It all started guiltily enough.
It was one of those warm winter Saturday afternoons and my girlfriend, Emily, told me she was going to go for a pedicure, eyebrow waxing and lunch with her rich Uncle Bill at the Russian Tea Room. I was looking at four or five hours of alone time in the apartment at least. And that meant plenty of opportunity for some private, one-on-one fun.
You know what I’m talking about.
Yes, we all keep our senses attuned to the perfect moment for masturbation. The shower’s great and all, but most of us like a little room to move around in, and some freedom to inspire ourselves with something a bit more tangible than memories of our first college threesome. I, for one, am fond of this thing they call the Internet; others opt for magazines or movies. Either way, there’s a lot to be said for privacy and the chance to let loose a little.
Or is there? I was about to learn otherwise.
It had been a few days since I’d last cum, and my pent-up sexual energy combined with a technique I’d learned for making my self-loving last as long as possible—in this case 40 minutes hanging on the ledge of my libido—resulted in multiple bursts that ranked among the finest orgasms of the week, if not the month. I was so pleasantly distracted and enthused that I had no idea of Emily’s presence in our bedroom a full three hours earlier than planned, and just as I’d finished my epic, deep-throated roar.
“Thinking about me?” she asked sweetly.
“Uuuuuuh…uuuuuuuuh…” Not used to explaining my thoughts in this situation, I opted for stuttering.
“That’s OK,” she said. “I forgot my keys, and just got a little worried. It sounded like you were being stabbed to death by intruders.”
She laughed uproariously at her little joke as I yanked my jeans up to my knees.
“This is embarrassing,” was all I could muster.
“Why?” Emily said. “I’m glad you take care of your needs.”
Where was this going? I have to admit, I was intrigued and just a little bit thrilled I wasn’t being humiliated or ridiculed. I mean, come on—I’d been caught left-handed.
As my mind measured out the possible punishments for such a transgression, Emily was making her way toward me with her eye trained directly on my member. Had this actually turned her on? Was I about to be rewarded, not punished, for my sins? Apparently so, because by the time she’d reached where I was standing, she’d dropped her purse and sat herself on the edge of the bed.
“OK,” she said expectantly. “Show me how you do it.”
Oh, my God, I thought—she actually wants to watch me jerk off. I’d heard of these things but never imagined my Connecticut-bred girlfriend would have a taste for such shenanigans.
“Uuuuuh…uuuuuuuh…” My vocabulary had turned to repetitious monosyllabic slobber.
“Do you need my help?”
“No,” I said. “I got this one.” And slowly, with Emily just a few feet away, I re-booted the mechanism I had only just finished using. A little nervously, at first— normally I’m not into back-to-back whacks. But under the circumstances my body seemed only too happy to oblige me with another hard-earned hard-on.
I felt less like Emily’s boyfriend than a nude model at a drawing class. She studied my movements like the director of a porn video, and at first I wondered what she was thinking. But the wondering stopped when she reached into the drawer of her end-table and removed a rather large dildo.
“Mind if we join you?” she said, motioning to her flesh-colored friend. Fortunately I was too preoccupied to begin wondering how long that thing had been living in such close proximity to my thing. No time to become jealous of an inanimate object, I thought, even one a couple of inches longer (I thought she’d been happy with my 7-incher, silly me) and far easier to manipulate. I resigned myself to the semi-satisfying realization that dildos can’t cum or throb and carried on about my business.
And so did she; as I felt myself creeping closer to climax, I watched with excitement as Emily manipulated her toy into herself with ease, laying back on the bed and moaning with pleasure. It was pretty fucking cool, I have to say; it actually turned me on to realize that even with this man-made monster within reach, my girlfriend so often opted for my human dick. I was a grower, and it was a shower; I guess we were the perfect one-two punch.
Suddenly, as if some higher power were controlling these events, we simultaneously reached orgasm in a frenzy of noise. I can’t remember the last time we’d hit our marks at precisely the same moment, and it was amazing to watch her thrash on the bed while I shook with pleasure, standing over her. Wow, I thought: The next time Emily goes out by herself, I’ll remember to hide her keys.
It was one of those warm winter Saturday afternoons and my girlfriend, Emily, told me she was going to go for a pedicure, eyebrow waxing and lunch with her rich Uncle Bill at the Russian Tea Room. I was looking at four or five hours of alone time in the apartment at least. And that meant plenty of opportunity for some private, one-on-one fun.
You know what I’m talking about.
Yes, we all keep our senses attuned to the perfect moment for masturbation. The shower’s great and all, but most of us like a little room to move around in, and some freedom to inspire ourselves with something a bit more tangible than memories of our first college threesome. I, for one, am fond of this thing they call the Internet; others opt for magazines or movies. Either way, there’s a lot to be said for privacy and the chance to let loose a little.
Or is there? I was about to learn otherwise.
It had been a few days since I’d last cum, and my pent-up sexual energy combined with a technique I’d learned for making my self-loving last as long as possible—in this case 40 minutes hanging on the ledge of my libido—resulted in multiple bursts that ranked among the finest orgasms of the week, if not the month. I was so pleasantly distracted and enthused that I had no idea of Emily’s presence in our bedroom a full three hours earlier than planned, and just as I’d finished my epic, deep-throated roar.
“Thinking about me?” she asked sweetly.
“Uuuuuuh…uuuuuuuuh…” Not used to explaining my thoughts in this situation, I opted for stuttering.
“That’s OK,” she said. “I forgot my keys, and just got a little worried. It sounded like you were being stabbed to death by intruders.”
She laughed uproariously at her little joke as I yanked my jeans up to my knees.
“This is embarrassing,” was all I could muster.
“Why?” Emily said. “I’m glad you take care of your needs.”
Where was this going? I have to admit, I was intrigued and just a little bit thrilled I wasn’t being humiliated or ridiculed. I mean, come on—I’d been caught left-handed.
As my mind measured out the possible punishments for such a transgression, Emily was making her way toward me with her eye trained directly on my member. Had this actually turned her on? Was I about to be rewarded, not punished, for my sins? Apparently so, because by the time she’d reached where I was standing, she’d dropped her purse and sat herself on the edge of the bed.
“OK,” she said expectantly. “Show me how you do it.”
Oh, my God, I thought—she actually wants to watch me jerk off. I’d heard of these things but never imagined my Connecticut-bred girlfriend would have a taste for such shenanigans.
“Uuuuuh…uuuuuuuh…” My vocabulary had turned to repetitious monosyllabic slobber.
“Do you need my help?”
“No,” I said. “I got this one.” And slowly, with Emily just a few feet away, I re-booted the mechanism I had only just finished using. A little nervously, at first— normally I’m not into back-to-back whacks. But under the circumstances my body seemed only too happy to oblige me with another hard-earned hard-on.
I felt less like Emily’s boyfriend than a nude model at a drawing class. She studied my movements like the director of a porn video, and at first I wondered what she was thinking. But the wondering stopped when she reached into the drawer of her end-table and removed a rather large dildo.
“Mind if we join you?” she said, motioning to her flesh-colored friend. Fortunately I was too preoccupied to begin wondering how long that thing had been living in such close proximity to my thing. No time to become jealous of an inanimate object, I thought, even one a couple of inches longer (I thought she’d been happy with my 7-incher, silly me) and far easier to manipulate. I resigned myself to the semi-satisfying realization that dildos can’t cum or throb and carried on about my business.
And so did she; as I felt myself creeping closer to climax, I watched with excitement as Emily manipulated her toy into herself with ease, laying back on the bed and moaning with pleasure. It was pretty fucking cool, I have to say; it actually turned me on to realize that even with this man-made monster within reach, my girlfriend so often opted for my human dick. I was a grower, and it was a shower; I guess we were the perfect one-two punch.
Suddenly, as if some higher power were controlling these events, we simultaneously reached orgasm in a frenzy of noise. I can’t remember the last time we’d hit our marks at precisely the same moment, and it was amazing to watch her thrash on the bed while I shook with pleasure, standing over her. Wow, I thought: The next time Emily goes out by herself, I’ll remember to hide her keys.
