My First Black Cock, and it was a Double!

I had always wondered what it would be like to have another man give me a blow job. Never in my wildest imaginings did I ever think it would actually happen, especially at my age.

I'm a white male, pushing 82 years of age now. I'm single. Well, actually I'm a widower, having lost my wife of nearly 60 years, fours ago. We'd been quite happy during all that time together. We seemed to have it all, except for children. I've never been able to father any, having had an accident when I was in my early teens, thus rendering my reproductive capabilities moot.

Without kids though, I was able to devote my time to both my job and my wife. Eleanor was a wonderful woman. She never complained about not having any children. Hell, with all the kids in the neighborhood, it was as though we did. She was simply 'Grandma' to all of them. She'd bake cookies, cook cakes, always have ice-cold lemonade in the fridge whenever they asked for some. She treated those kids like they were their own. When she passed away I think every kid from that neighborhood came to the viewing and to the funeral. Of course they were older and had kids of their own by that time, but they still loved her and had always remembered her birthday and send her many cards over the years.

I was able to develop my own hardware business and, when it finally got time to retire, I managed to sell my store to a well known firm and got a mint for it all. Needless to say, we were on 'easy street' and didn't have to worry about anything. Even after Eleanor's Cancer struck, we managed and didn't lose too much. Her funeral was paid for with cash and I was able to sell the larger house and invest in a smaller one, suitable for only one person. It was something I would be able to take care of all by myself and I'd always wanted to be in a smaller house anyway. The only reason we kept that 'monster' was so all the kids would have a place to visit whenever they stopped by, and they always did. If any of the parents wanted to know where their kids were, they only had to call Eleanor to find out.

During all those years together both of us had a healthy sex life. Once a week, like clock-work, we went to bed and 'explored' each other. Eleanor didn't want to call it 'having sex', so we used 'explored' instead. Seemed to give it a better flair if you ask me. Made it seem important to both of us, and in a way it did. 'Exploring' with Eleanor was always a thrill, and we never got tired of each other. It was only in the two years before her death that our 'exploring' stopped completely. She wasn't able to do many things and she tired very easily those days. Towards the end she couldn't even get out of bed and it was up to me to take care of her. She died, as she had wanted to, in our bed with me sitting there beside her, holding her hand, even after her last breath had long passed. I don't remember how long I sat there, holding her cold hand with tears streaming down my face. When I finally got up it was already dark outside and over four hours had passed. I called our doctor, told him, then called the ambulance to come and get her. I never left her side, until the driver told me he'd take her to the funeral home and I could call later in the day to make the arrangements. That night was the loneliest night I'd ever spent in my life. My lovely wife wasn't beside me that night and it felt as though I was next to a black hole. I thought my life was over as well.

I couldn't imagine living in that house without her and that's why I finally sold it and moved away. Without any family, and all those kids grown and with their own families now, I felt a change was needed. The move was 3 hours away and the neighborhood was really a senior living community, but that was fine with me. Right then the last thing I really wanted.

It wasn't until I'd been there for about 2 months that I really noticed the 'difference' of those living around me. Most, if not all, the homes had either male/male or female/female residents. I hadn't realized that the community I'd moved into was one of gay and lesbian couples. And here I was living all by myself. Now I felt embarrassed, but I didn't move. I'd already made quite a few friends here and had been readily accepted among them, even if I was single. No one said a thing to me about it and I never mentioned that I hadn't realized what I was getting into, either.

My best friend there was Martin.

Martin was 4 years older than me and was black as well. He was a stout man, weighing in at around 250 pounds with a thick beard and mustache. He and I each stood about 6', 4" and we both exercised each morning. In fact, that's where I first met him, at our workouts. Actually we met in the shower, while lathering ourselves up after a good workout, each with our backs to the other. We weren't embarrassed, but nothing was ever made of the fact that we were both naked in the shower, our 'equipment' in plain view of each other.

It was only after he turned around that I got a good look at his 'equipment' and was surprised to find that he was only slightly larger than I am. When I'm limp I guess I'm around 6" and it appeared as if Martin were the same size. When I get hard though, I'm almost 8.5" and very uncut, with a lot of overhanging foreskin. While Martin's dick was covered with soap suds I guessed his skin was just about as long as mine. From my understanding most of the men in this community are uncut, since we're all well into our 80's. I guess when we were growing up our parents never thought of 'trimming' their sons. I've always been glad of that. As Martin rinsed off I did see that he was perhaps larger than I am and I would later find out that he's closer to 9" and his overhang is almost an inch longer than mine is.

Martin lived about three blocks from my place and I'd never been there before, so when he invited to his place for dinner I gladly accepted and a time was agreed on.

"Just wear whatever's comfortable," he told me, so I did. I chose a nice pair of shorts and a white short-sleeved shirt and my usual walking shoes. I've been doing a lot of walking in the area lately and it's helped to keep me fit, along with the exercise program that is. I decided a long time ago that I'd keep fit, even if it killed me! LOL!

When I knocked on Martin's door it was answered by his 'partner', Thomas, another black man.

Thomas was older than Martin and myself, pushing 90, but quite fit from his appearance. He's also the blackest man I've ever seen. I mean almost 'jet' black, with a balding head and a thick mustache. No beard though. His smile was wide, revealing a set of white teeth that would almost shine in the darkness. His handshake was firm and he invited me inside, out of the evening heat. He ushered me into the living room and told me that Martin would be in shortly.

Thomas sat across from me and we talked while we waited. It seems that he and Martin had been living together for almost 10 years and had been in the community for 5 of those 10 years.

I told him a little about me and we seemed to get along just fine. I found that I not only liked Martin, but Thomas as well. When Martin came into the room Thomas got up and went to greet him, surprising me by giving him a huge kiss, which was readily returned.

"Now don't embarrass our guest," Martin said.

If Thomas had been white I'm sure I'd have seen him turn quite red.

"That's ok," I assured him. "Nothing wrong with showing affection, especially between two consenting adults. Right?"

They both laughed, a night hearty bellow, and I felt as if I belonged here.

Dinner was homemade chili, which was perhaps the best I'd ever had.

"It's all in the ingriedents," Thomas told me. "I use a 50/50 mix of Ground Round and Sausage, along with a few other things."

"He won't even tell me what he uses," quipped Martin. "I really don't care, either, as long as he keeps making it. I love his cooking. I bet he could go to cooking school and get a great job as a cook somewhere."

"Yeah. Right. What would you do without me then?"

"Probably starve to death!" And we all laughed. I could tell from where I sat that they were petting each other under the table, which was beginning to turn me on, though I'd never admit it.

I guess they noticed my embarrassment though and shortly after that both their hands found their way to the top of the table.

"Please, don't le me stop you," I told them.

"We're sorry," Martin said. "We are usually like this, especially in front of others."

"I'm fine," I told him.

"Still, we should mind our manners, Shouldn't we Thomas?"

Again they both laughed and I felt a stirring in my loins, something that hadn't happened since losing Eleanor. It felt good to know that I was still 'alive'! I reached under the table and attempted to adjust myself. I guess they noticed.

"Could you use some help with that," Thomas asked.

"Thomas!"

"Well, he seems to be having some difficulty under the table. I'm just trying to be a good host and see if I can help him with it." The smile on his face broadened.

Again, I must have turned even redder.

"Now I've done it," Thomas chided. "I've embarrassed you even more."

"It's not that I'm embarrassed, Thomas," I told him. "It's just that I've never been propositioned by another man before. At least I think I was just proplsitioned."