This is a story about man on man sex.  If this offends you please do not read further.  Otherwise please enjoy this story which is the first part of a longer piece about mature widowers who take care of each other's needs.  It's my first submission for Nifty so I'd be very interested to receive your feedback and suggestions for future chapters.  My email is zlatyblbec@yahoo.com

Nifty is a wonderful free service for those who enjoy gay themed literature, but does need donations to continue doing its wonderful work.

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"I suppose you've done the rounds by now?"  Alan took another sip of his wine.  "More invitations to dinner parties and barbeques than you've ever had, I expect.  And always with some old maid carefully chosen for you to sit next to?"

I nodded and smiled back. 

"I don't think there was single woman over 50 that someone didn't try to pair me off with when June died.  They mean well."

"I know", I replied.  "It's just that ..."

"You want your freedom?" Alan finished the sentence for me.

I reached for my glass.  Alan was right.  After 40 odd years of married life it was always going to be a wrench for whichever one of us was left behind.  I never expected it to be me.  "I just don't want to be tied down again," I said.  "I had a good life with Anne, but there were times when I'd have liked a bit more freedom, a bit more space."  I sighed and shook my head a little.  "I don't know what I want, really."

"I understand totally", said Alan.

Alan and I had known each other since we were toddlers.  We'd been born four months and three houses apart, in the early 1950s.  We'd been the sort of best of friends who are thumping hell out of each other one minute, and a quarter of an hour later have their arms around one another as the biggest of buddies you could ever imagine.

"Most of the while I'm fine, but from time to time I feel really lonely.  Especially at night when I come back from somewhere where I've been in good company, enjoying myself – band practice or a match or the pub.  And now that the clocks have gone back and autumn's set in the nights seem very long."  I drained my glass then leaned over, picked up the bottle and poured myself some more, topping Alan up at the same time.  "I don't know how you've managed.  You always seem so content."

Alan took a big drink from his glass and looked pensive.  I could sense uncertainty in his mind.

"What's up?" I asked.

He moved his head from side to side as if he were weighing things up.  Then he took a deep breath.  "OK!" he started after a short while.  "I was really lonely too, when June died.  Same sort of thing as you, really – the days weren't too bad but the long dark nights...   Anyway, that's all in the past.  I don't spend many nights alone these days, to be honest."

I couldn't help but smile.  "You sly one!  All these years when we're assuming there's no one, and you have a secret lady friend!"

Alan took a deep breath.  "They're not lady friends, Roger.  They're mates.  Male mates.  `Friends with benefits', as they say."

I felt my mouth fall open.  "What?  You mean?"

He lifted his head in a gesture of confidence.  "Yes, I do mean.  I mean that I have a number of mates in a similar situation to myself.  To ourselves, in fact.  And we share a bed.  Frequently."

"And...?"

"And yes, we have sex.  Lots of sex.  And we enjoy it.  We do it for pleasure, just for the hell of it, and to meet our lusts.  And we also enjoy the company, and the companionship on a cold evening.  But, and here's the part that's really good, there are no commitments on either side.  No expectation that we're going to move in with each other just because we've...'  He winked.  "Well, whatever.  There.  I've told you."

"But...  I've known you for, what, sixty odd years.  You've never..."

"Never what, Rog?  Never groped you?  Never tried to entice you into my bed?"  He paused a few seconds.  "Remember scout camps?"

I felt my cheeks go a little red.  I did remember scout camps.  "But we were children.  Experimenting.  That was different."

Alan picked up his glass and swirled the wine around.  Then he took a sip.  "Things are what they are.  I've developed my views on sexuality down the years, but I won't bore you with them now.  Suffice to say that I think that most people, if not everyone, is inherently bisexual, and also that sex doesn't need to be linked to love – it can just be a bit of fun.  Especially if you're doing it with someone you get on with.

  "I've always been very sexual, right from when my balls dropped and I learnt how to wank."  He smiled, and I could feel that he'd regained his composure and was at ease with the situation again.  "So, when June died, once I'd got over the initial period of mourning, I knew that I'd miss the physical side of things.  We'd had a very active sex life and being in our sixties hadn't stopped that."  He took a deep breath.  "Until towards the end, of course."

I nodded, but didn't say anything.  I knew what it was to see a life partner drift away over a few months, and the horrible combination of emotions that brings out.

"So," he went on "I reflected on my options"  He laughed.  "Analytical to the last!"

I smiled back.  Alan had done economics at university and had ended up with a high powered job as an analyst for a major international company.  He never did anything without considering his alternatives!

"To be honest none of the options seemed appealing.  Most of the old maids I was being introduced to were, to be frank, unattractive (and that's being kind).  And the ones who did look like they'd kept some facet of their youth all seemed to have a radical puritan streak.  They'd move the conversation round to `companionship' but somehow manage to transmit that this would exclude any sort of fun in the bedroom, and they'd come out with the most inhibited claptrap if anything slightly risqué was brought up.  Why would I want to go through all the trouble of establishing a relationship with someone like that just for the sake of the house not being empty of an evening?  Too much pain, too little gain...  There were times when I was so lonely I was tempted.  But then I had a conversation with an old acquaintance down at the beach about five months after June died.

"Now here's something you don't know, something that'll shock you!  June and I had always been naturists.  Ever since we were students.  Unless there was some reason such as prudish friends or family visiting we'd always go to nudist beaches when the weather was nice, even with the kids.  And every year when we went to France it'd be to one of their large naturist resorts.  The kids grew up that way, and I'm pleased to say they're bringing the grandchildren up in naturist households as well."

"You live and learn," I said, shaking my head.  "I wish you'd told me – I'd always wanted to try it, but Anne wasn't at all keen.  Perhaps if she'd known you and June were into it the she might've agreed to go along one year.  She respected June a lot."  But maybe not.  I'd broached the possibility a couple of times, both when we had the kids and after they'd left home and she was pretty cold about the idea.

"Perhaps."  Alan shrugged.  "Anyway, when the weather was good we'd often go to a quiet beach about 30 miles down the road – one that you've probably never even heard of, it's so remote.  It's quite a trek from where you can park to the actual beach and that puts most casual visitors off because there's a beautiful beach with a big car park nearer to the main road.  So the only people who are willing to put in the effort to our beach are those who want to strip off.  We first went there in the seventies, and to be honest it's no busier now than it was then.

"There's a mix of people who use it."  He looked into the distance as if calculating.  "I'd say threequarters are regulars and, in high summer at least, about a quarter are holiday makers who've sought the place out.  And threequarters are male to a quarter female, which is pretty standard for nude beaches I understand – men are more willing to let it all hang out, I guess."

"At least if they were brought up in the era we were," I chipped in.  "You know – compulsory showers and skinny dipping in the school pool!"

"Yeah.  Happy days."  He smiled at my comment. 

Although we'd both gone to a state grammar school it'd been one of the few in England which insisted on nudity in the school pool. I'd been a bit concerned about it at first, but once I'd got used to the idea I loved it. 

"We'd been going to the beach for so long that we knew most of the regulars, and when I first went in the late spring after June died a number of them were devastated to find out she was gone and that they hadn't been able to say goodbye.  When we'd last been to the beach in the Indian Summer before she died she'd been as right as rain.  It was only in early winter that she became ill.

"One of the guys – a widower who we both knew well – befriended me a little, and over the weeks we became quite close.  He'd been through the same things as I was experiencing, albeit a couple of years before, and it was good to be able talk with someone who really understood."  Alan smiled very widely.  "And when you're sitting together stark naked most of the barriers are already lifted so it's easier to be open with people.

"One day the subject got round to a man's physical needs, and whether there could be a sex life after widowerhood.  Turns out he'd had similar views to me about old ladies and commitments and freedom, and then after many months of celibacy had been seduced by one of the guys at the beach.  Another widower.  Turns out there were a lot of men in my – our – situation, and many had decided there was a simple solution to their needs."

"But...  You mean to say that overnight...?"  I frowned.

Alan shook his head.  "It wasn't overnight, to be honest."  He took another sip of wine which looked more like an opportunity for him to gather his thoughts as much as anything.  "As I said, I reckon only a tiny number of people are 100% straight.  You must have read that at some time, or seen a documentary or something.  It isn't something they've just worked out."  He raised his head and looked me directly in the eye.  "They've done research on this for almost a hundred years.  Kinsey and all those guys.  Pretty well everyone is bisexual, Roger, whether we're prepared to admit it or not.  It's only because of what society expects, or in the past even demanded, that we've learnt to supress the gay side of our nature."

I gave what I hoped was an unconvinced look, but to be honest I could see where he was coming from.  There'd been times in the past when I'd had dreams, and even daydreams, that were of a sexual nature and involved other blokes.  Of course I'd supressed any such ideas.  I felt my cheeks starting to burn.

"With June gone I had no reason to deny anything – there was no-one to pretend to apart from myself.  I had my privacy and the ability to do what I wanted, so I could be totally honest with myself.  When I got home from the beach I thought a lot about it and really quickly accepted that I'd always appreciated the look of a good male body, and that the idea of getting down to it with some of my mates had its attractions."

"And was I ..."

`Yes, you were," he didn't let me finish.  "I always liked the look of your bum in the showers!  Of course there was no way that I was going to suggest anything."  He gave me a big smile.  "And anyway there were plenty of other options.  The next time I was down at the beach I had a conversation with Nigel (that's his name), and at the end of the day we went back to his place and I stayed the night.  The rest, they say, is history." 

He picked up his glass and emptied it.  I did the same to mine.  For a while we sat in silence and just looked at each other.  Alan was clearly trying to gauge my reaction.  To be honest I was trying to imagine him naked and getting it on with another man.  He'd kept himself fit, and had always been well tanned – from the nudism, I guess.  And in the warm centrally heated house he was just wearing a tee shirt and shorts.  I couldn't help taking a discrete glance at his crotch.  The shorts he was wearing were fairly thin – runners shorts – and a bit tight.  His cock was outlined very clearly through the material.  I looked back at his face and he smirked.  Clearly my discrete glance hadn't been that discrete.  He raised his eyebrows in a questioning way.

Butterflies began circling around my stomach.  I looked closely at Alan, in a way I don't think I'd looked at him before, or at least not for decades.  "Is that why you invited me over tonight?  To get me drunk, and to chat me up?"  I wasn't sure whether I was happy at the thought or whether I should be angry with him.

"You want me to be honest with you?  The answer's `Yes'.  It's nice having you round and all that, and we've got together to watch a match on the TV and share a bottle or two quite a lot since you've been on your own, but I thought that we went back far enough for me to at least make you aware that you had `options' beyond the old maids of the village.  No obligations, though.  If you like we can agree to just forget the last half hour has ever happened.  Or you can act all disgusted and  walk out in anger, stagger back home and never speak to me again, despite our history.  Or we can rinse the glasses and go to bed..."

By now I was almost shaking.  Here was my oldest friend, a guy well into his sixties who'd played Rugby into middle age and who still kept himself fit and in shape, inviting me into his bed.  We'd slept together many times as children, and just the idea of closeness to someone I liked so much was really appealing after six months of going to bed alone.

"What would we...?"

"What would we do?  Whatever felt right.  Could be just we share the bed and have a chat until we fall asleep.  Could be a cuddle.  Could be more.  Whatever you're comfortable with."

I took a deep breath and stood up.  "Come on then," I said.  "Before I chicken out."

He got out of his chair and looked a bit taken aback.  Perhaps he wasn't expecting me to seize the day quite as quickly.  "Fuck the glasses.  Leave `em till the morning," he said, and took my hand.  He led me out of the lounge, down the hall and into his bedroom.

Like the rest of his house it was tidy and very tastefully furnished.  There was a huge super king-size bed as the centrepiece, with the duvet neatly drawn back halfway.  There was an armchair in the corner with several items of clothing folded on it, and a chest of drawers with a few knickknacks on top.  Each side of the bed there was a small cabinet with a lamp.  I couldn't help noticing that on the left cabinet was a large dispenser of intimate lubricant.  I looked from this to Alan.

He smiled.  "Comes in handy," he said.

Alan turned down the lights using the dimmer switch, and closed the door.  Despite the season the central heating meant it was pleasantly warm.  He moved over to me.  "This is it, then, mate," he said.  "If I do anything you're not comfortable with, just say so and I'll stop.  And you can do what you want with me, and I'll tell you if I don't like it."  With that he put his arms around me in a hug and pulled me close to him.

My heart started to beat more quickly.  I'd taken my jumper off in the lounge and was only wearing a polo shirt and chinos.  Alan moved his hands over my back, and through the thin material I felt him trace the contours of my shoulder blades with the tips of his fingers.  His hands then moved round the sides of my body and began to caress my ribs, going up from the waistband of my jeans towards my nipples.  He moved slowly, massaging me through my shirt with the pads of his thumbs and after a few moments reached my nipples.  I let out a gasp as he gently began circling each one.  I could feel they'd gotten erect and my breathing became heavy.  With Anne, although we had a reasonable sex life, I'd always had to initiate things.  Always had to be the one to turn her on.  I'd never experienced such gentle sensuality in my life before.  Certainly never had anyone playing with my nipples...

"Should we lose these clothes?" he asked.

I reached for my belt and began to unbuckle it.

"No," whispered Alan.  "I'll do that.  You can do me."

With that he took hold of my belt and pulled it so that it unbuckled, then he unbuttoned my chinos and pulled the zipper down as far as it'd go.  I expected him to start dragging them off, but instead he gently slipped his hand inside and began to trace the outline of my rapidly hardening penis through my underpants.

"Hmm" he murmured.  "If I remember right you've got quite a reasonable dick in there." 

His hand slipped down the front of my pants and began to stroke my ballsack from below.  It was heaven.  Alan then moved both hands onto my stomach and in a single movement pushed upwards to start removing my polo shirt.  Once that was gone he put his hands inside the back of my chinos and began to tease them down, leaving my underpants a bit to one side but largely in place.  Then he got down on his knees and grabbed the bottom of my trousers.

"Feet!"

I raised my left foot and he pulled off the left leg of my chinos, grabbing the sock and taking it off in the same movement.  Then he did the same with the right leg, leaving me wearing nothing but my old-fashioned white Y-Fronts.  By now my cock was as hard as a rock and was straining against the soft material of my underpants.  My breathing was, to say the least, quite heavy.

Alan stood back up, put his arms around me again and with the tips of his fingers began to caress by bum through the cotton of my underpants.  Along the top of the buttocks.  Up and down the cleft.  Following the line of the pants around where they met my legs.  All so gentle.  It felt as if my penis would burst – not from ejaculation but from all the blood that continued to rush into it.  I closed my eyes and enjoyed the feeling of his hands massaging me.  Then he moved his hands to the front of my pants and stroked my penis again.  I felt his head move towards mine, and his breath as he placed it next to my ear.  Without thinking I put my hand on to top of his head and began to gently stroke his hair.

`Do you want to undress me?' he whispered.

I took a huge breath.  `Hmmm,' I murmured, and as he drew his head away I put my hands under the sides of his tee shirt and pulled it up over his head. With my eyes closed I reached down and put my hands inside the back of his shorts.  Exploring slowly I was intrigued – I could feel some material under his shorts, but I could also feel the bare skin of his buttocks.  I did the same sort of thing to his bum as he'd done to mine, but found that most of the time I was touching skin rather than underwear.  I moved my arms slightly apart and pulled down his shorts.  I opened my eyes to see him wearing a brilliant white jockstrap, bulging at the front with his penis and balls.

He pulled me down onto the bed and started to rub the front of my underpants.  Then he put his hand inside and touched my penis.  It was the first time it had been touched by anyone other than Anne since I was about thirteen.  "Bum up," he said gently and when I complied he pulled down my underpants to my ankles.  I rubbed my legs together and managed to remove the pants completely, then kicked them off the bed.

I was now lying totally naked on Alan's bed, with a massive erection sticking up in the air.  I was wondering what would happen next when Alan moved down my body and began to stroke my cock with his nose.

"Hmmm!" he murmured.  "What a lovely scent.  Clean sweat!"

I could smell him, too.  A new scent to me, but one that was a real turn on.  It was all man, and sweaty, but not in an unpleasant way such as the smell of someone who'd been working hard all day.  I began to ooze pre-cum, and he ran the tip of his nose across the bottom of my foreskin to dip it into the sticky liquid that was pooling there.  Then he moved his head up a little and the pre-cum stretched in a strand as he did so.  He lifted his head slightly more and let the strand fall across his lip and into his mouth.  He licked his lips.  "Lovely," he said quietly.

I don't think I'd ever been so turned on.  For the first time, really, I was being made love to rather than having to be in the driving seat.  And my secretions were being treated as something to be celebrated and savoured rather than to be wiped away as quickly as possible with a disapproving sound.  The thought made me ooze all the more.

Alan moved his arm across my chest and sought out my nipples again.  This was another first for me – I'd never known how sensitive they could be or how erotic it was to have them played with.  Then, as I was losing myself in that sensation, a moist warmth engulfed my cock as Alan took it into his mouth.

Like many married men I'd tried unsuccessfully down the years to get my wife to give me blow jobs.  Once or twice, when she'd been particularly turned on, she'd had a quick suck, but neither of us had really got much out of it.  But now, as Alan moved his tongue into the tip of the foreskin and around the head of my cock, and alternated with sliding it in and out of his mouth, I understood what all the fuss was about.  I had never felt such pleasure before.  Here was someone who was experienced in giving other men enjoyment who was totally focused on my satisfaction.

I didn't last long.  "Arrgh!  I'm gonna come," I gasped after only a couple of minutes of attention from Alan's mouth, and tried to pull away from him.  He appeared to ignore me, and kept on sucking gently with his mouth clamped firmly over my dick.  Seconds later I exploded, and pumped rope after rope after rope of cum into my mate's mouth.

When I stopped spasming Alan gently pulled his mouth off my cock, letting some of my spunk mixed with his saliva drip down over my shaft.  He rolled over onto his shoulder and looked up at me.  "Good?" he asked.

"Hmmm."  I closed my eyes.  Partially out of the ecstasy of the moment, but also a bit out of embarrassment.  I'd never ejaculated in front of another male before, at least as an adult.  Looking back I wonder why I should've been at all shy about something so natural that both of us had enjoyed so much, but I was.

Using the semen and spittle as lube Alan took a very light hold on my softening penis and began to rub it very gently with the foreskin pulled fully back.  At first it was a bit tender, and if he'd been rougher it would've been unbearable, but he did his job well and carefully coxed back my erection.  I opened my eyes and saw that from his efforts my penis was covered in a white foam right down to where it met my body, and to my own surprise I suddenly jerked and ejaculated again.  Only a couple of weak spurts this time, but I'd not managed a second coming so quickly after the first for many decades.

"Sleepy?" Alan asked.

I was, but was aware that Alan was probably rock hard too.  "What about you?  Can I do the same for you?"

Alan began to rub the semen and the rest of the mess across my lower stomach, up to and into my belly button.  Then he scooped some of it onto his finger and offered it to me.  I licked it off and swallowed. 

"Let's just have a cuddle and drift off," he replied.  "And if you wake up horny in the night, you can do what you like with me."  With that he turned around to align himself with me at the top of the bed and pulled the duvet over us.  Then he leaned towards me and kissed me.

Two hours earlier I'd have thought that the oddest thing in the world, but suddenly it seemed so natural.

He leaned over and turned off the light. Then he put his arm under my head, like I used to do with Anne.  I half turned onto my belly and lay across him, aware that I was depositing some of my sticky gooeyness onto him.  He must have felt it, but said nothing.

And we just lay there gently caressing each other.  Within a few minutes Alan's breathing became deeper and it was clear that he'd fallen asleep.  I lay awake for a while, and couldn't resist moving my hand between his legs to feel his cock through his jockstrap.  I knew I was going to get to know his dick well in the future.