One of my many kinks, almost all of which center around my passion for masturbation, is that I keep seeing, all around me, places where I would like to get naked and play with myself. I have been enjoying this fantasy, and sometimes reality, since earliest puberty.
Someone just posted a couple of pictures on facebook of a hobbit home they built in their garden, a round-topped little barrow with a solid wooden door and one small window. My immediate fantasy was that I could duck inside, pull a curtain over the window, strip off all my clothes, and lie there stroking my stiff cock. I wonder if the person who built the hobbit house ever thought of doing that, or maybe even acted on impulse and actually did it? Or perhaps, delicious thought, some sex-crazed neighbor boy (like I used to be) crept into the garden and used it as his personal sex refuge, excitedly pumping away on his boner as he listened nervously for anyone outside.
I think this impulse of mine originated when I was in my early teens, a time of frequent and exciting solo sex, guiltless but very secretive. My constant quest in those days was to obtain enough privacy for a quick jerk, somewhere in addition to the bathroom at home or my bedroom at night. I roamed the neighborhood looking for promising nooks and crannies, niches where I could enjoy a furtive whip-out and jerk-off uninterrupted and unobserved. I enjoyed many quickies in the bushes, carports, angles of buildings, phone booths, behind a pile of old tires at the gas station, between stacks of lumber at the building supply store, even in a hollow tree. Of course I also jacked off in every public bathroom in town – I did this so often at the main library that the librarians started watching me suspiciously.
I obtained a bit more privacy, enough to at least pull my pants down to my ankles, in a tree house, the pump shelter for a swimming pool, tool sheds, and even crawl spaces under various houses. Perhaps the most unusual was a huge brick water tank at an old factory site, roofless but with a smooth concrete floor. I crawled in through a tiny opening at the bottom, just exploring really, but then realized how completely private it was. Warm sunlight was shining in the open top, so it felt great to strip naked. That was the first time I ever masturbated completely nude away from home, and it felt wonderful. I revisited the tank often and painted the floor with dozens of my ejaculations. If I thought that I could fit through the hole I would be tempted to go back today and jerk one off for old time’s sake.
The ultimate venue was when I found a neighbor’s pool house left unlocked when I knew they were in Florida for two weeks one winter. The pool was empty and the curtains in the luxurious pool house pulled closed. The first morning I turned the heat on and capered around stark naked for a happy hour of solo sexual adventure. That afternoon I was back, with a stack of girly mags, for a leisurely wank reclining on the patio furniture stored inside. There was a bathroom with a shower, so I had everything I needed to spend all day there, never getting dressed, masturbating on and off for hours. I was careful not to mess anything up – I loved to ejaculate onto the glass-topped coffee table, but always wiped it clean. Two weeks of concentrated masturbation at that age – I probably shot my load onto that table fifty or sixty times.
I had a similar opportunity when I was asked to house-sit for some neighbors when they were away for a week. I drew the curtains, got naked, and masturbated in every room in the house, in every bed, sitting in every chair, lying on the dining table, even in the cold empty garage. After two days of regular masturbation, I went into the teen-aged daughter’s room and started trying on her clothes. I was slim and almost hairless, so I made a pretty good girl. I was a virgin and the only naked women I had seen were pictures in magazines, so I took a perverse interest in looking at my feminized self semi-nude in all the mirrors in the house. I loved to raise my skirt and reveal my skimpy panties, male parts tucked back out of sight, or look up my skirt with a hand-mirror. My favorite was high heels with a mini skirt tented up by my boner – I wish I had a picture of that now!
But I digress…
The pool house adventure was such a thrill that I sought out other venues like it, a big escalation since it involved prying open doors, an actual crime.
My first such adventure was an unoccupied retail store on the main street with its windows papered up, one big room with a highly polished floor and a small office and bathroom in the back. I undressed in the office, then boldly stepped out into the main room, prick sticking out. It was big enough that I could literally run back and forth with my dick bouncing. I spent an entire week masturbating and enjoying the thrill of being naked in that big space. I tacked pictures from girly mags on the walls and walked around enjoying them in turn, devoting a few strokes to each girl. An extra thrill was that I could hear people on the sidewalk outside as I stood there nude with my dick in my hand. The size of the space inspired me to see just how far I could shoot my semen. I chalked a line on the floor then stood with my toes behind it as I stroked very carefully to perfectly timed climaxes, pulse after pulse of silvery liquid shooting out. I think I was thirteen or fourteen then, my best shooting years, and my spurts measured anywhere from three feet to eight feet, from a standing position.
My next adventure was the abandoned railroad depot, its big waiting room a maze of dusty stacks of furniture and stuff under tarps. I played naked hide and seek in and out of the narrow aisles, lay on the old wooden benches and stroked my prick up and down, sprayed my sticky milk on the marble floor. It was extra exciting because the windows were not papered up, just dusty, so I had to watch for passersby who might be startled to see a pale naked boy scampering around with his big penis sticking out.
Phase two of the depot caper was upstairs in the old stationmaster’s office, still furnished though very dusty. There was a mirror leaning against the wall, which allowed me to look at myself. I used the mirror and several small interconnected rooms to pretend that I was spying on a boy masturbating, playing cat and mouse with myself. I could more safely look out the second story windows than on the ground level, and I enjoyed looking down on people outside as I pleasured my penis in the darkened office. I went back to the depot three days in a row, but on the fourth day spotted a police car pulled up in front. Maybe it was a routine check, or maybe someone had reported seeing me inside. I ducked quickly out of sight, watched the cops looking in each of the windows, then quietly left. I wonder what would have happened if I had been caught inside, naked at the least, maybe stiff prick in hand. I never went back to the depot for more juvenile sex play, but now it is renovated and open to the public as a historic site. It is interesting to wander through the rooms and remember myself as a skinny sex-mad fifteen year old playing naked masturbation games there.
Once I had my own car, at age sixteen, I found it easier to obtain the privacy I needed for masturbation. I soon discovered more convenient, and safer, places to practice my perverted hobby, many of them outdoors. But the thrill of those early furtive masturbation venues remains vivid in my memory. To this day I cannot spot a tree-house, tool shed, abandoned building, or any of a thousand similar places without thinking – wow, that would be a great place to masturbate!
via My Secret Life