Here is another true story from my mental archives. What happened in the mountains when I was 16 has been a fond memory ever since that night.
Early in my senior year of high school I and several buddies who I knew since grade school were talking one day after school, and we all agreed to get together that Friday night after the football game. None of us was going steady at the time, so we figured we'd join up and find something interesting to do. After the game ended the five of us walked over to one of my friends cars [his dads car, actually], and we quickly agreed to take a drive up to the San Bernardino mountains, about 30 miles distant from our home town in the valley. Before we left town, my friends prevailed upon me to go into one of our local liquor stores to procure a couple of six-paks. For some reason they seemed to think I looked and acted the most mature! Everything worked fine [yes, it was easy in those days!!] and I was soon back in the car, six-paks in hand. We then headed up the mountain drive, and after 45 minutes or so found our way to a deserted campground. This was October, at an elevation of 6,000 feet, so there were no summer campers about. We could find a secluded spot and be comfortable knowing that the five of us could drink and be merry without concern. On the way up the mountain drive we talked of the game that night, girls we'd seen, our teachers [good and bad], and of sex although not necessarily in that order. After we arrived at a good camping spot toward the back of the campground, we got out of the car and each opened a beer [with the customary church key used in the days before pop-tops! We stood around for a while but, since two buddies had failed to bring a jacket they were getting cold and wanted to head for the car. A few others of us stayed on for a bit, simply chatting and walking around, checking out the scenery as it were. Finally we were all back in the car together, opening another beer now and then, and talking about whatever any of us thought was of topical importance. By this time in my life I had a rather well established routine of pleasuring myself once or twice a day [or more] and knew that, in some general sense, this whole business of jacking off was no big secret. And, given that I was feeling horny [a perpetual feeling those days], I said something like, I don't know about you guys but I've got a dick here that feels like it wants a little action! Hope you don't mind but I think it's time to accommodate. At that point I pulled down my zipper, reached for my penis, and started going at it. For maybe three seconds my buddies looked at me as if I was crazy. One of them said You, Pat? The straight-laced academic who's always working or studying? Whatever their opinion, they happily joined in, and within seconds all five of us were doin it. What still amuses me to this day is that my four buddies who included two sets of brothers were each seeing their respective brother jacking off for the first time, and didn't seem to know that his bro was into masturbation. Incredible, I thought. Well, I was the first to ejaculate, being the jack rabbit of the group. I was followed by my buddy in the drivers seat [I was opposite him on the passenger side], and over the next few minutes the three in the back seat all climaxed. We all laughed and continued to joke around for the next half hour, gradually cleaning ourselves up and getting our softening boners back into our pants. Another beer or two was consumed in the meanwhile. The five of us have never spoken of our mountain excursion since then [with the exception of one of the older bros who I saw three years ago at our high school reunion]. Wish we could have, but I moved out of town to attend a university some distance away and, subsequently, moved out of the state [CA].