The life of William

This is a fun piece about a friend all we men have the pleasure of knowing in our own way


When I was born I was generally kept wrapped in soft towelling, but at every opportunity I did my party piece freely into the air, much to the annoyance of my parent.

Getting older and growing nicely, I was mostly left alone, cared for but living a solitary life. Then came the days of being compared with others like me, we were much the same of course but I always wanted to poke my head out a little more than the others but overall I was happy not to be the smallest around.

Things started to change when some irritating hormones started to take over, I often felt more invigorated for reasons I didn’t understand and fine hair started to grow which I wasn’t too pleased with but, as the others seemed to be getting the same, I could live with it. This chemical charge did give me much more presence and I would often pose proudly, even when it might not have been appropriate; I didn’t care did I.

Other changes were more dramatic. Interesting things were going on all around me and at times even when they were just in thoughts, these exciting things got me so worked up they literally made me sick, with a strange salty projectile vomiting; I always had to go and have a lie down afterwards such was the exertion.

It wasn’t an easy life I can tell you, I would often get into fights where I was always beaten up, never bruised but always exhausted. Sometimes it was several times a day and I wondered when it would ever end. By this time I had decided that this was to be my life, some games to be involved in but lots of resting with just the occasion functional interlude.

Of course it wasn’t always the same; things did subtly change over time. Sometimes there was more than one fighting to have a piece of me, sharing the pleasure but always with the same end result. In these new style games I had to admit to liking being washed with a gentle warm wetness that one of the antagonist seemed to enjoy just as much. For them I could play longer and would give that little more of myself if they were kind enough to me.

It was a shock then to be asked to come out to play but then end up being pushed into some random darkness. This was a different kind of game and I have to admit that I didn’t like it at first. Getting used to it though, there was at least less roughness; I was starting to get bored with that. This was more grown up things I tried to tell myself, I was mature enough to do mans’ work and I thought I did it rather well given the pleasurable sounds the other used to make at my performance. The only down side to ‘mans’ work’ was the occasional fishy tinge to the soft play equipment, I often thought a good wash down might be an idea but I had little say in the matter. You did get used to it and it was mostly worth it for the more pleasant sport I was involved with.

Just as I was used to this type of event, there was one time where, after the preamble of the wet play there came another shock. I had never really minded the dark places but this was not so good. Perhaps it was me getting bigger but the entrance seemed much smaller although once inside, despite the different smells, the space was much the same. There was a period when I had to wear an odd sort of wet suit, really tight-fitting and I sometimes had trouble breathing and I would have preferred not to have to swim out of the end of play residue; I was much more free-spirited left to my own devices.

Another down side was when the other person occasionally put some sort of neck lock on me, I didn’t always appreciate the way I was squeezed and held while I fought to get out. They would only let me go once I had thrown up. This by the way was taking longer and longer before I could eventually rest.

Never quite knowing if it was anything I had done, the games started to become less and less frequent. Of course I missed them but I have to admit that I liked the longer respites in-between and also the less tight clothing that I was wearing; the lycra had been rather fetching in my youth, even through middle age but now it showed the wrinkles rather too much.

I didn’t get a hair-cut so often either, the sporting shaved contours might have looked rather out-of-place at the age I was so, perhaps this bushy guise was more appropriate. Memories of youth were always there though and I could still react to them if I was having a good day although overall, I felt my regular playing days were over.

Knowing that it was nearly finished, I couldn’t even do the everyday jobs without a lot of help and patience, there was just no energy left. An experiment with some new-fangled medication wasn’t the best either, it was like having something artificially pumped inside me and although I looked like I used to, there was nothing of the happy-go-lucky fun of those formative years. The result wasn’t very pleasurable and we didn’t try it again.

Finally, I couldn’t control myself at all and this incontinence had me almost permanently choked in padded clothing. The time eventually came when I knew I was ready to give up completely and I was glad not to be awake to witness the ignominy of lying shrivelled in a pool of your own liquid waste.

 

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