First Time, Bath Time

Posted by: Author: Age: 61 Now, 13 then Posted on: 0 comments
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Each of us had a first time, here's how I discovered my solotouch...


I grew up an only child, in a suburban country area. It was an era when sex was not open for discussion. Our neighbors all had boys which was hardly important since our 'places' were tens of acres or more and quite distant from each other. I was 13. At the time I don't think I had ever seen an undressed girl or woman. If I had it had been early in my life in a nursery but I sure didn't remember.

Our school was co-ed, but really only because both boys and girls attended. Gym, health, and recess were segregated by sex, though the latter was by choice not rule.

I began noticing changes in the bodies of my friends who were girls. I guess I was changing too. If I noticed their changes (or just about every time I turned around) I would sprout wood. At the time I didn't know what that was and had no clue about how, if or why I should do anything about it.

One night my folks babysat my much younger cousins so their parents could have an adult night. My older cousin was a girl of 7. Mom was calming us down readying us for an adventure of sleeping on the sun porch 'in the woods'. She had bathed the little ones and put on their PJs. As it got dark I was sent to our only bathroom to take my bath. I was happily soaking when Mom came to the door. 'Put your wash cloth over you lap. Jane needs to use the bathroom NOW!' (She seemed to have a very active if not overactive bladder as a child).

With that Mom opened the door. Jane rushed in and in one motion pulled her jammie pants and panties down and off. I was leaning against the back of the tub, my eyes just above the top of it. As she stood up, my eyes must have been the size of saucers. I expected a small version of myself between her legs. Instead there were two roundish mounds with a crease between them. She hurried across the floor and hopped onto the toilet seat. Because of her size she spread her legs wide for balance and to keep from falling in. The seat and the top of the tub were pretty much level with each other. I was eyeball to crease with her. In this position I saw her crease run from her front nearly to her back side with a small tuft of skin near the top. Instantly there was a torrent of water spraying from somewhere inside her crease well below the tuft of skin.

She finished, and almost as quickly as she bounded in, she hopped down, pulled on her clothes, and was on her way. Another crisis averted. Not a word was spoken then or even until now.

As the door swung shut, I looked down at my lap. The soapy wash cloth I hastily threw across my lap was long gone. In its place I had a clear view of my little soldier standing in wooden attention. As I said, It had been popping up from time to time but I had no idea what was happening or what to do about It. This time It was up and staying. I was feeling something between an itch and pain. My hand was drawn to it. I gripped but the soapy water made it slippery and It squeezed out of my hand. But, OH did it feel good! I grasped It again and again. I couldn't stop. Each time I grasped It, It felt better and there was a tension was building. The tension started deep inside and shot like an electric bolt through my lower abdomen. I had to keep my fist around it. Soon, my fist was moving in a blur and then I saw stars. When they cleared I lay in a daze. My arms and legs felt like they were lead filled. My soldier was still standing though softer and there was what looked like the soap oozing out of the tip. I couldn't stand to touch it with my hand or cloth to clean up the ooze. I honestly was afraid I had rubbed so hard the soapy water had been forced through my skin and was now leaking out the end. I was also afraid I had made noises that my folks could hear. I quickly rinsed, dried and dressed.

Needless to say bath times over the next few weeks were exciting. I would lean back letting my eyes drift just above the tub's edge. Each time my mind would picture a different girl at school that I fancied desperately dashing through the door and hopping on the seat as Jane had done. When the vision was clear I'd grasp my now turgid member and begin to pull and stroke it. I did soon figure out that the ooze wasn't soap spurting from it. I may no longer be as eager, nor as able to repeat, but hardly a day goes by I don't find wood and relief in my Rosie Palm and the Dancing Digits. It all started with bath time.



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