My Massage

Growing old is not for sissies. I lay on my belly on the urologist's table with the nurse's strong index finger up my ass massaging my prostate and my useless pecker hanging down and swinging over an emesis basin put there to catch the juice. It was Wednesday afternoon and like every Wednesday afternoon my boggy prostate was taking punishment it didn't deserve because my pecker couldn't get hard enough to fuck.

Doc Prentiss had explained the whole thing to me last year after I had tried sildenafil, vardenafil, tadalafil, and every other damn 'fil with no results. He offered to try a penis pump or possibly a plastic rod to stiffen my pecker but how can a man fuck with that kind of hardware. And Jesus! Surgery on my pecker! No way!

"The prostate makes most of the juice for the semen," Doc had explained. "The testicles only make the sperm. The semen is stored in the seminal vesicles until you ejaculate and then the juice from the prostate refills the seminal vesicles. If you don't ejaculate, then that juice just stays in your prostate and the pressure builds up as your prostate makes more juice. That's what causes the pain."

"I understand all that Doc but I can't get it up to fuck."

"Then you need to masturbate."

"Doc I can't jack off with a soft dick. I just can't."

"Okay," he had said and then as though pronouncing a sentence he added, "If you don't want surgery so you can have sex then your prostate needs to be massaged every week. Otherwise it will get big and boggy and very painful."

That day was the first time I got a prostatic massage and it did relieve the pain but the Doc's big finger left me with a very sore asshole. From then on his nurse, Wanda, did the honors. Wanda was married to the Doc and worked in the office part time.

You have to get used to having a gal's finger up your ass for the better part of an hour working on your prostate while your pecker and testicles hang down through a gap in the table to let an emesis basin catch the thick, white, sticky drippings.

This is not the best way to spend Wednesday afternoon when you know the other guys are on the golf course. It's also not the best way to get that thick creamy stuff out of your pecker but the days when I got it out the old fashioned way are long gone.

My wife Zelda and I live in a great retirement community called Broken Tree just off I-75 north of Orlando, Florida. Money is no problem. Weather is no problem. Making friends is no problem. It's my asshole that's the problem, or rather that pesky gland a finger length up my asshole. That gland had contributed to a lot of fun since I was sixteen but now it was getting old, just like me.

Wanda's finger was a lot softer than the Doc's and better than that she gave out more information than Fox News. She had sources of information that made her a lot of fun to talk to.

"You've been over to that strip joint just off the Interstate again," she said accusingly continuing to massage my prostate.

She was talking about a club where one stripper after another danced twenty-fours a day and sex toys and dirty videos were sold in an adjacent store. It was very popular with the truckers - probably because some of the gals worked the truck parking lot when they were not on stage. It was also popular with some of us old farts who were reminded of our younger years by all that naked flesh.

"How do you know that?" I asked.

"Dusty was in here this morning with an aching prostate, just like yours. Jason you need to understand that staring at naked women is not good for guys with boggy prostates who can't get it up to get it out the regular way."

She was talking about my golfing buddy. His real name wasn't "Dusty" but with a last name like Rhodes, Dusty was a natural moniker.

"You wanna look at naked women you gotta get your peter fixed. Doc does that for a lot of guys," Wanda said.

"I ain't gonna have no damn plastic rod stuck in my peter," I said. I was scared to death of Doc cutting on my peter.

Wanda laughed and reached down and squeezed my pecker softly as it swung below the table.

"The regular size wouldn't fit this big dick of yours anyway," she said. "They'll have to make a special oversized one."

"Stop playing with my pecker you horny old bitch," I said.

I winced in pain as her finger pressed down hard on my prostate.

"Ouch! God Dammit!" I yelled.

"You gotta remember honey that when someone's got their finger up your ass you shouldn't call them dirty names," she said laughing and continuing to squeeze my pecker gently.

"I'm sure Zelda misses this thing a lot," she said. "By the way Jason, how's Zelda getting along? I mean is she ... well ... you know ... happy?"

Oh shit, I thought. That tone of voice! She said happy rather than satisfied but satisfied is what she meant. She knows. Dammit she knows everything. She knows my old business partner Tony Rizzo is fuckin my wife Zelda. She probably even knows he fucks her every Wednesday afternoon while I'm getting my prostate massaged.

Wanda continued to massage my prostate as I mumbled some answer and my mind flashed back to last year. I was trying all those damn medicines without any effect on my pecker and I hadn't fucked Zelda in a long time and she was horny as hell. She urged me to have the surgery and I said I didn't want to.

It wasn't an argument. It was an adult discussion but she let me know in no uncertain terms that she was fifty-eight years old and she needed to get laid at least once a week. She needed it and she was gonna get it -- as simple as that.

What could I say? There was nothing I could say. I just nodded my head. She knew and I knew that this nod gave her my permission to get her problem taken care of.

Zelda thought about it for a week and then told me she had decided that Tony was the guy she wanted to solve her problem. He was my best friend and she figured he'd be the "safest." That was a shocker for me but what could I say? Before I had a chance to say anything she spoke with him privately.

Tony was my age, sixty-four, my ex-partner, and we had both retired after we sold our business four years previously. We discovered the retirement community whose symbol was a shapely tree damaged by a lightning strike and we both bought houses for cash with the proceeds from the sale of our company. Broken Tree turned out to be a great place to live.

After my wife spoke privately with Tony he talked to his wife. Tony's wife had some pelvic problems that caused dyspareunia and as far as she was concerned it was great that he was gonna be fuckin Zelda instead of her. She and Zelda were old friends anyway and somehow it just seemed right.

But Tony insisted on talking to me. He said he wanted to hear me say it. This didn't seem right but the two of us had a meeting at the club. We sat silently and finished a glass of Macallan -- both of us thinking about what was gonna happen between him and Zelda.

Finally he asked, "Did Zelda tell you that she talked to me?"

I nodded.

"Did she tell you what she asked me to do?"

I nodded again. I was having trouble maintaining eye contact. This guy was gonna fuck my wife and he wanted to hear me say I was okay with that. I was NOT okay with that but Zelda had not given me a choice.

Then he grinned and said, "Your wife wants to fuck Jason. She says she needs it and she asked me to fuck her. Fuck her ... you know ... regular."

I lost eye contact. I almost lost my mind. I stared down at the table. He didn't have to say it that way. He could have been nice to me. He knew I had already told Zelda it was okay. He coulda been more subtle. But shit! How do you talk subtle about fucking your buddy's wife?

"Is it okay with you if I fuck her?" Tony asked.

I nodded my head yes as I stared down at the table.

Tony chuckled and asked, "You care how much I fuck her?"

Zelda had said once a week but I didn't have much to say about this whole thing. I shook my head no, still staring at the table. This was bad. Was he gonna make it worse?

"Your wife is real horny Jason. You haven't fucked her in a year! She wants to start out fuckin one afternoon a week. But that pussy is peter hungry. I think she'll want more than that after we get started. Would several times a week be okay?"

He didn't have to say it that way. He coulda been nice. I nodded my head, still staring at the table, unable to speak. He was not making this easy for me. Was my old friend just having fun with me?

"We're gonna do it at your place in your bedroom. I mean my place won't work. I don't want my wife to have to listen to me pounding some horny bitch all afternoon. Is your place okay?"

My gut was starting to hurt. He just called my wife a horny bitch. The bastard was teasing me - having fun with me. But there was nothing I could do about it. I nodded my head again, helplessly. He thought fucking my wife in my own bed was funny.

"Look at me Jason. I'm doin you a favor. We both know she needs to get fucked and you can't fuck her with your floppy peter. Look at me dammit."

Doing me a favor? Shit! I tried to raise my head but it was very difficult to look at his face. He was grinning at me. The bastard was having fun!

"I want to hear you say it Jason."

My throat was tight. I swallowed, not sure I could speak.

"It's okay," I mumbled.

He looked at me dominantly. He was in charge now. I had always been sort of the senior partner but that was clearly no longer the case. I just sat there totally helpless. Have your fun you bastard, I thought. There's not a damn thing I can do about it -- not with my impotence and Zelda's needs.

"I want you to look at me and say it straight out Jason. Plain and clear! So there's no misunderstanding between us about what I'm gonna be doing to your wife -- doin regular."

You bastard, I thought. You're having fun tormenting me. Zelda wants to fuck and I gotta let you hear me say it. So finally I looked him in the eye and said it.

"It's okay to fuck my wife Tony. Fuck her as much as she wants."

He grinned - a dominant grin that told me I was in trouble. That was not the last time I was gonna see that grin.

The arrangements had all been very "adult" and very "mature." Grown-ups talking to each other and working things out. But for me it wasn't anything like adult or mature.

My wife asked me if I wanted to know any of the details about what she and Tony did. She said she didn't want to sneak around or keep secrets and I was her husband and had a right to know. Oh my God I thought. Only a pervert would want to hear about positions and orgasms and oral sex and the number of times they did this or that and ... Jesus! Of course I said no.

I didn't let Zelda know it but this was driving me crazy with jealousy. Of course Tony knew how I felt and he was having fun laughing at me. He had that superior feeling a guy gets when he's banging another guy's wife and she wants it and likes it and the poor guy knows it but can't do a damn thing about it.

Weeks went by and I had no idea what that bastard was doin to my wife until quite by accident I got a clue. Actually more than a clue.

Zelda always changed the sheets Wednesday afternoon so when I got home they were in the washing machine. One day she was a little late and I saw the sheets in the laundry room. Feeling like a bad little boy I checked the bottom one and found three big wet spots. Feeling like a pervert I buried my face in one of them and inhaled. The familiar musty, masculine smell of semen flooded my senses.

Three loads I thought. Jesus! He's pumping three loads into my wife every Wednesday afternoon. He's a stud! I'd seen that bastard in the shower at the club. His thick, uncircumcised phallus and huge testicles hanging low like the balls on a bull were swinging slowly as he lathered soap on his hairy belly. I shuddered every time I thought about what my wife was getting. Every time I thought about them together the memory of that hairy body and that big swinging meat popped into my head.

I had that thought now as Wanda massaged my prostate. I think Wanda could read my thoughts. Her finger on my prostate worked steadily and very softly.

"I think it's about to drain out now," she said. "I'm gonna milk you down a little."

I felt her thumb and forefinger squeeze my dick and milk out the fluid into the emesis basin. I looked down and saw the thick, creamy liquid dripping into the pan. Jesus! There was a lot of it. My prostate had been full but it was already starting to feel better. Wanda was much better at this than Doc -- soft hands, gentle fingers. She just worked that stuff out of me real easily.

"Just relax Jason," she said as she milked my dick. "It's draining out now. There's a lot of it. Naked girls do that to a prostate. Prostates just don't know any better. They're only getting ready for what's supposed to happen next."

"Yeah but naked girls are fun to look at," I said. "They bring back memories even if nothing happens next."

"You are better off not having those memories Jason. They're bad for your prostate. Why not let Doc fix your peter? It'll help."

If she had asked that question once she had asked it a dozen times. She seemed to think it was her duty to get me under the knife. She kept telling me it was real minor surgery but I figured nothing was minor that involved cutting on my pecker.

I didn't answer her question.

"What's new at the club?" I asked.

"Same ole same ole," she said. "Bridge club is doing well. We have four regular tables now. The girls are talking about the usual thing -- who is doing who. Or maybe I should say who is doing whom."

"From the way they gossip you'd think there was an endless supply of peter hungry pussy -- every one of them postmenopausal and soaked in estrogen cream to keep 'em soft and moist. The girls exaggerate but there really is a lot of action. Not all the guys have floppy dicks like yours and there are a lot of gals loaded up with estrogen cream. There's a mismatch for sure -- more gals than guys - but every week it seems I hear about another affair."

"Any names?" I asked eagerly.

"Oh they name names but that's just for the girls to know. It's treason to tell any of the guys."

"That's no fun," I said.

"Guys don't know how to handle that kind of stuff. They find out a gal is fuckin somebody and the next thing you know they're like ... well ... you know ... wanting to stand in line. For most gals, fuckin is kinda private -- just between her and the guy she's humpin."

"What about Rusty's wife Gloria?" I asked. "I've heard some rumors about her."

Wanda began to laugh and nod her head.

"Well of course Gloria is a special case," she said.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Gloria fucks a lot of guys and she doesn't sneak around. Rusty has caught her in bed lots of times with one of his golfing buddies."

"You mean he just walked in on her fucking?" I asked shocked.

"That's happened a lot. He comes back from a round of golf and finds her in bed, legs wrapped around a buddy of his who's in the saddle pounding away."

"My God! What does he do?"

"He opens a beer, sits down in the living room, and waits for the guy to finish her off. Gloria is not a screamer so he can watch the golf channel undisturbed."

"Jesus! He's never said a word to me."

Wanda chuckled, "He tells ME about it when I'm squeezing the juice out of his prostate. But you wouldn't expect him to brag to another guy about a wife with a peter-friendly pelvis?"

"Why does he stay with her?"

"She's in her forties with a great body to play with and every now and then she gives him a blowjob."

"A blowjob?" I said surprised. "A blowjob with a floppy dick?"

"Yeah a blowjob. It's no fun but you can suck off a guy with a soft peter. I don't need to do that with my husband's functioning package, but it can be done."

"That's news to me. Why does Gloria stay with Dusty?"

Wanda chuckled softly, "Simple. He's seventy-one, she's his only heir, his heart's not what it once was, and Rusty's got more money than God."

"And," I added, "Gloria gets to fuck anybody she wants to."

"Yeah, that too," Wanda said.

"Well," I said, "it's no secret that a lot of fuckin is going on at Broken Tree. But not by me - that's for damn sure."

I tried to laugh but it didn't come out right. I wondered if "the girls" knew about Zelda and Tony. I would hate to think about them laughing and gossiping about my wife and my former business partner. What was happening every Wednesday afternoon was dominating my thoughts. The picture of that hairy bastard naked in the shower at the club kept popping into my head always followed immediately by the picture of that man's hairy body pounding away between my wife's wide spread legs, his huge testicles slapping her in the ass.

A week or so later Wanda was once again talking about the bridge club gossip. She was massaging my prostate as usual and I worked up the courage to ask her directly.

"Any talk about me?"

Wanda paused a full minute. I could tell she was trying to decide whether to talk to me about this.

"The girls know you're over here every Wednesday afternoon getting your prostate worked on. They haven't said anything but I'm sure they know you got a floppy dick."

"Any talk about Zelda?" I asked softly, scared of what the answer might be.

"Well ... you know ... I don't want to ... you know." Wanda mumbled.

"Tell me Wanda," I said firmly. "I can take it."

"The girls have noticed that Tony is at your place a lot," she said.

I felt a sudden pain in my gut. But I had to know.

"A lot? What do you mean a lot?" I asked.

Again Wanda paused.

'Tell me!" I insisted.

"Okay Jason. Remember you asked for this," Wanda said. "He's there all afternoon every Wednesday and he makes short visits several times each week while you're playing golf."

Short visits, I thought. Shit! What did that mean?

"Short visits?" I asked.

"Yeah. Like ... you know ... like he's stopping by for a quickie while you're out on the golf course."

Oh shit! Zelda changes the sheets every Wednesday but not at other times. What did all this mean? It was clear to me that Wanda knew that Tony was fuckin my wife every Wednesday. She kept on massaging my prostate. This is humiliating I thought. My useless dick is hanging down. I'm not a man any more. I need to know. Nothing's private with Wanda any more. I spoke straight out.

"Zelda changes the sheets every Wednesday before I get home."

Wanda chuckled, "I figured as much. Have you been a bad little boy and checked out those dirty sheets?"

Bad little boy! Shit!

"Yeah I checked," I said sullenly.

"And you found?"

"Three wet spots," I said so softly she didn't understand till I repeated it.

Then Wanda laughed -- a loud and happy laugh.

"Three loads! He's pumpin three loads? No wonder Zelda has a smile on her face every Wednesday night at the club. The kind of smile a woman only gets when she has a satisfied pelvis. But you better believe she's getting more than just those three loads on Wednesday."

"Quickies?" I asked.

"Quickies while you're playing golf," Wanda answered.

"But she doesn't change the sheets," I said. "And there are no wet spots."

Wanda chuckled again. Then she gave a soft, sexy laugh.

"You know what that means."

"I don't know what that means," I said, realizing how pathetic and helpless I sounded. "Please Wanda. Tell me."

Wanda laughed again. This was funny to her but not to me. I felt the juice dripping out of me now and Wanda was milking my peter softly to get that stuff out into the basin. I looked down. Shit! Like always there was a lot of it!

Wanda almost whispered, "It means she's blowing him Jason. Blowin him or fuckin him and then takin his load back on her tonsils. That's what a woman would do who needs to fuck and doesn't want to leave a wet spot in the bed. When you kiss her after golf do you taste fresh mouthwash?"