hand. “It’s great to see you again, Darren.”

“It’s great to see you too,” I stammered.

“Look, we haven’t got long” he said, urgently. “My wife returned to me two years ago and she’s in the store there. We had such a good thing going, you and me. Do you think you could bear to meet me again – even if it’s only once per year ?”

How could I resist ? The warmth of his voice and the pressure of his hand caused an instant swelling in my groin. I couldn’t say no because all my feelings for him – as his for me – were returning in full flood. “I’m on holiday at the moment” I replied. “That’s why I’m here. I’m buying paint to redecorate the downstairs of my house.”

“And your kids – and your wife – are they well ?” he asked.

“Yes – fine. How are you ?”

“I miss you – I’ve always missed you” he said. “Otherwise fine. Look, if you’re on holiday, is there any chance you could come over tomorrow ? My wife is going shopping all morning. You could take a tin, the wrong shade of paint, back home and say you’ll get it replaced with the right shade tomorrow. I’ll get the shade you really want and you can come directly to my home and take it back when we’ve finished.”

It seemed like a pretty good idea to me because it gave me a good excuse. “OK” I said, “About eleven o’clock then ?”

He nodded, and we went back separately into the store, met again near the paint tins and I took the wrong shade and he took the right one. Then, without further speech, we went in different directions down the aisle and he rejoined his wife while I went to the checkout.

That night I could hardly sleep. After my wife got up to give the kids their breakfast I was sorely tempted to have a wank but I managed to avoid doing so by going to the bathroom and running myself a cool bath. Even then my stiff dick stood up and looked at me questioningly, as if pleading to be pulled off there and then. Somehow I managed to stop myself and somehow I remembered to put the tin of paint in the car before I set off.

The journey took nearly forty minutes and he was at the door to meet me. As soon as he had closed it behind me he took me into his strong arms, hugged me and kissed me on the lips. Then he ran his fingers through my hair as we both pressed our bodies against each other. I got an immediate erection and felt with my free hand down to his crotch to see if he had one too. He did, of course, and there was only one place to go – and to go there at once. Once in his bedroom it was a matter of seconds to take off our clothes and there we were again, after three years, stark naked and facing each other with dicks sticking out in excitement. We embraced in the space at the foot of the bed, pressing our dicks into each other and after a minute or two I slithered to the floor onto my knees and wrapped my fist round his long pole while my lips closed softly over his knob. He drew his breath in deeply as I did this, then gently withdrew his dick, saying that he was so excited that if he was not careful he would cum all over the carpet.

We climbed onto the bed, where he took charge. His fingers had all their old magic as they explored my chest, my nipples, my belly and my thighs, and I was almost ready to burst by the time he placed his hand on my dick. As he did so he moved down the bed so that he could enfold my knob with his lips while he stroked my shaft with his hand. I lasted about thirty seconds before telling him I was going to cum. He withdrew his lips and I spurted onto my belly. It was the quickest I had ever cum in my life. While I was still pumping he kept stroking me gently, then, when I had finished, he placed his lips softly again on my throbbing knob. It was a kind of heaven and I groaned and laughed with the same breath. Then, when my dick had subsided, he put his finger in one of the pools of spunk and rubbed it into the skin of my belly, joining up all the separate pools in the process. After that he handed me a piece of kitchen paper he had brought up with him and I cleaned up, while he lay back waiting for me to attend to him.

He didn’t last very long either. If it was twice as long as me it was still only a minute ! He came with a bucking of his hips and a massive shudder. “You’ve been saving that up, haven’t you !” I said and he agreed, saying he had been looking forward to it for the last three years. I then treated him as he had treated me – gently caressing the softening knob with my lips and spreading his spunk all over his belly. We talked quietly for a few minutes, relaxed and at peace with each other, until we reckoned I would have to go. We agreed we would try to meet once per year and I gave him my new mobile phone number, but I already knew once a year would be too little and that twice would be more likely, however difficult it was to find a time which suited us both. And he remembered to give me the tin of paint, which I might otherwise have forgotten.

A few weeks later he phoned me on my mobile when I was finishing work – the time we had agreed for any communication. It was to wish me a happy 46th birthday. He asked after my house painting and told me how his wife had been looking in the cupboard where he kept his tins of paint and had said – all unsuspectingly – “I thought you had got a darker shade than this ?” We both laughed at this.

In my car on the way back home a dog ran out into the road in front of me and I had to brake sharply to avoid it. Now that I was a little older than he had been when we first met, surely it wasn’t true that you couldn’t teach an old dog new tricks – so long as the “old dog” was human. He was 53. It really is never too late to learn – if you enjoy the good things that life has to offer !

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