ƂUᴉLᴉƎƆ ƎꞍꞱ UO ƂUᴉɅᴉL

I was a new recruit in the US Air Force, just out of basic training and on my 9-month training assignment in an air base just outside of Denver, Colorado. Not having the opportunity to sexually relieve myself (or overly concerned about what would happen if discovered), parts of my body and spirit, for that matter, were sorely in need of some loving care and attention. Most of the newly formed squadron had received their class schedules; my classes were delayed by a short supply of instructors. I had to meet formations, of course, and had breakfast with the guys. While they went off to be drilled and filled with knowledge, I went back to the barracks to have myself a nice, long shower, as much self-satisfying sexual release that I could stand, and an encore performance of some sleep. So here I am, alone in a two story barracks with 4 shower rooms, one on each end of both floors. I shouted out, “Hello! Anybody around?”, and got my own question in response, in my own voice, a hundred times over in rapid succession. The shower were maybe 3.5 square metres each and loud sounds would echo around the barracks for quite some time. There were new modern squadron buildings under construction, but for now we had to make do with these wooden ones which by that time were over 50 or 60 years old. At any rate, I took advantage of my solitude, cranked up half of the showerheads for lots of heat and steam (it was January, after all), and let the sweat pour out along with 2 months worth of unaccustomed stress. After a few minutes, I lathered up and scrubbed. Anticipating release from another stress caused by excessive testosterone (or whatever hormones make a 20-year-old so frakking HORNY), I felt almost electrified with sexual energy. I don’t know why, but to the best of my knowledge and lacking any “hard” evidence, I’d never had a nocturnal emission — a wet dream.

Still haven’t to this day and I’m almost 50 now. So if you can imagine, Anyway, I whipped up some more lather with Johnson’s “no tears” shampoo (it always worked well with the hair on my head) on the hair in my nether-regions below.  I’d been pleasuring myself for about 5 minutes, almost to my first ejaculatory release in at least 7 weeks. My eyes were closed, I was standing under two very warm shower streams, thinking about my tendency towards making involuntary moans of pleasure and would I dare to utter a peep?  Impulsively I opened my eyes, and there, right across from me was another naked Airman, nonchalantly showering as if nothing unusual was going on. I am not a man of classic good looks (but I am ruggedly handsome, I’ve been told) and musculature, but I feel (especially at 21 years old) I had developed an above-average body. And I was born with equipment that developed on it’s own to an appreciative above-average size,  If I was in his shoes, I’d either have quietly left him to his pleasure and come back later (yeah, RIGHT!!) or started showering, all the while being obvious that I was admiring a brave, good-lookin’ fellow Airman who respected himself enough to do what had to be done!!  (well, that’s what I’d do today. Back then, I would have watched and hoped I didn’t get caught!). Maybe he was right; What I was doing was perfectly natural and normal, caring for myself ; maybe my choice of venue could have been different, but hey it felt better here, in the shower, than any of the other colder, drafty places I might have found. It could have been a profoundly gratifying experience.  Unfortunately, at the time I could not have been more mortified!  Settling for only the rinse-off I could have by quickly shutting off two showers I’d turned on (he was using the other two),  I dashed out the shower threshold to the hallway (only the community toilets had any privacy), scraping up my clothes, and dashed naked to my room) Such was my naivete. I fretted over the incident for the rest of the day and overnight as well. Finally deciding I had to feel him out, not knowing what to expect, I knocked on his door the following morning after breakfast. We probably could have had a very good laugh, if not an interesting conversation (or more); I suspect the anxiety I sensed from him was more a result of his discomfort at sensing *my own* anxiety and — yes, even — shame at being FOUND OUT!!  I am a closet master bater. The rather brief discussion ended with him telling me not to worry about it. No problemo. No big deal whatsoever. So what effect did this have on me, overall?  Did I learn any lesson, like “Don’t do in public what you wouldn’t do in front of your mother”?  HELL NO! Over time, it seems that the idea of getting “caught” at “playing with myself” makes the whole thing more exciting. While not nearly as frequent as it used to be, I still enjoy jackin’ off in semi-public areas whenever an occasion and mood coincide. There have been other, more interesting events over the years (none of which had any “bad” consequences), but this was my first and most startling experience in a shower. 

Psiman^G.g