My smooth and obnoxious father-in-law, whom I never liked much, came to stay and in the morning when I made his bed I found the sheets were stained with sperm. I knew at once it was deliberate, that he wanted me to know that he had masturbated in my house and for me. I wasn't shocked – I know my husband masturbates secretly - but I did think he had a bloody nerve. On a hunch, I went to the bathroom and looked in the dirty washing basket. Sure enough, a pair of my soiled panties and a bra had gone and I couldn't find them again despite looking through his travel bag. The dirty bastard was due back again in the evening and he came with Jim my husband so I couldn't show my fury. Really, what is it with guys that they have to behave like such pigs. There was nothing in his demeanour to show there was anything amiss although he must have known I had discovered what he'd done. I mean he hadn't even tried to hide it. He even talked to me quite naturally, ignoring the fact that I was quite cool towards him. I couldn't make it too obvious in case Jim noticed. When I went up to bed, I left the two of them drinking and on my way I slipped into his room and put a box of tissues right on his pillow. And of course the next morning there was a pile of cum soaked tissues on the floor for me to clear up which I did after putting on rubber gloves.

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I had to go to my son's town for a couple of days on business and invited myself to stay with him and Sonia his wife. She's a sexy little piece is Sonia and I know she doesn't like me but that doesn't stop me beating my meat for her now and again. I've got a couple of photos of her in her bikini – she has such cute little tits - that she doesn't know I have and I like to look at them while I'm wanking in the nude. I don't know if its legally incest to lust after a daughter-in-law but I get a thrill thinking it is. I like to imagine it's her hand that's wanking me off. Anyway, I get there for the visit and when Jim my son isn't looking, Sonia can barely disguise how unwelcome I am. So bedtime comes and I don't have any of this planned but in the bathroom I peek idly in the bin where they put their dirty clothes and I find the thong knickers Sonia has just discarded. They weren't actually very soiled but there's a rich aroma of pussy and ass that I found irresistible. (How is it that the smell of a woman's shit is so delectable when you're sexually aroused?) I took them to my room to play with myself while sniffing her dark, intimate smells that even Jim probably doesn't know about. One thing led to another and before I knew it, I'd cummed in the sheets which was quite unintentional. I knew there was no way I could hide it so I thought, shit, I'll brazen it out. I had a few more wanks with her knickers during the night and left the evidence except the knickers which I hid for later. When I got back to the house that evening, it was in the knowledge that she knew I was a wanker. I loved it and the fact that she was furious but couldn't let Jim see made me love it even more. Then I discovered she'd left a box of tissues on my bed that night so what else could I do but take that as a further invitation to indulge my vice. Nothing was ever said but I've noticed that at family reunions, dear Sonia takes great care never to be alone with me. So I have to be content with her stolen knickers.

An elegant grey haired man in his 60s took the seat beside me at the hotel bar. He turned to me after being served a scotch and in a friendly conversational voice asked me if I masturbated. His question took me aback but I found myself admitting that I did. So do I, he said. Perhaps we could do it together. He told me to follow him to his room in five minutes, swallowed his drink and left. I told myself I still had time to get out of this but in the end I went. His door opened even before I knocked. On the sideboard was a widescreen TV showing two naked boys playing in a field in case inspiration was needed. He poured drinks and told me to make myself comfortable which I took as an invitation to undress. When I was nude, and feeling surprisingly at ease despite what was a bizarre and totally unanticipated situation, he handed me my scotch and looked my body over critically. Not bad for what, 65, 66 ? he said. I told him I was not quite 73. He leaned forward and kissed me on the mouth and brushed my rapidly hardening cock with the back of his hand. It excited me that he was fully dressed while I was totally naked. I returned his kiss and turned his hand round so that he could take my hardon in his hand. But he pulled away slightly and said that first he wanted to watch me. I let myself drop on the bed and stretched out with my legs spread so that he had a good view of me. Take as long as you like, he said. Enjoy. I must have made it last for 15 minutes, playing with myself and edging to the brink of orgasm and then pulling back while he watched intently. Eventually, I couldn't hold it back any longer and spurted noisily into the towel he'd thoughtfully put between my thighs. Then came another surprise. With a flick of the TV channel changer, he brought up a new video which was nothing other than of me masturbating on the bed. God, I said, I didn't realise you'd filmed me. Are you one of those guys who can get off on himself, he asked. My rearing cock answered his question and moments later I was masturbating again while watching myself. He wanted to upload the video to the internet but that I wouldn't allow. At least, not yet.

You are in a strange city, anonymous. In a diner or a bar or the street, your gaze crosses that of another guy. You have never seen him before but you «recognise» each other at once. You feel a frisson that travels from your eyes to your cock via your brain. In that moment, only you and he exist. There is no hesitation. You turn and he follows. Somewhere discreet is quickly found. A doorway does. Then you are alone, facing each other. You drop your pants and boxers and so does he. Masturbation or blow job? He wants to be sucked. You kneel, grasp his buttocks in your hands and take his cock in your mouth. You tickle the sensitive underside of his glans with your tongue. He sighs and pushes more deeply into your throat. Your head is full of his flesh when he ejaculates. You swallows his unctuous sperm which burns your mouth with its bitter, oystery taste of the sea. Now it is your turn. You lean back against the wall and lift your shirt. He takes your cock in his fist and pumps you. You sign to him with a movement of your chin to masturbate you faster and squeeze you harder until the moment of relief explodes inside you. The tempest abates. You clean yourselves up and fix your clothing. You exchange brief smiles of thanks. He leaves to the left, you to the right. Back in the world, you seek the same glance of recognition from another brother as soon as possible wherever it can be found.

Jerry is a man I worked with. In fact, I was his boss in our small office of half a dozen people. It is rarely that I am attracted to a man in real life but Jerry was an exception.
Often, it’s a small and relatively trivial thing that arouses unsuspected attraction in either sex. Once for me, it was a mere glimpse of a girl’s bare ankle between her shoe and the cuff of her jeans. With Sarah, who was usually enveloped in baggy sweaters, it was unexpectedly and very briefly seeing her braless in a loose t-shirt and being aware of her breasts shifting slightly under it when she moved.
With Jerry, it was the sight of his hirsute shin when he crossed his legs one day in the office. Why that did it for me I don’t know but that night, in bed, I thought about him while I was masturbating, imagining that he was there watching me. Very soon, I was creating ever more elaborate fantasies of him exploiting my desire and using me as a sex toy.
Being a sex object is an important part of my masturbatory fantasies. I thrill to the idea of the mistress being submissive to her maid or the master being sexually humiliated by his servant. No doubt the fact that Jerry was my subordinate contributed to my attraction to him.
Jerry was married – as was I – and I dreamed of supplanting Alma, his wife, in their marriage bed.
In my fantasies, in which I still indulge, he always plays a dominant role and I am unquestioningly obedient to him. He takes me home when Alma is away and instructs me to get nude and masturbate in front of him.
In other scenarios, he takes me up to their bedroom and I put on Alma’s underwear and stockings and again masturbate for his amusement that I should be prepared to abase myself so openly while he watches.
Best of all is when we get into their bed together, Jerry nude and me wearing Alma’s nightie and he makes love to me as if I were a compliant girl.
We exchange long, soft kisses while his hands roam my body under the nightdress. Sometimes, he straddles me and pushes his beautiful penis into my mouth. Other times, he turns me over, smears a generous daub of lubricant in and around my anus and then slides his penis inside me.
I feel him pound me with short, deliberate jabs of his pelvis against my buttocks and then the sublime hot gush of his cum deep inside me. 
At moments like this, I’m overcome by the certainty that being fucked, having my yielding body entered and owned by another person, is absolutely the most profound sensation I could ever experience.
The wanks I have with these fantasies are among the most satisfying as I have ever had in more than 60 years of very intensive masturbation.

The wife of a friend recently made a remark about masturbation and single men to a small company in which I was the only single male. There was a brief moment of embarrassment and sly looks in my direction before the conversation moved on. Afterwards, the woman apologised rather awkwardly. I just laughed and said masturbation was one of life's pleasures, that of course I did it and I wasn't the slightest embarrassed about admitting it. In fact I was pleased to have her know I was a masturbator though I didn't say this out loud. Women know objectively that all men masturbate but that's a bit different to knowing about the personal habits of the men of their acquaintance. I remember a girlfriend once saying of a man we knew that she 'wondered what he looked like when he masturbated', so they are interested. I could have said he looks the same as me except that there are so many different ways of doing it. My very first girlfriend asked me if I 'did it' and I said no; I've regretted that denial ever since and as a result I've always been upfront with women about my masturbation and found them sympathetic. A girl I worked with once called me a wanker to my face during an argument and was disconcerted when I replied 'so what'? Perhaps she was worried I might accuse her back. I wouldn't have done because I think women are entitled to masturbatory privacy. But I love the idea of men having their masturbation out there. What do other guys think - are you happy to wear the badge of Onan?