Another masturbation story from my college days. I only wish ALL my hours at the library were as cool.
You can learn lot in a library...and not just from the books. I learned in college that - given the right opportunity - there are a lot of idiotic and risky things most guys will do to get-off almost any time of the day or night. On this particular night, I happened to be one of them.
I'd been studying for several hours, and was getting bored. I leaned back in my chair, yawned and stretched, and then absent mindedly hiked up my shirt-tail, and slipped my hands underneath to rub my stomach a bit. (Funny how guys love to do that, but girls almost never do.)
'Nice!' I heard from a voice near the book shelves, which startled me for a second. I looked around to see who had said that. It was a fellow student, but a stranger. I was pretty certain I'd never seen before. Too bad, too, because he was good looking, in a scruffy sort of way. His hair was shag cut and a little spikey. He had a couple of day's growth on his cheeks and chin, and he wore wire rimmed glasses that made his blue eyes sparkle with mischief. He was casually dressed like I was - board shorts low on his hips, a tank top, and thongs on his bare feet.
He winked, chuckled, and then disappeared among the rows of books. I shook my head, thinking about what just happened, and got up to get a drink at the fountain near the men's room. (A rather notorious men's room I might add.) While I was slurping the chilly water, I saw the same guy again from the corner of my eye. He paused briefly, then went through the men's room door. Amazing how I suddenly had the urge to take a leak.
When I got inside, I didn't see him. I went to the row of urinals to take care of business, and then I heard a throat clearing from one of the stalls nearby. I looked under the space between the stall walls and floor, and in the farthest cubicle saw his feet, and his shorts dropped around his ankles.
Decisions, decisions. The library wasn't very busy that night, and this was the most isolated men's room on the third floor. Still, anyone could walk in, but that could make it more interesting and exciting. (Unless it was campus security!) I entered the stall next to his.
We both sat on our respective toilets in silence for nearly a full minute. Then I stood up and dropped my shorts. As soon as he heard that, I began to hear the lapping of flesh in the adjoining stall. I could also hear some heavy breathing and soon I was breathing and beating my meat in sync.
Suddenly his face appeared under my stall. It stunned me for a moment and I tried to cover myself, but he reached out and started rubbing my calf lightly with his soft hand, urging me to continue. I resumed stroking and he flashed the most wicked grin of approval. His face disappeared and he returned to his seat to resume his own jacking.
I went to my knees and peeked under his stall. He was beating slowly, and had his balls cradled in his free hand. His head was thrown back and he kept licking his parted lips with the tip of his tongue. His tank top was hung on the hook inside, so he was virtually naked. I loved the tufts of hair sprouting from under his armpits, and the downy dark hair on his chest that trailed to his pubes. Not too much. Just enough. His balls were shaved, and his cock had an ever so slight downward curve. I was getting a most excellent low angle view of a very hot wanker.
His balls began to rise to the base of his shaft, so he started slowing down and whispered, 'Your turn.' I stood up this time to resume my own stroking, spreading my legs and bending slightly at the knees to let my balls hang freely and expose the ring of my ass. We were both picking up rhythm, and getting close.
Next thing I knew, I felt a wet tongue on the top of my right instep. The dude had stretched out completely on the floor and was trying to remove my thongs while he continued to work his tool. I lifted my right foot to give him free access and gasped when he engulfed my toes in his hot mouth.
We both quickened our tempo, only semi-conscious of the predicament we'd be in if anyone else entered the room. Our groans and the sound of our beating were more than a little audible. We would have been caught dead to rights, but there was no stopping us at that point. The stranger released my foot and squealed, 'I'm there, dude!' He thrust his hips under the stall and I could see his piss slit expand, his prick twitch, and his balls unload on the floor and all over my feet. With a few final strokes he milked out the last glistening drops and licked his fingers. The sight of that, plus the warm, wet stickiness on my feet sent me over the edge.
The first burbling of my juice covered my fist. Then I blasted a long white rope onto the wall. Finally, squatting further and aiming my cock toward his face, I shot the rest on the bridge of his nose, his lips and his chin.
We gasped and panted heavily, trying to regain our composure, and laughed when we saw the mess we had made. I cleaned off my feet with a length of toilet tissue, and he did the same to the floor. I decided to leave the splatter on the wall as a symbol of marking the territory and maybe inspiring the next occupant to have a go.
We pulled up our shorts, and exited the stalls to wash our hands. Standing side by side I finally asked him, 'And your name is?'
'Does it matter?' he replied, and with that, he smacked me on the ass, and left. I saw him a few times more at the student center that semester, and again at the library. Each time, I'd hike up my shirt tail and he'd say, 'Nice!'...then wink and chuckle, just like the first night.
But we never hooked up again.