A Brit Boys with Toys Masturbation Monday excerpt

 

Hello! So I got a bit carried away looking through Kayla’s Tumblr after this week’s Masturbation Monday prompt and ran out of time to write something so I’m sharing a  snippet of a story from the Brit Boys with Toys anthology – hope you enjoy 😀

The Guitar

So I’m not the kind of guy you’d see in a magazine or fashion catalogue – I’m kind of chubby at the hips and have a hint of the man boob. I’m tall in that way that happened too quickly so I stooped as a teen and the stoop has remained. My face is probably slack rather than chiselled but I have quite full pouting lips (I’ve been told). My eyes are framed quite nicely with long black lashes and when I’m not being critical of my acne scars and uneven beard growth, I could say they were even pretty. Or handsome. Or whatever you’d say about eyes. Intense maybe?

I just am not confident. Well there is one part of my existence where I am. When I’m playing guitar.

One of my friends told me when I was quite young that Jimi Hendrix used to rub himself off with his guitar when he was playing on stage – I begged for lessons from my parents from that day. Turned out, I had quite a skill even if I did come late to learning.

Now though, I’m lying on my bed in the shaft of afternoon sun that shines into to my upper flat bedroom, with my guitar lying over my pelvis. I love the solid weight of it there as the gentle hum of the amp lets me know it’s plugged in and ready.

I’m naked. And from what I described earlier, that may not fill you with much excitement, it doesn’t really me either, but when I hook my long dextrous fingers into an A chord on the fretboard, my cock begins to swell. Thick cherry wood presses against is and it strains as I poise my plectrum ready to strum out the first chord. I love this moment. The shivering anticipation. You know what’s coming next. I barely even need to play anymore to get my cock fully erect. It feels good. The compressed swelling and growing.

I swipe the pick over the metal strings and a note shrills out through the amp and vibrates into my dick. It’s amazing. Sensations prickle through my pelvis into my ass and I clench my cheeks, grinding into the back of the guitar while the vibrating note sustains. I lean my forearm onto the body of the instrument and thrum again, this time massaging my cock with the guitar in time with the tune I’m beginning to play. It feels so good. I press the wood into my body and pull upwards, my balls pull up too and tighten a little. Afternoons are my time. My horny time. I spread my legs and begin rubbing and playing more frantically until the vibrations become too much and I have to throw off the guitar and grab my cock in my fist, pumping ferociously as the feedback yowls through my bedroom.

I come hard and fast over my belly and lie there panting and sweating. I cup my balls in and massage them for a bit. It is always at this stage in my play that my pinkie strays down to my perineum. Just a little. But it is enough to feel the stirring again. Oh to be able to stroke myself there with no guilt. To feel pressure at my most intimate place from a finger or even a cock.

Listen, I’m no virgin, by any stretch of the imagination. I’m just incredibly uptight. And that’s probably because of being told as a child that homosexuality is a sin. Hell is a scary place to young minds. It makes me angry that this was placed into my innocent psyche. Even then, in my bones, I knew it wasn’t true but it stuck. It remained. And it forms who I am today.

I’ve performed on men. Sure. But what I really want is an equal share in that performance. The ability to feel completely at ease with my desires. If I want to be made love to, why shouldn’t I be able to let that happen?

It makes me angry and sad. Why is my mind capable of holding on to these things? Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that my father died never knowing his son was gay. Was that a good thing? Probably for him. But now, now though, in the darkest nights when I’m fantasising and imagining being fucked hard by my lover, being stretched open and taken, it’s my father’s disapproving eyes that replace those of my lover and I stop.

Lying back into my pillows, I let the sensation of my come half trickling, half drying on my belly ease me into an afternoon doze.

 

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If you want to read the rest of this story and other m/m erotic tales, you can find Brit Boys with Toys here x xx