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An Awkward Moment

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An Awkward Moment by I started early: my mother says she remembers catching me playing with myself when I was two, and I can’t remember when I started. For as much as I can recall, I always knew how to masturbate. And masturbate I did. All through childhood and through puberty and adolescence I was intensely into jacking off, and over the years just about everybody knew it. I doubt if there is anyone out there who tried as much as I did to whack off in secret but wound up caught at it as often as I was. Mostly it was my parents who seemed to always catch me with my pants down, and I was unbelievably lucky to have a mother and father who both believed in masturbation as a healthy sexual outlet. I got “caught” by both my parents, and my older sister, as I was growing up. (There’re a couple of other tales to tell.) But here I want to relate a somewhat embarrassing and also enlightening experience that I had at the age of fifteen. My sister was away for her first year in college, and I had the house to myself more than ever, especially that summer. Dad was away in the office all day, and my mother always had phone duty at the realtor’s office on Mondays. On Monday morning I laid in my bed, stroking away in the morning light while I paged through a girlie magazine and waited for my mother to leave so I could get into a really serious masturbation session. None of the bedroom doors in our house had locks, and so when my mother barged in she nearly found me red handed. I was barely able to conceal my activities by pulling the covers over myself. Now, my mother had walked in on me masturbating in my room before, so it was not a totally traumatic moment, but it was still embarrassing and annoying: “Mom, please!” “Sorry dear, I just wanted to ask you if you’re going to be home this morning?” “Uh, yeah, I guess so.” I’ll be home all right, jacking off all over the place. “Well, if Louanne calls, tell her I’ll call her from the office.” I said I would and she left me in peace. Finally, she drove away and the house was empty. My parents both have nudist inclinations, so it was no special novelty to pad naked across the living room to the kitchen; the firm erection which pointed the way, however, was a feature not usually displayed outside my bedroom. I ate my Wheaties and skimmed through the newspaper, reaching down from time to time to stroke my cock and maintain its hardness. I thought about taking a shower, but reconsidered because I would have to take another later, as I was planning to make quite a mess of myself before I was finished. After a little more of my pensive stroking, I slouched in the kitchen chair and really went at it, gripping myself lightly and gliding my hand up and down. I jacked my rod until I felt the familiar tightening in my groin, then stopped, backing away from my climax. It felt a little nasty to jack off in the kitchen, but I’d done that before, and besides, I was planning to make this session last a while. After another round of jack-to-almost-cumming, I went back into my room and watched myself pumping in the mirror on top of the dresser: if I turned it the right amount I got a nice profile view of myself whacking away. I stopped short of cumming again, but I could feel the increasing tension. I had to stop a little sooner each time, and the insistent twitching of my rod after I took my hand away signified my heightening arousal. I must have gone at that for an hour, just stroking and stopping, before I pulled out the girlie magazines. I jacked off to Playboy plenty of times, but I really preferred Penthouse. In those days they sometimes showed the models fingering their clits, and that made me want to squirt all over the place. Just for something different, I took a couple of magazines into the living room and started beating off to them on the couch. That kept me going for quite a while, and after I don’t know how long, I was ready to cum. But not on the sofa. The day had turned out to be warm, and I was alone…our rear deck behind the house faced a dry wash and a thicket of trees; it was totally private. That was the place to stage my orgasm. But first, I put the mags back in my room; my cock throbbed so hard, begging for release, that I would not need any additional stimulus. Then I went into the master bedroom and picked up my parents’ bottle of sex lube (I seem to recall they used Astroglide) and took it out onto the deck, going through the dining room’s sliding glass door.. The sunlight filtered through the trees and fell on the deck in soft dapples. Though it was around noon, the day was quite comfortable, not too hot. I sat on a chaise lounge and lubed up my erect cock, also favoring my balls with some of the slick fluid. I kept teasing myself for a while but my cock had other ideas; I had given myself a serious case of blue balls, and they ached in their fullness. I got into the short strokes quickly, thrusting my hips to push my dick through my fists, grunting with each pump. I emptied my balls with a sharp cry, jet after jet of spunk arcing across my chest and abdomen (I always cum harder and farther when I take a long time to build up to it). I literally saw stars as I squirted my seed; my skin had cooled in the open air, and my semen felt hot as it fell across my body. Finally I had milked out every drop, and with a sigh of contentment I closed my eyes, still fondling myself…. I guess I must have dozed off for a while, because the next thing I knew I heard voices through the open sliding glass door. Eyes still closed, I listened and recognized the voices of my mother and two of her friends, Tina and Louanne. Peeking past my eyelids, I could see all three of them in the dining room sitting around the table waiting for a pot of coffee to finish brewing. (Only later did I find out that my mother had traded duty days with another realtor in the office so she could meet her girlfriends at home for lunch). I could feel a flush creeping into my face as I saw myself in my mind’s eye as I must appear to them: nude on the chaise lounge, my parents’ bottle of lube sitting open nearby, and my abdomen still crisscrossed with highly visible streams of cum. Their view could not possibly leave anything to the imagination, and so I was in effect ‘outed’ at that moment as a masturbator. Now, by that time my mother knew masturbated, of course, but no matter how comfortable you might be with solo sexuality, being seen by your mother’s friends messy with your own cum is an awkward moment. Since I’d gone out there to finish myself off nude to begin with, I had nothing to put on to cover myself, and the sliding glass door to the dining room was my only way into the house. There was no way around it. At some point I would just have to run the gauntlet. A loud laugh from inside the dining room made me start, and I figured there was no point in pretending to be asleep any more. I sat up, casually smearing some of the semen into my skin to make it a little less obvious, and then stood up and strolled—with a nonchalance I certainly did not feel—into the dining room. All three women reacted with a casualness that equaled my own pretense as I mumbled a greeting. “Taking care of business, huh?” Tina asked. I said nothing since, I had no response ready other than to pretend ignorance, and that certainly would not do. “He’s a growing boy,” my mother said. “I caught him jacking off this morning, too.” I could have corrected her by pointing out that this recent orgasm and the session she’d interrupted that morning had been the same, but why split hairs? ‘Oh, yeah,” Louanne said, “when I was in school I used to go at it all the time. Sometimes I’d run into the girls’ bathroom and fingerbang myself right in the stalls.” They all giggled a bit at that bit of information. “Shit,” Tina said, “in Catholic school we used to all frig off together in the girls’ dorm. A big circle jerk. Do they still have circle jerks?” she asked me, as if it was a passing cultural fad, like disco. “Jesse and some of his friends were having a sleep over a few years ago,” my mom said, “and Rich walked in on them all jacking off to his Penthouses.” Another round of giggles and I was really starting to feel abashed. I could think of no clever exit line so I just stood there. My mother seemed to pick up on my mortification and said, “Hon, when you get some clothes on, can you take out the trash?” “Sure,” I said, using that as a pretext for leaving the room. Another burst of laughter followed me into the living room, where I paused, eavesdropping to learn if they thought I was a weirdo or something. Instead of discussing my own solo sex habits, the conversation turned to their own… “That kid loves to jack off. I think he gets that from me.” “When I was that age, I was whacking off morning, noon and night.” “You know, I had that shower massage a whole week before I thought of frigging myself off with it.” “When I got my first vibrator, I thought I’d never leave the house.” After a time, the conversation drifted to other topics, and I moved on to my bedroom where I dressed and took care of the trash and a couple of other chores. Mom’s friends had gone, and I was getting over my earlier embarrassment pretty quickly. Later that day I sat in the living room, watching a rerun of The Rockford Files on TV when my mother came out of my parents’ bedroom, nude except for her bra and holding a white plastic vibrator. “Jesse, didn’t you put the lubricant away when you were finished?” she asked, her tone scolding. “Aw, sorry, Mom,” I said, getting up off the couch. She stalked across the living room to the deck, where to bottle still sat near the chaise lounge. “I just wish you would remember to put things back,” she said. Then she went back into the master bedroom and shut the door. I sat watching TV for a while, but I felt a little bit curious, so I crept over to the bedroom door and listened. Muffled music wafted through, from the radio, but I also could hear the industrial-strength buzzing of that vibrator, and I knew my mother was in there masturbating. I walked away smiling, not from arousal (we are talking about my mother—ick), but out of a sense of relief; if she was doing herself the same day I had done, then she truly wouldn’t judge me. I only wish everyone could have parents as cool and enlightened as mine.

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