Masturbation Party Ch. 01

Author's notes:

Warning: This story contains bisexual sex. There is both hetero sex, and bisexual sex between both women and men. If you're not into that, then kindly back out and find another story.

Everyone in this story is over eighteen. I hope you enjoy it. Ratings and comments are always welcome, but please, only if you've read the story.

*****

I had always thought of myself as bisexual deep down inside; although I had never confessed that to anyone. I had lived as a straight man all of my adult life, well, until recently. My exploration with male-male sex began quite innocently as a boy, midway through puberty, with two other neighborhood boys—you show me yours I'll show you mine. That led to a summer of mutual masturbation and, eventually, a little cock sucking. Back then, where I grew up, being gay was still very taboo. So, of course our boyhood experimentation was not only hush hush, it ended quickly when we went back to school, and was never talked about again.

Dating girls, and eventually marrying a woman, was the expected societal course for us mid-western boys, and that script was followed lockstep. But I never forgot, and often masturbated to, those heady boyhood memories out behind the neighbor's barn. Maybe it was that early introduction to sex, maybe it was my father's stack of Playboy and Penthouse magazines I found hidden in the house, or maybe it was just my DNA, but I was always horny, more than most boys it seemed, and for anything and everything sexual—male or female. They say most males think of sex all day, but from what I've gathered, after they've cum, their thoughts turn to other things while they recharge. Me, I couldn't stop. As a teen, I masturbated multiple times a day and had a very short recovery time. In between orgasms, my mind was still in sex la la land. I worried I was some sort of sexual deviant, a pervert, but it felt so good and normal to me, I didn't lose much sleep over it.

I did have one other male experience when I was home from college during my sophomore year. Ken, one of the experimental neighborhood boys of my youth and I were out drinking and attempting to pick up some "chicks" as we called the girls our age. It turned out to be a dry night as far as girls were concerned, but there was sexual fuel left in the tank. Hanging out at his parents' place, near that fateful barn, and drinking some more beer, Ken started talking about what we had done as teens. He mentioned he had thought about it often. I told him I had as well. It wasn't long before we were sucking each other off that night. I was happy that we had rekindled that boyhood experimentation, but Ken freaked out. He said it was a big drunken mistake and made quite a stink about it. Ken's reaction made me feel guilty for enjoying it, so I buried that half of my desires.

I dated and had a few long-term relationships with girls before I met my wife, but I wouldn't have called myself a Casanova, my overactive sex drive not withstanding. I quenched my unabating lust with my own hands when not with one of my girlfriends. I was loyal by default. It's not that I abhorred cheating necessarily; Lord knows I dreamt of others, and threesomes, and group sex. It's just that the opportunity never presented itself in my small world. Looking back now, I'm sure I could have made something happen—the old "if I knew then what I know now" thing. But then, I would have been a different person, not the loyal Taurus I was born to be.

My wife Lisa and I had had a healthy sex life, and I'm eternally grateful for that. I never stopped masturbating on the side though, or indulging in porn. This was something I had done before I met any of my girlfriends, including my wife. I always told myself that this was something I did for me, regardless of any relationship I'd get into. And to tell the truth, my fantasy sex kept me home, and married.

Lisa died suddenly while at work about a year ago. She collapsed while giving a presentation to her team. An aortic aneurysm, the autopsy report said. The mourning was hard, and there's a hole in my heart that will never mend. I had no sexual contact with another person during that mourning period; masturbation was my only relief.

As my year of mourning waned, I began to mentally explore how to resume a sex life with another woman. One of the things I've always kicked myself for was not being sexually honest with my wife, or others for that matter. I'm bisexual, I like porn, I masturbate often, and I'd like to be in open sexual relationships with other people. I'd like to explore threesomes and group sex. But, that's not the person I had always presented to the world.

At 50 years old, I was suddenly single and without children. My dilemma: should the real me, the highly sexed, bisexual me, come out? If he did, how would others in my life react to that? I had a large extended family and many platonic friends, and my reputation was important to me. Dare I wreak havoc on my good name for the sake of my lust? Or should I continue to quell my monster quietly with fantasy as I'd always done; while enjoying a conventional man woman relationship? I had been doing the latter for so long it was all I had known for years.

The more I thought about it, the muddier the waters got. Did I want a replacement for my dearly departed wife? Or something else? The gay side of my bisexual brain kept sending messages through that I had not been with another guy for the best part of thirty years, and maybe it was time to give that a try again. But the straight and controlling part of my brain was resisting any such notion. While I had enjoyed watching bisexual, and even gay porn from time to time, the thought of actually initiating some liaison with another male was unnerving. It was one thing for us boys to experiment with each other, but it was quite another thing for me, as an adult, to actually seek out another male for sex—especially when I'd been living a straight life all those years.

I had recently joined a few dating sites and perused the catalog of women. Their pictures, their little write-ups, their likes and dislikes, all left me hollow. On Mid-life Singles, I almost sent Amy a message, and then there was Beverly; each had their charms, but in the end, I couldn't see either of them as bisexual swingers, and the thought of that conversation and the likely look of horror on their faces, persuaded me not to hit "Send" on the messages I'd carefully drafted. I checked out the "hook-up" sites, the home of the one-night stand, and a quick fuck sites, and the thought of that left me equally hollow. I wanted a relationship with people I had sex with. Not just meet, fuck, and never see each other again. If I was in my twenties, maybe I'd enjoy the Tinders and their like, but at my age I needed to connect with someone if we were going to get intimate. My dream was a posse of like-minded souls—perverts like me. A group to meet up and enjoy each other's bodies, and then to laugh, converse, and rejoice; and then do it all over again the next day, the next week, and on and on.

I guess, deep down, I wasn't ready, and I could quell my lust through masturbation, so I didn't need to hurry.

It was while searching for some porn on the internet that I stumbled onto a male masturbation web site. My curiosity got the better of me and I started poking around that site. It had some blogs, a forum, members could post photos, some of them hooked up via web cam, or phone apps, and some hooked up in real life just to masturbate together. From what I gathered while researching the site, even those in real life meet-ups stuck to just masturbating together; there was no oral or anal sex allowed. The membership was a mix of straight, bi and gay guys. It sounded like a safe way for me to explore a little with other males, and share with them something I enjoyed doing several times a day anyway.

So I registered under the screen name of Bonobo. I searched for members in my area and sent a few friend requests just to see where this would go. My first attempts at finding a bate buddy, or an IRL meet-up group, didn't immediately bear fruit; most such groups were in bigger cities. And while I lived in a socially progressive area, it was rural, and it was a couple of hours drive or train ride to the big city.

After a few weeks of poking around on KingofJacks I got a PM from a user calling himself Scarface.

"I see you're in the area. I run a bate meet-up group, but it's invite only. You'll need a photo of yourself in your profile to be considered."

That was it. Short and to the point. I had seen that many of the other members included their photo in their profiles, but a good percentage did not. When I joined, I skipped that option. I didn't want anyone who knew me to find me on a masturbation web site. Maybe the lack of my personal photo explained why the friend requests I had made to the few others in my area went unanswered.

Scarface's avatar was picture of a statue of the Greek God Pan with a very large erection. I clicked on Scarface's profile to see if he had a photo of himself. I was blocked. A pop-up message informed me that this profile was private, and the owner had not granted me access. "A private profile?" I mused. I hadn't seen that before on the site.

I explored some of the other men's profile photos to see what they had done. Most posed naked, some with hard-ons. Some had their faces proudly displayed, others had their face in a shadow or with an eye mask on. I had never taken a picture of myself naked before, let alone with a hard-on. And when I thought of the idea of posting one on the internet, my immediate reaction was to forget it. But, slowly I came round to the idea: after all, I wasn't getting any traction with my profile as it was.

Lisa had one of those party eye masks she got the time we attended Mari Gras, so I stripped naked and worked up a good stiff hard-on, and with the mask covering my eyes I took a picture of my reflection in the full length mirror. I had always looked young for my age. I keep myself fit and have an athletic body. My cock is an average six inches with a decent girth. It's actually a pretty good-looking cock, even if I say so myself. I was still hesitant about posting the photo. I examined it from every angle to convince myself that no one I knew would be able to identify me from it. And, of course, if anyone I knew was on that website, well...they'd be there for the same reason I was.

With butterflies in my stomach and sweat on my brow, I took a deep breath and posted the photo in my profile. I then pinged a PM to Scarface and logged out of the website—I didn't want to be tempted to keep checking for PMs. I found some bisexual porn to jerk off with, and then went to bed.

The next day I logged back into KingofJacks and immediately saw I had a new PM. With trepidation I checked who it was from. It was Scarface. I opened it.

"This Thursday. 7:00PM. Don't be late." was all the message said. The address was included.

I had another message in my inbox from Admin. I opened that next. It was one of those automatically generated messages when something about your account has changed. "User Scarface has granted you permission to access their profile."

My mind was a buzz with doubt. How many other guys would be there? What did they look like? Did that even matter? Would they also follow the no sex, masturbation only rule? What if someone tried to suck my cock or kiss me? What would I do? All these thoughts raced through my mind as I clicked on Scarface's profile.

Scarface's photo was not what I had expected. I was ready for a man with a scarred face, but what I found was a picture of a rather hot-looking blond woman dressed in stockings and heals. She looked to be about forty years old. She wore a lacy open busted chemise and no panties. Her legs were open to the camera and her left hand middle finger was on her clit. Her exposed naturally ample breasts lay neatly on her chest. It was confusing as hell. This was a male masturbation website. I didn't see any rules against women joining, but I didn't expect this. I reckoned this guy just didn't want to have his real photo out there, so he used a shot from a porn site that he liked to masturbate to.

As Thursday approached, more than once I made up my mind to chicken out. My brain battled with itself, but my ever-ready lust kept nudging me back into the "I'm going" circle. I gave my dick a rest Tuesday and Wednesday; I wanted to be good and randy so my straight half couldn't find an excuse to back out.

As I drove my car up to the address Scarface sent me, I was surprised by the upscale suburban neighborhood. I hadn't known what to expect. For all I knew, they could have been meeting in a closed bar or some industrial building that these bate brothers rented for their jerk-off parties. I hadn't given it much thought, but a house party suddenly made sense. I wondered I'd be expected to host a party if I was accepted into the group.

I parked my car in the empty driveway. The owner's cars were in the garage, presumably. Being the first one to arrive unnerved me; I couldn't slip in half noticed like I usually liked to do at unfamiliar gatherings. But that night, I was dripping with lust and needed some relief, so I steeled myself for the task at hand. As I strolled up the walkway to the front door, I noticed the night air. It was a cool, crisp late summer evening. There was a scent in the air, a musk that took me back to Ken's barn for a moment. Eros coursed through my veins. I was on fire with lust. I rang the door bell and waited. Nothing for a good two minutes. I stood wondering if I had gotten the right place when the door finally opened. A half-naked woman answered the door. She was the same blond from Scarface's profile. I was getting a little concerned, but the intrigue was making me even hornier. I felt that I could fuck anybody behind that door if this is what the night was to bring.

"Umm...is this? Are guys meeting here tonight?"

"You must be Bonobo. Come in," sang a sultry voice to match the vixen that stood before me. She wore the same outfit as in the photo: fishnet nylons and heels, a lacy see through open bust chemise, and no panties. Her blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Ponytails are one of my weaknesses. As I crossed the threshold into the house, I realized my cock was rock hard. She led me into the living room. The large room was adorned with modern furniture and interesting artwork. She turned and stopped and motioned for me to stand still. She proceeded to a leather chair about eight feet in front of me and sat down. She opened her legs and moved her left hand to her nicely trimmed blond bush. She looked at me with mysteriously sexy eyes and began circling her finger on her clit.

"This is not what it seems," she said softly but authoritatively. "You've come to the right place. Others will arrive shortly, and you will masturbate."

"Are you Scarface?" I asked. The arousing curiosity was killing me. The thought flashed through my mind that she was just a woman who liked watching guys jerk-off and so she arranged these parties. Or maybe this thing turns into an orgy, or a gang-bang, or something.

"I am Scarface's wife, Gina. My husband has special needs, sexual needs. He likes men, as well as woman. I try to make him happy." She said, through her rapidly increasing breath as she worked her clit in front of me.

"And you? What do you like?" I asked so boldly it shocked me. Where did that come from? I thought. I'm usually shy and polite to a fault.

"Oh, I love to watch you boys play with yourselves, and I love to be watched as well. I'm the main attraction."

Her hand worked her pussy faster and harder. I noticed her clit, it was disproportionately large for the size of her vulva. It stuck out like a little dick head. She fingered just her clit rapidly and climaxed in front of me.

"I can cum a hundred times tonight. You count em," she flirted. "Tell me about yourself, Mr. Bonobo."

"Well...my name is Peter."

"Okay, Peter. Tell me; when was the first time you touched yourself? Are you gay? Bi? Straight? Are you married, single, or otherwise coupled? At what age was your first sexual experience with another person?"

I told Gina about my deceased wife, and that I was currently unattached. I told her about the boys behind the barn.

"I'm bisexual," I said proudly. Something I've never said out loud before.

"Take out your cock," she ordered, as she stared at the bulge in my pants.

I eagerly slipped my zipper down and released my strained cock from its confines. It felt good to be out in the air, and hard in my hands. I stroked my cock lightly while I stared at her eyes. I then moved my gaze to her pussy as she continued to masturbate herself.

"Do you like what you see?" she asked with a sexy cocked head as she began working that fat clit feverishly. "Do you like to watch me?"

"Yes...I...," was all I could get out of my mouth as I felt the presence of someone quietly and slowly coming up behind me.

"Don't turn. Look at me," she ordered.

I felt a masculine hand on my bare left arm, and I jumped a little in surprise, but my gaze remained on Gina masturbating in front of me. He gripped my triceps firmly and I felt hot breath on my neck. I started to turn to see who this was.

"Look at my wife, Peter," a velvety deep voice in my neck instructed. "I am Scarface. Welcome to my home. Watch her play with herself. Isn't she beautiful?"

"Yes. Very much so," I managed.

"Keep touching yourself, Peter. Yes...just like that...that's it...you have a nice cock...mmm...yes just keep stroking that beautiful cock of yours."

This felt weird; this whole "don't look at him" thing. I desperately wanted to turn and see who was touching my arm and breathing on my neck, but my lust kept me glued to the moment. I could have been ordered to do anything. I was putty in their hands.

I felt something hard slide between my trouser legs and poke at my balls. It was then I realized he was naked and he was pushing his hard cock between my pant legs.

"Do you like that, Peter? I hear you're bisexual, but haven't been with a man in thirty years. Yes, I've been listening the whole time you've been talking to my wife; just on the other side of the hall.

"Yes...I...I like it. Yes," I stuttered, helpless to say anything else.

"Don't worry, Peter. I'm not going have sex with you. Not tonight. Tonight is all about masturbation. Welcome to our weekly group session. The others should be here shortly. I wanted you to come early so we could get to know each other," he said as he moved around to the front of me.

He was a rugged looking man about my age. He had a body that exuded fitness and strength, but not fitness borne of a gym; a natural fitness that lingered on from youthful hard work. His skin was tanned and handsomely wrinkled, worn from miles of sun and fresh air. His blue eyes set like two jewels cast about some old leather. His thick dark wavy hair framed his handsome face. He was stroking his cock as he talked. His circumcised cock was about the same length as mine, six inches give or take, but with a thicker base and a slight bend to the left halfway up its length. Sporting the same tanned skin of his body, his cock told of a life spent in the nude outdoors. His cock's helmet head was lighter in color than the shaft, and pulsed red with excitement. Deep full blue veins, like proud roots, coursed through his shaft supporting his erection.

The doorbell rang and he instinctively turned his face in that direction. It was then I saw it. The left side of his face, a furrow cut from his temple to his chin. It must have been a deep wound. Healed awkwardly, the scar was pinker than the rest of his face, and it cut diagonally across the contour of his wrinkles. On anyone else, that scar might have been a detraction, something you'd try hard not to see as you looked them in the eye during conversation, but on him it fitted well with his rugged face, like an artist's splash of color to draw in the gaze. There was a story in that scar, many stories, and I was dying to hear them.