Leaving the Evidence

I spent many of my pre-teen and teenage years in an older house in southern California. As puberty gradually gave new meaning to my daily life, the time came when I discovered masturbation, at the not-so-tender age of 15. I had one of the upstairs bedrooms to myself and, one Saturday morning I was daydreaming in bed after awaking a few minutes earlier. For no apparent reason my penis suddenly sprang to life. I don't think I'd ever felt it get so hard, and it did so in what couldn't have been more than 15 seconds.

From talking with a few buddies I figured out that my dick was begging for attention . . . so I reached down and took hold of my shaft and began stroking it. I've written about this first-time experience in another ST story so I'll skip some of the details here. When my little volcano was ready to erupt I didn't know, of course, what was about to happen, but fortunately I had thrown back the top sheet and was lying fully exposed. My first ejaculation shot a rope of cum all the way to the 10-foot ceiling and the next two hit the wall nearest my head, a foot or two below the ceiling. The rest of my first climax gave me a semi-wet chest.

I wasn't especially concerned about my semen making a wet stream as it trickled down the wall, mainly because I didn't figure it would leave any marks on the 45-year-old wallpaper that covered my entire bedroom. After all, it was kind of a milky white, and what sort of trail would that leave after it dried? Days passed, and as I continued to revel in my new-found discovery my cum shots continued to adorn the ceiling and wall behind me. After a few months, when most of my ejaculatory evidence had by this time dried thoroughly, I could see almost precisely where - and just how much - my semen had left its trails of evidence. So much for my assumption that my 'on the wall cum shots' wouldn't leave a stain.

Fortunately, my parents seldom ventured into the room - my dad almost never - and my mom entered only to lay a stack of clean clothes onto the bed for me to put away. I don't know if she ever looked at the walls or ceiling when she cam in but, if she did, she never said a word to me. After a couple of years we sold the house and I suppose that whoever bought it probably removed the old wallpaper or simply painted over it. If anyone had ever examined the wall and ceiling closely he or she would probably deduce how all those dried splats and rivulets got there!

As the years rolled by I've happened upon such evidence a couple of hundred times. The men's room at school is a prime example. Talk about multiple opportunities for viewing evidence of classmates' jacking activities. Wow. Starting in my sophomore year of high school I began noticing certain tell-tale signs on the door and the side partitions of the stall as soon as I looked around. Invariably I could spot evidence - literally loads of evidence - of guys having been either sitting or standing where I was and unloading rope after rope of semen. During my first year in university [San Diego State] I counted what must have been a few dozen of those whitish/yellowish streams of dried cum against all four walls surrounding whatever stall I entered. In case any reader wonders, yes, I did occasionally add my own spurts to those previously left by others, although most of the time I'd try to have some toilet paper handy when I was about ready to ejaculate.

Another really common place seems to be roadside public restrooms, both indoor and outdoor. I've never forgotten the time my wife and I were driving across Michigan's Upper Peninsula along what's called the Seney Stretch. If you've ever lived or traveled through the area you'll know where I mean. After enjoying several cups of coffee one morning we both needed to take a quick break. I pulled into the small parking area and, as I walked up the path marked "Men's" a guy in his twenties just exited the one-stall outhouse. We nodded as we passed, and I made a hasty entry into the one-stall 'house.' While I was standing there, facing the wall opposite me, I spotted two beautiful and very fresh streams of semen, each of them 5 or 6 feet above the floor. Both streams were a good two feet long, one of them still dribbling slowly downward. Jeez . . . I couldn't help getting an instant hard-on. It was obvious who the jacker was, and he must've known that I would know it was he! Since my wife and I were on a tight schedule I decided not to follow suit, so I stuffed my erection back into my undershorts, zipped up and made my exit. Heading down the path I passed another guy on his way to the outhouse and I had to smile, guessing that he would suspect me of being the culprit. Oh well, after getting back into the car I told my wife what I'd just seen and we both had a good chuckle over it.

Mirrors are another favorite place it seems, including in my own house. Many years ago some friends visited our home and stayed over a few nights. One evening I was heading down the hallway and their teenage son came out of the main-floor bathroom at about the same time as I needed to use the facility. He shot a quick smile in my direction as he headed for the kitchen. As I unzipped I noticed a sizeable splatter of what could only be semen on the large mirror above the lavatory, and a two or three foot stream of whitish fluid running down practically the whole length of the mirror. It was pretty obvious that wing that our teenage visitor had just been having some fun there. Am not sure how he missed the 'mirror shot' in his cleanup activity, but I went ahead and took care of the evidence so no one else would notice and ask questions. Apart from this experience, I've come across assorted other instances over the years where a bathroom or bedroom closet mirror showed various degrees of ejaculatory evidence!

Yet more signs of jacking are to be found in bathroom and shower stalls in campgrounds and in outhouses along hiking trails. It's not that I'm hunting for evidence, mind you. Maybe I've acquired a sort of selective perception over the years. As a kid and later as an adult I've done a fair bit of camping and, over a period of perhaps 25 years, I've hiked up a sizeable number of foothill and mountain trails in California. It's safe to say that not a trip went by when I didn't come across the sort of happy-jacking evidence I'm talking about here - at least once. Sometimes a half dozen times.

Avid readers of ST will know there are almost no limits to where and under what circumstances boys and men will masturbate. And, it seems to be pretty common for many of the male sex to not worry unduly about hiding the evidence - especially as we get past our teenage years and start feeling more comfortable about ourselves . . .  less self-conscious about how we live out our daily sex lives. True, there are times when it's 'the right thing to do' to clean up after ourselves, but I kinda think there's something in our male sex that impels us to leave our mark now and then!