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My Sweet Old ManOK. I'm not a writer, so this may not be well-written or even coherent. Just treat it as a stream-of-consciousness account by a not-so-skillful writer and bear with me. This was a long time ago. In the 70s and 80s, before the Internet. Connections were made locally either by word-of-mouth, or by cards in the local adult bookstore. I had put cards in bookstores near me, and occasionally received phone calls. I had never intended to support myself this way, no did I ever do that. It was simply that I realized I had a dominant streak toward men, and this was a way to stroke that need, and make some money on the side. The carmds made it perfectly clear -- no sex!My parents had died a few years earlier. They managed to live out their last years on Social Security and their savings. Dad had been a lawyer and had managed to save a good amount, so they were comfortable. When they died, I inherited the house and what was left of their savings (not a lot, I'm afraid). The house was small in a pretty little established middle-class neighborhood. It mainly had young couples with k**s who walked to and from school in the mornings and afternoons; mothers who walked babies in strollers during the day and were at home waiting for their k**s when they got home from school; and fathers who worked during the day and were home at night. The lawns were mowed on the weekend, and charcoal grilles were fired up in the afternoon or evening. Once a year, or so, a block party was held at which everyone got together to say hi and let all the k**s play together while the street was blocked off. The woman across the street, a pretty little thing with two k**s, would have güvenilir bahis a Saturday night party now and then where the four or five closest neighbors (me included) would come round, and drink and laugh and play silly games (one I remember in particular was a game of charades which I won by guessing, *quot;Oh Dad, Poor Dad, Mama's Hung You In the Closet and I'm Feeling So Bad*quot; within 10 seconds. Turns out I had just been thinking of that play the day before and it was still in my head). I was a curiosity, not being married, but after a while, we got to know each other, and I was simply accepted for what I was.I started getting calls from my cards, and eventually getting gentlemen callers. The first contact was a free phone call. Just long enough to get a feeling for what they were like, and explain the ground rules. The second contact would be just like a date. I'd meet them at a restaurant or movie or something like that. We'd spend some time together and get to know each other a bit better. They would treat me with complete and total respect and deferral. They were to candidly answer any question I asked completely and truthfully. I told them I don't promise the same, but that was more simply giving them what they wanted. I wanted them to understand me too, so, unless the question was too personal, I told them what they wanted to know. This was my chance to get to know them. First and foremost, I needed to get a feel of whether they were trustworthy and safe to be around, especially alone. There was one guy that just made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up on end. I never quite got a straight answer out of him. He was big and strong; not necessarily türkçe bahis a bad thing. Sometimes they were as gentle as kittens when in a scene. But I could sense an inner rage just below the surface of this one. We met at a restaurant, and I left him there right after the main course, and after we had ordered dessert. I went to 'powder my nose' and never looked back. But I was nervous enough to watch my rearview mirror as I went home. I expected phone calls, but fortunately, I never heard from him again.Second, I had a chance to see how they treated being ever-so-slightly dominated (I drove, but he opened the door for me; kept my bread dish filled with buttered bread; I ordered for him; he gave me money, I paid the bill; he stood when I rose and when I returned; he held my chair for me, and so forth). Third, I had a chance to talk to them concerning what they wanted; their fantasies; their limits. Were they married or did they have a girlfriend. They found out I didn't want to blackmail them in any way. I just wanted to ensure that they wife or girlfriend would ot found out. Sometimes I was more concerned about this than they were. After that, if all went well, they'd come to my house for a few hours in the evening. A basic ground rule was nudity. The first thing they'd do was take off all their clothes, and put them into a box, which I'd padlock. The last thing they'd do was put their clothes on again after I unlocked the box. What happened in between was completely determined by what they wanted and what I wanted. Some were long-term customers. I got to know them very well, and sometimes varied the ground rules. One in particular was a pretty high-up güvenilir bahis siteleri company executive. He was one of those who wore expensive, custom-made suits. Him, I dressed in ill-fitting, tattered and torn, dirty old sweats.But one if my favorites was a sweet old men. He wanted only to be edged. Most men, I'd have to bind hand and foot, spreadeagle to the bed. I did the same for him, but with long chains so he'd have lots of freedom to move. I don't think he ever wanted to be dominated as much as he simply wanted to be touched. So, I'd lay him down, oil his penis up well, and stroke him. Early on, he'd get erect, and I learned how to judge his arousal. It got to the point that I knew him better than he did, himself. I could keep him on the edge for an hour. As he got older, sometimes he couldn't keep an erection. So I'd just stroke his flacid cock. Sometimes, instead of concentrating on his responses, we'd just talk: I'd keep his cock well oiled and in my hand, and we'd talk. He'd been very happily married for 30 years before his wife died. He carried on, never wanting anyone else, but missed simple human contact. And that's where I came in. In return, he was a good listener for me. He gave me good advice on practical matters, such as cars and home repairs, and also my personal life. He was the only one I allowed to ask me about boyfriends and work. He became a friend and I stopped charging him. Instead, I looked forward to his coming to me. His visits tapered off toward the end, and I'd call him just to see if he was alright. One day I read in the paper that he had dies. I mourned for him. I went to the funeral home for the wake, but I didn't go into the room. I looked inside from the hall, and silently said my goodbyes. He's with his wife now and they'll be happy together and without me. I still get a bit misty when I think about him. Sometimes this can be a good business.