1. Sweet Memories


    Date: 11/10/2015, Categories: Masturbation, Author: BJintheUK, Rating: 6, Source: LushStories

    You know sometimes you see or hear something that gives you a private smile? Well, occasionally I hear or see the phrase ‘3G’, and when I do it reminds me of an incident that took place a long time ago, and some distance away from where I now live. So read on if you’d like to find out why… *** If I remember rightly, I was twenty three at the time. It was just after Christmas, and around the time of New Year, 1974. I’d left home about two months before, and I was still getting used to being my own shopper, washer-up, laundryman, cleaner, clothes-ironer, and general all round dogs body. All this domestic stuff was new to me, because when I’d lived at home my mum had always done all the housework and chores, and I’d pretty much let her get on with it. Now it was a different story. It was up to me to do everything to feed, clothe, and perform all the boring domestic tasks for the most demanding of task masters, myself. The only thing I didn't do was clean my bed-sitting room, which was on the first floor (first is the one up from the ground floor, for our American readers) of a big Victorian terraced house, in the heart of bed-sit land, near the centre of a large(ish) city in the West of England. I had my own front door key to let me into the house, and my own room key to let me into my room, but there was a cleaning lady who insisted on coming into my private space once a week to mop the walls and polish the carpet. Well, not exactly, but you know what I mean. She was a ...
    busybody if ever there was one. She took great delight in dishing the dirt on all the other tenants to me whenever she saw me, so no doubt she had a few choice words to say about me to the other tenants when she saw them too. Well, this story doesn't concern her, although she does make an appearance in the epilogue, so look out for her at the end of the tale. Like I said, I now had to do my own shopping, and the only time I could do most of it was on the weekends. I didn't finish work till nearly 6.00pm during the week, and in those days, in good old England, all the shops shut at 6.00pm. And so it came about that one cold and wet Sunday afternoon I found myself traipsing around the shopping streets of my home town. I was looking for a shop that was open (most of them didn't on Sundays back then), so that I could stock up on cornflakes, bread, sandwich fillers, and all the other vital things a single bloke has to buy. It was cold and it was wet, and I got cold and I got very wet indeed. By the time I got back to my room with my two heavy bags of shopping, my coat was dripping, my hair was dripping, the shopping was dripping, and my soaking wet trousers were stuck to my legs, and dripping into my squelching shoes. Needless to say, the first things to do were put the shopping bags on the draining board next to the sink, then hang my wet coat on the back of the door, and put a towel on the floor underneath it to soak up the drips. After that, I took off my shoes and socks, wrung out my ...
«1234...1011»