The Old Man’s Parting Gift Pt. 02

The Old Man’s Parting Gift – Part 2: A Sensual Gay Sex Story

A gay sex story: The Old Man’s Parting Gift Pt. 02 Taking a deep breath, I reach for the doorbell… but let my arm fall back down. I’ve been standing in front of the door for five whole minutes now, unable to gather the courage the push the damn button.

On my way home last week, I thought hard and long about what had happened. At the end of the bus ride, I had decided to just forget about the old man’s odd behaviour all together. After all, he’s at an age where one’s behaviour tends to become a tad erratic by default.

He was probably just trying to joke around but got a bit carried away and crossed the line… Well, in the heat of the moment, it did feel like the line had been crossed. Once I had cooled down however, my mindset started shifting slightly.

True, back then I had been mortified but looking back at it, I must confess: the whole thing had actually been quite… exhilarating. Thinking back on it, it wasn’t the pressure of my hands that had made my dick grow bigger. I was actually a bit turned on by the situation. I even thought about looking into exhibitionism for a spell but quickly dismissed the idea when I caught my ugly reflection in a window. Nobody in their right mind would want to jerk off to that.

And so my last week of leisure before college unfolded. Unfortunately, leisurely it was not. On the contrary, everyday brought its new share of issues and with them, a new high on my stress meter. Fortunately, I discovered years ago the best way to blow off some steam: masturbation.

That’s when things started getting weird.

Every time I would stroke my dick, the touch of the old man’s hands exploring my back would come back to me. Sometimes, it felt so real I could actually feel the weight of his fingers on my skin. At first, it was great. It made jerking off feel even better. Soon however, I started remembering more than just his fingers and the memory of his strangely plump dick hanging down his scrawny hips came back to mind. More often than I dare confess.

No matter what kind of porn I was watching, no matter how many flavours of humans where banging each others, no matter how hard they were going at it or how depraved they were acting… Always, the old man would appear in my mind’s eyes.

At first, he was an uninvited guest. As days went by however and I kept jerking off and cumming with his dick dangling in the back of my mind, I started getting a taste for it. In fact, after the third day, I was actually looking forward to his visit.

Last night, my newly found obsession reached its climax and I had a wet dream about the old man. Already, I can’t remember much of it now. I suspect shame the be the root of my jumbled memory. After all, admitting to yourself you’re thirsting after a man older than your grandparents is not that easy of a thing.

What I do remember however, is waking up with a raging boner. Laying in sheets drenched with sweat, I kept my eyes shut tight. In the haze of my rapidly awakening mind, I started masturbating, desperately trying to collate the fragments of my dream before they would vanish for good. I just kept going at it, like a beast in heat… until my tip became so irritated, so raw, that the very act of jerking off became too painful. When I stopped, my belly was covered in thick, white cum even though I had no recollection of actually cumming.

That was less than four hours ago.

And here I am now, starring at the old man’s door. Too shy to move a muscle. How are you supposed to look a man in the eyes, knowing you spent the last six days fantasising about his dick while jerking your own?

A clunky noise echoes in the hallway as the elevator suddenly reaches the floor. A lady comes out of it, carrying some grocery bags. I greet her mechanically as she passes by. To my surprise, she frowns back at me and starts walking faster, almost breaking into a run. She slams her door behind her without a glance back.

What’s with her?

I take a look around, trying to find out what freaked her out like that. With horror, I realize that I’m standing in the middle of the hallway with a fucking hard-on. Panic rushes through my mind at once. Glancing nervously around, I start frenetically squatting and walking in circles, pulling desperately at my shorts. My erection goes down a little. Not completely but I’m too nervous to stay in the hallway any longer.

What if that lady thinks I’m a pervert and calls the concierge or worst, the police?

In desperation, I put a hand down my pants and rearrange my junk to make my erection less obvious. For the first time in my life, I’m glad to have a small dick… well glad may not be the best way to put it but still. The urgency of the situation having swallowed any trace of my earlier hesitation, I ring the doorbell in haste.

“Come in!” The old man yells through the door, almost instantly. “The door’s unlocked!”

Frowning slightly, I reach for the knob. The door does open. I almost jump inside.

“You shouldn’t just tell people to come in like that, sir” I say, quickly closing the door behind me. “It’s dangerous.”

He disregards my concern with a wave of his hand.

“Bah! I’m too old to worry about this kind of things.”

Despite the late hour, he’s still in his pj’s. We shake hands. His is shaking like he spent the morning fingering a snowman.

“Excuse my get-up, sonny. My tremors are just awful today: there’s no way I can get my pants on in that state. I asked the nurse to leave the door unlocked when she left, I couldn’t handle the keys to save my life right now.”

“You sure you’re ok, sir? Do you need me to go get something from the pharmacie?”

“Unless they carry the fountain of youth, I’m afraid there is nothing you can get to help me, sonny. That’s just one of the many perks of growing old.”

I feel bad for him but before I can find the right words to voice my sympathy, his eyes wander to my crotch and I freeze. He doesn’t say anything but as he invites me in, I can spot the hint of a smile on his lips… or maybe it’s all in my head. I’m having a tough time right now.

Trying to hide my awkwardness by acting cheerful, I get down to work. I’ve done it so many times by now, I could do the housework with my eyes closed. I ventilate the place, dust the furniture and clean the floors in a well rehearsed choreography.

Meanwhile, the old man goes about his business without casting me a single look. I must admit: I’m a little disappointed by his lack of interest. I wasn’t expecting my wet dream to manifest of course but I was a least hoping for a little something. I even go so far as to bent over a couple times when cleaning around him, arching my ass in his direction… but he doesn’t take the bait. He doesn’t even nimble at it once. I guess I really was just imagining things last time.

“Here’s your drink, sir.”

I’m holding the glass for him, directing the straw into his mouth. The first time he talked to me all afternoon and it was to ask me to go fetch him some iced tea…

“Thank you, sonny, I needed that.” He says sitting back in the couch. “Looks like you’re almost done here?”

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