Diary of a Mad Masturbator (3)

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My first (though far from last) mastubation marathon.

 

The summer when I was fourteen, my parents decided that I could stay home alone for the weekend while they took a short trip out of town. By that age I was a twice-a-day masturbator, with a regular morning-and evening habit, so the thought of a couple of days alone at home was pretty exciting. That night I lay in bed stroking away, bringing myself to the brink again and again, but not letting myself cum-I wanted to save it, so that I would be achingly randy the next day.



As my parents loaded the car Friday morning, I affected a nonchalant air and listened intently to their last minute admonitions, but the car was hardly around the corner before I was stripping off my clothes in the entry hall. I was fully hard as I entered the living room and threw myself onto the sofa. I lay there for some time, teasing and stroking, just sort of warming up for the first orgasm of the day.



I had been at it for a while when a movement in the corner of my eye made me turn my head. I had been so eager to start my masturbation that I had neglected to shut the living room curtains, and the motion which caught my eye was a neighbor walking her dog down the side walk. Had she turned her head, she would have gotten a eyeful of a fourteen-year-old jack off artist at work, but she strolled by without a glance. I felt nonplused at the close call, but also strangely excited. Rather than close the window, I remained where I was, in full view of any passerby.



I had meant to wait and tease myself longer before I let my first load of the day fly, but the prior night's buildup was too much; after only a few more minutes I felt the urgent need to come and started in on the quick strokes. As I felt the tension build I suddenly stood up, making myself even more visible through the window and surrendered to my orgasm. I squirted the first of many loads for the weekend onto the coffee table. As I worked my cock back to softness, I watched my semen form a pool on the varnished wood.



After I cleaned up I spent the next couple of hours hanging about the house nude, watching TV and reading and eating lunch without a stitch of clothing on. After a while I started to feel horny and decided to whack off again, this time in the den. I got out my stash of men's magazines. I laid back in the recliner, paging through the nude photos which I had never looked at anywhere but my room. Sitting naked in the den going through a bunch of dirty books felt delightfully wicked, but it was awkward to hold the magazine in one hand and touch myself with the other.



I moved to the floor, where I could sit and spread the magazine out for hands-free viewing. Before long I had a number of magazines open to my favorite pictures, spread out across the floor. I masturbated to my second orgasm of the day standing in the den, surrounded by the spread pages of my nudie books.



Two more times that day, I brought myself off. That night, I took a quick walk around the exterior of the house, still totally naked and sporting wood. No one saw me (it was quite late) but it was still a thrill to stand nude in the front yard. I went back inside and masturbated to my final orgasm of the night, drifting off in front of the TV with my last, rather small load of cum still pooled on my belly.



I awoke the next morning ready to go (i.e., with 'morning wood') but decided to take it slow. I stroked myself for a while and then got up to have breakfast. After eating, I returned to my magazines and played with myself some more, working myself close to climax, but holding back. (Of course, I was doing what expert masturbators today call 'edging,' but I had no idea that there was a name for it back then; I just knew that prolonging the act increased the pleasure.) This went on for some time before I decided to finish myself off in the back yard.



The yard behind our house was amply private, with tall fences and hedges, and so I was not too worried about being seen out there. Our patio was even more secluded, since one half of the house blocked the view from one side. As I lay on a chaise lounge and spread hand lotion on my cock, I certainly felt private. But masturbating outside did feel naughty in an exciting way, and as I got closer to cumming I fantasized that I was being watched by a pretty girl. The thought of being watched turned me on in theory, but when the lady next door walked into the yard it shocked me almost out of my skin.



Sylvia was a forty-ish mother of two who lived in the house next to ours. She and my mother had become friends over the years. Her age was just starting to show a bit at that time, but she still looked attractive in the sun dress she wore as she intruded on my masturbation. I had just passed that point of no return when I saw her there, and the shock and surprise must have affected my ejaculation: I shot farther and higher than I ever had up to that time.



'Hey, Richie,' she said as my semen flew into the air and landed on my stomach. To judge by her tone, there was nothing unusual about greeting a teenage boy squirting his goo all over himself. I was too wracked by the dual shocks to my system-orgasm and surprise-to react much at all. I wanted to hide; I wanted to let go of myself; but I kept working my cock through my orgasm, even as she walked up and sat down in a patio chair next to me. 'Don't get up,' she said. 'I didn't mean to intrude.'



I felt as if the earth had fallen away beneath me.



'Your mom asked me to look in on you while your folks were gone,' she said. Blushing furiously, I stammered something like, 'Oh?' As the spasms of my climax tapered off, I felt an urge to run away, but Sylvia's reaction helped me keep my panic in check. I had been seen masturbating more than once by my parents, but to be caught by a neighbor!



'She said you'd probably spend the whole weekend jacking off,' she said. I was still at a loss for words, just mumbling a lame, 'Sorry.' In my family, my enthusiasm for masturbating was no secret, but I was a bit embarrassed to think that it was talked about in the neighborhood.



'Oh, don't be embarrassed, sweetie,' she said sitting on a chair as if it was just another Saturday. 'When he was your age, Mike used to jack off constantly.' Mike was her son, a few years older than me and away at college.



I let go of my slippery dick and sat up in the chaise lounge. 'Really?' I said, for lack of anything better. I felt as if I might actually cry. I could feel my face burning; it must have glowed bright red just then.



'Oh, yeah. Sometimes we could barely get him to leave his room to eat dinner.' I know the feeling, I thought. Now that I was sitting up, the semen that I had squirted onto my body was starting to run down toward my groin. I must have made quite a sight.



'Masturbation is totally healthy,' she said. 'In fact, if more people masturbated more, we'd have less war.' She went on to say that she was no stranger to the art of self-pleasure, learning to masturbate as a little girl by spying on her sister as she diddled herself.



She asked me how I had discovered masturbation, and I told her I didn't remember-I've always done it. She plied me with a few more questions, also volunteering information about her own masturbatory habits: she masturbated frequently-three or four times a week-and enjoyed reading 'dirty' stories as she did it.



Such talk had its effect on me, and I felt my overworked penis starting to swell and rise. Now that really did embarrass me, but I couldn't stop my cock from hardening. The cum from my last jack-off hadn't dried on my skin and I was sporting another erection-my first in front of another person.



'Looks like you're ready for more,' she said. 'I'll leave you to your fun.' She left the way she'd come, and I was alone with my hard-on. The rush of emotions of the past few minutes had left me too drained to move, and I finished myself off right there.



(Looking back, I think her timing of her intrusion was a little too perfect. Though she acted as if she had happened across my wank session just as I came seems too much of a coincidence. My mother had mentioned my proclivities to her before they left. Plus, her casual reaction was little unlikely. She hardly registered any surprise on her face. I now suspect she spied on me for some time, waiting until I was about to cum to barge in and 'catch' me. Then she sexed me up with a bit of masturbation talk, maybe so she could watch me again.)



As evening turned to night, I went out to the curb in front of the house to get the mail; keeping to my self-imposed no clothing rule, I went out totally nude. I resisted the urge to furtively dash out and back, making a point to stand next to the mailbox and sort through the mail before walking casually back inside. What a rush!



I had been working my cock pretty hard from the moment I had the house to myself, and I spent the evening just laying around watching TV. I woke at three-thirty in the morning with a throbbing erection. How could this be? I had drained my balls so many times during the previous day and night. At first I just idly stroked my rigid cock, not really trying to stimulate myself much, but after a few minutes I began to feel more and more aroused. I suddenly had the urge to get off outside again, but this time in a more public setting. I slicked up my rod with lotion and headed out the door.



The neighborhood was totally quiet, the lights out in all the houses on our street. I walked to the sidewalk, blood pounding in my ears and throbbing in my cock. I went to the corner, three houses down, totally naked and sporting a hard on aching for release. Though the street was fairly dark, anyone looking out of their windows would see me. The total exposure had me insane with the need to jack off. As I pumped myself toward my peak, I imagined that people were watching me from their windows.



The wet sounds of my fist stroking my cock speeded up as I greedily rushed toward orgasm. Just before I came, an sudden image flashed in my mind: I was in a masturbation show, jacking off on stage as women in the audience cheered me on to shoot my load. Seconds later my knees were shaking as I shook and spurted my goo onto the sidewalk. It was one of the most intense orgasms of my young life. Totally spent, I walked back home in a glow combined from orgasmic bliss and the naughty feeling of my daring escapade.



By the time my parents returned home, the house had been tidied up, my magazines returned to my room and all signs of the weekend's activities removed. As I was helping to unload the car, Sylvia came over to greet my parents.



'Everything went all right?' my mother asked.



'Oh, yes,' Sylvia said. 'Richie definitely knows how to take care of himself.' A wry smile as she spoke alluded to the true meaning of her words. I blushed again at the memory of my mother's friend seeing me masturbating.



Sylvia never saw me playing with myself again after that, though now and again I did return to the back yard and put on a midnight masturbation show for the dark windows next door. I don't think she watched my those nights, but it turned me on to imagine she did. She never mentioned that day she walked in on me, though when she was at our house she sometimes gave me a conspiratorial wink.



And I could never walk past that corner sidewalk without remembering my knee-trembling exhibition.

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