In the Tent

I was on an extended cycling trip and had been cycling for two weeks when this happened. My daily routine consisted of sleeping in my tent, waking up in the morning to cycle to the next camp site, then read for a while in my hammock until it was time for dinner then to sleep, and repeat the next day.

One such day I was reading in my hammock, with my tent all set up, when I felt some raindrops. I don't mind cycling in the rain, but I was laying in the hammock without any rain gear. So, I looked at the skies, saw that a storm was most likely coming, and I hurried inside my tent after quickly taking my hammock down and stowing it.

Up until this point, the two weeks had gone by without me getting a release. I wasn't abstaining or anything. It was more from a combination of simple exhaustion and also close quarters in tents and a general lack of privacy from a sound perspective.

I read for a while in the tent, then got restless. I often don't have cell coverage and this night was no exception, but I have a couple nude pictures of women (and men) on my phone so I pulled some up to a look. As soon as I saw the pictures, I felt the familiar stirring in my shorts and realized how long it had been since I came.

The rain had started, as I predicted. With the pattering of the rain and the slight rumble of thunder, I had sound cover I needed to relax and just be in the moment. And, for some reason, storms really turn me on. That's not really saying, much though. I get turned on easily.

I sat up and took my shirt off, wadded it up and threw it in the corner of my tent, then got to work on sliding my bike shorts off. This was easier said than done in the close quarters of the tent, as my shorts were tight and still a little damp from the sweat, and my erection acted like a fishhook under the elastic waistband of the shorts. I eventually worked them off, having gone soft in the process.

I picked up the phone again, laid on my back and began idly playing. It didn't take long for me to get fully hard again.

Part of me wanted to finish as quickly as possible, but the other part of me realized that I had an opportunity to take my time and enjoy myself. It had been, after all, two weeks.

I put my phone way to save battery power and laid on my back watching the rain shed off the roof of my tent and listened. I licked my lips and sighed, then closed my eyes and concentrated on stroking myself very slowly.

I would slowly rock my wrist, moving my hand from the base--the entire length of the shaft--to just under the head. I felt the urge to speed up and finish but resisted.

My left hand reached under my shaft and held my scrotum, softly fondling and squeezing.

I got caught up in the moment and started stroking myself quickly, then suddenly realized what I was doing and stopped--pulling my hand away from my shaft and lightly tracing my fingers around the tip and rim. I couldn't believe how much pre-cum was dripping from my tip--it was enough to spread around with my finger which allowed me to lightly caress myself. It felt incredible.

I went on this for what felt like hours. Speeding up, catching myself just strokes away from a release, pulling my hand away from my (by this time very) engorged shaft, only to begin to go soft, then starting all over again. My left hand alternated between lightly fondling my sack to tracing my fingers around my belly button. All while listening to the soft pitter-patter of the rain.

Finally, I couldn't take it anymore, and one last time I as I sped up I refused to stop myself. I jerked faster and faster, picking up pace, then finally brought my knees up and planted my feet.

The two weeks of abstinence, the careful attention to hydration, and the glorious edging session resulted in me releasing a heroic amount of semen all over myself. My hand was holding my hard cock at the base, feeling it pulse as I released shot after shot of semen all over myself. My toes curled in contentment.

I laid there for a while in post orgasmic bliss, sighing contently. As my semen was starting to feel cool, I realized with sudden dread that in my haste to get into the tent, I had not brought along a small towel that I use for such occasions with me into the tent. I had absolutely nothing to wipe my semen up with, and I wasn't going to get it all over my sleeping pad or quilt.

So, I sat there and thought.

Finally, begrudgingly, I used my cycling shirt to wipe it all up, figuring I'd just wake up the next morning and put on a new cycling shirt.

And then fell into a deep, coma-like sleep.

I woke up in the morning amazingly rested to a sunny morning. I put on a new shirt, the rest of my clothes, and was making my coffee when this girl came by. We had talked the day before. She was the camp host's adult daughter and she had seen me pull in with my bicycle. My best guess put her in her mid-to-upper 20s. She'd asked me about my tent and some other equipment, because she was thinking about doing some thru-hikes and some of the equipment used by cyclist and ultra-light backpackers is the same.

"Oh, can I see your tent?" she said.

"Sure," I waved her up as I attended to making my second cup of coffee over my camp stove.

She poked her head into the tent and then abruptly stood up and had suddenly gotten a little awkward. She asked me the make and model of the tent and I told her, along with the information about the sleeping pad that I was using. She nodded, politely thanked me, then was hurriedly on her way.

After she left, I walked over to my tent and peeked in just as she did and the reason for her awkwardness became immediately apparent. The first thing that I noticed was the smell--the over powering, yeasty smell of semen. The second was my red cycling shirt, which I had left accidentally in plain view right on top of my pad, with very obvious white, crusty stains on it.

I was, and still am from time to time, absolutely mortified that she had seen it. But I still remember the night before.