The Old Fellah Needs a Hand

In the block of flats where I used to live, our family was friendly with an old guy that lived a few doors down. I used to visit him fairly regularly for a cup of tea and a laugh. He always told the dirtiest jokes I'd ever heard. One morning my Mum told me that he'd had a nasty fall down the stairs and I should go see him to cheer him up. Later, I knocked on his door then burst into laughter at the sight of his heavily bandaged form, both arms wrapped in white elasticated-cotton and hanging from a sling, struggling comically to open the door.

"Don't take the piss." he grumbled.

"Sorry Gramps," I followed him into his flat, "I just wasn't expecting you to look so..."

"Pathetic?" He suggested.

"Ridiculous. Whatcha been doing, you daft old sod?"

He told me his tale of woe as I made the old fellah some lunch and a cup of tea and then we had a chat about my comings and goings (he always wanted to hear about the life of a modern teenager, he didn't get out much). As I was pulling on my jacket to exit, he blushed and stammered for me to wait.

"What is it?" I asked, worried about him looking so flushed.

"Ummmm."

"Well?"

"Erm."

"C'mon, spit it out."

"Welllll..."

"Have you forgotten? Senior moment?"

"No! Cheeky little twerp."

"Well, what then? I've got friends to meet."

"Nevermind! Bugger off then."

"Oh, don't be like that. Just tell me."

"It's just... I can't... I can't..."

"Can't what??"

"With my hands all trussed up like this I can't..."

"What?" I asked slowly, getting the gist. He was looking down, at his crotch. "You need a pee!!" I blurted out.

"Yes, damn it!"

"Are you asking me to..."

"Well, I can't get my hands down that far to..."

"You want me to touch your..."

"I wouldn't ask if I weren't desperate!"

It was my turn to say "Ummmmm." He looked so vulnerable and embarrassed, how could I refuse? "Okay, sure." I said, breezily walking off to his toilet.

"C'mon then, Gramps!" I called. He shuffled in, blushing further, and positioned himself over the toilet bowl. "Right, here we go." I was egging myself on, fighting the awkwardness. I pulled apart his pyjamas and slid my hand in the (what do you men even call this penis-slit?) gap and then dipped my hand into his underwear. As my fingertips touched his cock, we both flinched. I giggled and he began mumbling apologies, breaking the pristine silence.

There was no eye contact between us as I curled my fingers around his warm cock and gently (like I was scared I'd hurt him) pulled at it until it was out. I held it, aiming the bulbous helmet down into the bowl. I could feel my palm getting hotter, beads of sweat on my forehead.

His cock was not lengthy but very thick, and was feeling heavier and heavier as I stood there, gripping it softly. I was just wondering how long this would take, when I felt, through the skin of my palm, ripples of fluid coursing through the thick old cock, just before a pressurised jet arced out of the big pink head. The old man moaned in pleasure and relief as it continued to pour out of him.

"You must've really wanted to go!" I was hoping small-talk would help drag us through this unwanted intimacy but he remained blissfully silent. It just kept coming. Frothy dark

piss seeming to almost fill the bowl. Finally, it began to slow and my old neighbour was gasping his thanks as his cock dribbled the last of his flow.

"There was just no-one else I could've asked." He said. "Don't just put it away, girl!"

"No?"

"Sorry, no. You have to ... shake it off a bit. Or I'll wet my pants." I looked at him skeptically.

"Really. It's like a hose-pipe, you have to jiggle it all out before you pop it away."

I gave him a "you'd better not be messing about" look and stared to jiggle his cock. I kept sproingling it in my palm until there were no more drops, then I replaced the old codger's cock back in his pants. I was washing my hands in his basin when I surprised him with a question: "I s'pose you'll be needing me to come back later and do that again?"

So I returned once more that afternoon, once in the evening and one last time before I went to bed. He was getting annoying by thanking me so much and constantly apologising that I almost had to tell him off, threaten to not return if he didn't pipe down. On the second day, it had begun to feel routine, not normal but not outlandish either. We'd even began to chit-chat as I stood next to him in his small toilet, holding his warm heavy cock, feeling his pee pulse under my touch, tingling my palm. I found I had to grip him tighter so that I didn't drop it as it pissed, but he didn't object.

Also, on the second day, I noticed that he seemed to be enjoying it more. He didn't say anything but his dick was longer when I fished it out of his pyjamas, longer and thicker. I no longer had to peel back his foreskin off the cockhead, it was already proudly exposed. I felt him watching me look at his growing prick and I felt uncomfortable and ashamed that I found it so obviously fascinating.

On the third day, after helping with his morning pee, I found my hand was instinctively moving along the shaft, back and forth. I was shocked. I froze. I looked at his face, he was grinning.

"You can play with it if you want to, I won't tell anyone."

I looked at him and a sense of empowerment came over me. I gripped his still stiffening cock and wondered how big and

hard do these things get? I slid my hand over the purple helmet then down to his grey fur. He moaned a deep appreciation of my gesture. I repeated this up and down movement as I watched his face.

"Your bandages seem awfully loose." I said, my eyebrows raised quizzically.

"Ummmm, what's that?"

"The bandages on your hands. They look loose. Almost as if you'd been wrapping them around your own hands."

"I, er, had to check the injuries were healing okay, didn't I?"

"You're perfectly fine, you ol' fraud! You... just like me touching you, don't you." I rubbed my fingertips all around his cockhead, teasing the little pee hole.

Gramps was speechless. I had no idea that, with just one hand, I could have this much power over a man.

"Am I forgiven?" His voice croaked.

In a slight daze, not quite believing I could act this shamelessly, I bent over and kissed the sexy smelly cock I'd been handling for days.

"You naughty liar."

Holding his cock, I lead the old man into his lounge and we sat on the sofa. He got comfy and I began to work my fist up and down his shaft. My purple-painted nails flashing against the dark pink of his flesh. He was uttering pleasurable noises as I wanked him. I was besotted, just watching my hand rise and fall on his sexy old cock.

I looked up at him, he began to speak but I interrupted: "If you say sorry or thanks again, I'll get up and walk out!"

"I was just going to say what a beautiful, talented girl you are."

I blushed. "Oh well, okay then." He grunted and gasped as I maintained a steady pace of my stroking of his long, thick, hard dick.

"When was the last time you came?" I asked.

"Came?"

"Spunked, y'know... shot your spunk."

"When I last made love to my wife."

"But she died over five years ago!"

"And we hadn't had sex for some years too. So it's been a looooong time."

"You never do this to yourself???"

"No! No one could ever accuse me of being a sad old wanker."

I gripped his cock tight, I could feel each pulse and twitch as I tugged on it. I leaned in close and kissed him. My tongue slid into his mouth as he began to wriggle around... he tensed up and I felt my hand go wet. I pulled away from our kiss and looked down at his eruption of creamy thick sperm over my knuckles.

We were both breathing hard. After a minute he pulled a cotton handkerchief out of his pyjama pocket and cleaned my hand and then his dick. We were speechless. We sat next to each other, catching our breath. I sniffed my fingers and was thrilled at how aroused I was.

"Let's do it again!" I said and gripped his dick.

"Hold on, hold on. I'm eighty, not eighteen!!"

"Whaddya mean?"

"I'll need a break."

"Like a tea-break? A quick cuppa and then..."

"More like a couple of hours, luv."

I pouted. I tidied his cock away into his pants, then stood up. I gave him a kiss then grabbed my jacket.

"Later then, Gramps!" I yelled as I exited his flat.