True story.. first time writer.
I'm not a regular on this site, but my wife is. We are open with each other so she told me about it, and how she fingers herself constantly to the taboo stories. While I, perhaps like many guys, prefer to look at pictures, I have read a few stories here, and I realized that I have a very real, very appropriate one to add.
Masturbating is the earliest memory that remains with me today. This first memory is of when I was less than three years old, face down in bed, holding my hands between my legs. It was a feeling like I had forgotten about this, pleasure. Like I had experienced it sometime long ago, and had forgotten how to do it. After that revelation, it was something I had to do every day. Like a drug. This was a time before elementary school even, so I would be home with my mom during the mornings. I would lay face down on the couch, only 10 feet away from my mom, just grinding away on my cupped hands, with the ridiculous notion that I was hidden by the arm rest. Looking back, i'm sure she would ignore me to avoid the confrontation.. unless she liked it.
My appetite for sexual pleasure had not, nor has, since subsided. Years later I was in grade 6. I had seen porn in magazines, and knew that I loved the look of a naked girl. In the years before this I would rub myself because it felt good, but there was no imagination, there was no link to sex, or to girls. Now I knew that seeing a girl's naked breast, naked pussy, is what made me hard, and made me just fucking crazy.
In a time before the internet, I lived for visits to my uncle's house, where I could steal a glimpse at the penthouse collection half-hidden in the bathroom. I lived for the fragments of magazines stolen from uncles by neighbourhood kids, and hidden in our rural back yard tree forts. I bore you with these details to show you just how crazy I had become to see girls naked, and to get myself off on it.
One day, the craziness boiled over. It was early morning on a Saturday. The sun wasn't up yet, but there was activity in the house. My sister is 3 years older than I am, new into high school, and getting ready to go to work: morning shift at a coffee shop. My parents are sleeping in, like any other Saturday, and the house is still dark.
I lay in bed that morning, with my cock rock-hard as usual, when my mind wandered to the sound in the bathroom next door. The door closing, a pause. the shuffling of clothes coming off, and the gush of the erupting shower. I made a wild, hormone driven decision just then. I got up, and silently crept out into the hall, and up to the bathroom door. My parents' bedroom is almost directly across the hall from the bathroom, so i'm terrified of waking them, of getting caught, but I do it anyway. I slowly turn the knob. The door gives slightly, and is open.
I'm shaking at this point, breathing in a full chest of air, and gasping gently atop the tension in my lungs. The light from the room is from the shower light alone. It is a cold, dreamlike blue shining through the glass shower doors. Because of how the door and shower are positioned, the image before me is reflected in the bathroom mirror, giving me a seemingly covert line of site into my sister's private shower.
The door opens wider, and I'm desperate to see through the steam condensed on the glass doors. I'm on the verge of passing out from holding my breath so tight, and I'm frantically pulling my hard cock being careful not to bang the wooden door.
I got what I was waiting for. As the water splashed against the door, it temporarily removed the fog, and she moved to a clear spot in the door for a long time, pausing to lather her hair.
With her arms pumping the lather in her hair, I watched her small breasts bounce with each motion, and I watched the soap and water run down and gather in her small patch of pubic hair. It felt so wrong to see my sister this way, but my cock had never felt so good.
I could not believe how perfect my view was, and so undetectable since it was reflected in the mirror. And then it happened, some motion, some clue caught her eye and her eyes turned to the mirror, seeming to lock with mine. I quickly move the door more closed, as if I could hide, as if that new motion wouldn't do more to give me away. And so there I was.locked eyes with my naked sister, caught spying on her in the shower. I almost fainted. I froze, waiting for her to you yell my name in surprise, that tattle-tale tone of big sisterly annoyance, but it never happened. She just turned away.
Did she somehow not see me? Could the moving door have not given me away? I was dumbfounded.
So I continued to watch as she got out of the shower, dripping wet and reaching for the towel on the floor.
This moment I remember most because I was distinctly disappointed to this point with only seeing vague, soapy pubic hair. The magazines I had seen were of girls who shaved; or, if not, they would spread their pussies wide so I could see what they were made of.
On my sister, I couldnt see that slit, that biological finish line that I love so much. And then, as she raised one leg to towel off, I saw it. If only for a half-second, it was enough. A hint of flesh beneath the hair.. A glimpse of her small pussy lips, and I was done. I convulse in a sin-soaked orgasm there in the hall outside the bathroom door.
I didn't bother closing it, as I ran back to bed, and waited for the alarm to sound. I waited for her to go directly to my parents' room and explain what I had just done. But the alarm never rang. My sister left for work, and I jerked off again, and again thinking about her in the shower.
I still don't know whether she saw me or not that morning, and I never risked spying on her like that again. I got all I needed this one time, to see a real, live naked girl,even if it was my sister.