Onania Masturbator Forum: Getting off on a Greyhound Trip

In the Onania Masturbator Forum, a Masturbator Wrote:

At first, I just unbuttoned my jeans and reached inside, but there wasn’t room to really get anything going, so I finally pushed my pants and underwear down over my hips to my knees. The seat against my partial nakedness felt especially wanton as I pumped myself. Before I could climax, the bus slowed to a stop and the driver put the lights on; I yanked my pants back up as more people boarded. No one sat near me and so once the lights went out again I resumed where I had left off. Again the bus stopped and I had to pull up my pants as people boarded of left the bus. The next time the bus stopped I was too built up into my masturbatory frenzy and I kept stroking, bareass in the back of the bus. 

 


Getting off on a Greyhound Trip

Unread post by JOMaster » Thu Apr 26, 2018 1:44 pm

When I was about fourteen or fifteen, I was riding the pubic transit bus from town into the suburban hills where we lived. It was about a thirty-minute ride with relatively few stops along the way. Night had fallen, and the driver shut off the interior lights in order to see the road better. I was sitting in the very back off to the side, with at least six rows between me and the next passenger. I was very horny (as usual; I was a teen with a several-times-a-day wanking habit!), and I couldn’t wait to get home and masturbate. I got hard as I thought about how good it would feel to jack off, and after a while, I found I was stroking my hard cock through my clothes. That felt so good it made want to feel a little more…

At first, I just unbuttoned my jeans and reached inside, but there wasn’t room to really get anything going, so I finally pushed my pants and underwear down over my hips to my knees. The seat against my partial nakedness felt especially wanton as I pumped myself. Before I could climax, the bus slowed to a stop and the driver put the lights on; I yanked my pants back up as more people boarded. No one sat near me and so once the lights went out again I resumed where I had left off. Again the bus stopped and I had to pull up my pants as people boarded of left the bus. The next time the bus stopped I was too built up into my masturbatory frenzy and I kept stroking, bareass in the back of the bus. 

I had become completely suffused with the joy of masturbating, and part of me felt an insane urge to strip off my clothes and display myself to the others on the bus, and the mental image of putting on a nude jack off show for a group of strangers had me almost panting with arousal. Then came a longer stretch without any stops, and I finally had a chance to finish myself off. My pants slipped into a bunch around my ankles and I thrust my hips in time to my strokes and I came. Two great gobs of spunk jetted across my chest, soaking my T-shirt as I struggled not to scream with the jolt of pleasure. 

I slumped in my seat, still milking my rod as the lights came on again and a woman got on the bus and started down the aisle. I was too spent to care about being seen with my pants down and my hand soaked in semen. Luckily, she sat down two or three rows ahead of me, or there may have been quite a scene. I got my pants back up, but my shirt was a mess, with trails of cum soaking into the fabric. Luckily the street was dark as I walked home from the bus stop. No one saw me in my cum-soaked shirt, though it felt very dirty in a thrilling way to be on the street that way.

Another time that summer, I masturbated in an airplane lavatory. I was aboard a 747 flying overnight to London Heathrow with my family, and at something like 2:00 am I was feeling the need. Most passengers were trying to sleep through the flight, which meant I could monopolize one of the lavs for my own purposes. I actually stripped completely nude before I took myself in hand and stroked myself to a much-needed ejaculation. After I cleaned up my mess–I had been a little careless with where my cum landed–and put on my clothes, I exited the lavatory, thinking I had gotten by with no one the wiser.

Just as I went through the door, a stewardess was passing by. She was an attractive redhead with blue eyes (I remember her forty years later) who looked at me and seemed to know. Was it the scent of boy-jizz wafting through the door, or the damp sex flush on my young face, or had she clocked the long, long time I had been in there? Whatever it was, she gave me a wry smile that seemed to say You naughty boy, I know what you were doing in there! In my memory, she even winked at me, though I may have imagined that. Still, the feeling that I was totally busted made me blush as I went back to my seat and fell into the sleep of the freshly sated.

That stew played a starring role in many of my masturbation fantasies after that, usually catching me jacking off and deciding to watch, or me catching her taking the pause that refreshes, or some other scenario involving masturbation.


 

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