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Getting a Blowjob at the Swimming Pool


I was an eighteen-year-old guy at the time. I was kind of a geeky kid, interested in science, reading everything I could get my hands on, and quite smart. I had been skipped ahead in college, so I was smaller and younger than my classmates, and therefore tended to get picked on, and beaten up fairly regularly. I did my best to hide the bruises from my mother; she thought I was clumsy in gym class. I was also a little pudgy, and near-sighted, so this didn’t help matters.

Geeky as I was, that’s not to say that I wasn’t otherwise a fairly normal kid. I had discovered masturbation a few years ago and while it felt good, I didn’t really get it until I passed through puberty, and had my first real orgasm. The stuff that shot out of my pecker made a bit of a mess, but I quickly learned to deal with that.

Along the way, I discovered my older brother’s stash of porn, so that gave me ready fuel for my fantasies. I had also grabbed a tit here or there when playing with the neighbourhood girls, but everyone in the gang did that, so the girls just accepted it as part of growing up, and didn’t run screaming to their parents. I had determined that I was very firmly heterosexual, and I did like to look at the girls in real life as well as those in my brother’s porn magazines.

My father was in the Merchant Navy, and the Naval base he was attached to was about a half-hour walk from our house in Mumbai. That’s where the episode happened.

His active duty status gave us full access to the base’s recreational facilities, which included squash courts, a full gym, and a swimming pool. I had taken swimming lessons there, and had been there once or twice with other groups, so I knew the layout of the gym fairly well. In the evenings, especially in the middle of the week, the gym and pool were very seldom used.

I started going to the pool during the evening, ostensibly to go swimming for a while. I would wrap up my trunks and a towel, along with some shower stuff, and walk to the base. Getting on-base was easy; I just had to show my father’s ID card, tell the guard I was going to the gym, and away I went. Eighteen year olds don’t have much trouble getting through security.

While I did often spend some time in the pool, my primary reason for going there was to use the showers. When there are five people in your house, and one bathroom, showers are very fast, and not too enjoyable. Having a whole bunch of showers available, with no time limits, and no threat of the hot water running out, was almost an indicator of what heaven might be like.

The main shower room in the gym was intended for the lower ranks; it was a large room with at least two dozen showerheads running along two walls. There were no curtains, or separate cubicles; everyone got to see everyone else. The first few times I went, it was a bit of a thrill to be walking around naked, but there was no privacy in the room. As little used as the gym and pool were at night, there was pretty much always someone else in the shower room.

Wandering through a different part of the locker room one night, I discovered a separate shower room. The sign over the door said ‘Officers Showers'; there was a little window in the door, so that you could see if someone was coming out, as the door opened inward. I peeked in through the window. It was a small room, about ten feet on a side. There were four showerheads on one wall, and a row of benches on the opposite side of the room, providing a place to put down your towel away from the spray. No one was in the room. I thought to myself, “This might be interesting.”

I chose a locker a few feet away, then grabbed my towel and stuff, and headed into the shower. My father wasn’t an officer, but I felt that I could easily explain away my presence if asked. “I’m a teen, and the big shower room is a little intimidating, ’cause I’m shy.” After all, who would get all mean and official with an eighteen-year-old, geeky-looking teenager?

As I entered the room all the way, I realized that the door was actually inset about three or four feet into the room, as if it were at the end of a little hallway. This put the four showerheads I had seen in the main part of the room, but there was a fifth showerhead somewhat in its own little alcove to the left of the door, not immediately visible from the door.

I put my towel on one of the benches, and moved to a showerhead. Most of them were designed with controls that would automatically shut off after a minute or two, to save water. The head in the alcove had either been replaced, or was new, as its controls didn’t shut off automatically. I immediately went for that one, so that I wouldn’t have to stop every two minutes to turn the water back on.

I started the water, set it to a comfortable temperature, and started showering. I had been there a while when it dawned on me that no one else had entered the room. Looking around, I realized that the position of this showerhead relative to the door meant that you could not be seen from the door; someone would have to come all the way into the room, and look to their left before they would see me.

Figuring out that this gave me a few valuable seconds of extra cover meant that I could indulge in one of my favourite pastimes—masturbating in the shower. I knew that if someone did open the door, I would immediately hear it, and would simply need to turn to put my face back into the spray, and bring my hands up as if scrubbing my face. Of course there was the possibility that my eighteen-year-old erection would be on display, but that wouldn’t necessarily prove anything, just raise suspicions.

I immediately decided to go for it; a little shampoo in my hands, work up a lather in my pubic hair, and start sliding my fist up and down my length. A few more minutes of this, and I could feel the orgasm starting in the back of my balls. I turned into the water spray, my hand flying, and it hit, one of the best I had ever experienced. I rose up on my toes with the sensation, put my other hand on the wall for support, and shot jet after jet into the spray, gasping with the force of the ejaculation. After a moment of pulling, my erection started to dwindle, and I cleaned the tip of dick, which was now very sensitive. I stepped back into the spray to rinse off any accumulated sweat, then turned off the shower, picked up my stuff, and started to dry off.

I moved back out into the locker room to finish drying, wrapped my still dry bathing suit into my wet towel, got dressed and left the gym. I nodded to the gate guard on the way out, and started walking home.

As I walked, I realized that I felt really good. I was very relaxed, and felt like I had a glow. I didn’t know it at the time, but a few years later I would recognize this as the ‘fresh fucked’ feeling that comes after a really good orgasm. As I thought over my experience, I felt like I had found Nirvana; here was finally a place where it seemed that I could indulge in one of my favourite pastimes, and not be worried about my sister or one of my parents pounding on the bathroom door.

For the next couple of months, as the summer deepened, this became my pattern. A couple of times a week I would walk to the base, strip in the locker room, and indulge myself with a really good session in the showers. During that entire time, only one other person had entered the shower room while I was there; I was spared any problem on that occasion because he arrived just after I had soaped my body, and hadn’t moved anywhere near my groin.

I looked like I was just legitimately showering. He said hello, then moved to another showerhead. I rinsed off, said good night, and headed out to the locker room, cursing my luck, but accepting that the law of averages says you’ve got to lose sometime. That night, I didn’t feel great during my walk home, mainly because I didn’t have that ‘fresh fucked’ glow.

A couple of weeks later, I was on my usual routine, arriving at the gym about an hour after supper. Once again, things were quiet in the locker room, so I took my usual locker, stripped, and headed into the showers. The room was quite dimly lit, which was unusual. I flipped the switch beside the door off, then back on, and realized that a couple of the fluorescent tubes in the ceiling were burnt out, and one other was kind of flickering.

While it gave the room a bit of a strange look, I could still see perfectly well, so I carried on with my plans. Dropping my towel on the bench, I headed for my usual showerhead, and got the water flowing at the temperature I wanted.

I had no sooner gotten thoroughly wet, when the lights went out, and back on, and I realized that I hadn’t heard the door opening. Someone else had entered, and seeing the dim condition of the lighting, had flipped the switch just like me. I looked over, and said, “Some of the lights are burnt out.”

He looked at me, and grunted, then came into the room, and put his towel over on one of the benches. He moved over to the showerhead furthest away from me, and flipped the automatic control on. After about fifteen seconds, it went off. He grunted in surprise, and moved to the next one over, which went off after roughly the same amount of time.

He looked over at me as I got out my bar of soap, and I said, “They all shut off automatically, except the one I’m using. The next one over from you lasts about the longest. It’s usually good for about five minutes before it goes off.”

He grunted again, then moved to the showerhead I had indicated and turned it on, and started wetting down. This put him about four or five feet away from me. He was probably in his late forties or early fifties, with short grey hair, and overall a kind of grizzled look. He was a little fat, and didn’t look like the typical trim, muscular military man.

As I started soaping myself, he looked over and said, “So are you in the service?”

I was a little surprised that he was talking to me, but since I’d been brought up to be nice to people, I answered, “No, my Papa is, so I get to use the gym and the pool.”

“Ah, that’s why you’re here. So, how old are you?”

“I’m eighteen.”

“Okay.”

The next question started to peak my curiosity, and for some reason I felt a little ping on my radar.

“So, do you have a girlfriend?”

“No, not yet.”

“Have you done anything with girls?”

‘Ping’ went my radar again, and I thought, ‘Where is this going?’

At this point, I decided to see where this was headed, mainly because I was a horny eighteen-year-old who’d been looking forward to a good jerk session. I had a fleeting thought that he might be gay, and would want to watch me masturbate, but I never had any though that I might be in danger in any way. People at that time were never taught to run away from strangers, or to scream at ‘inappropriate touching.’

“No, I haven’t done anything with girls yet.”

“How come?”

“I just never had the opportunity.”

He made a dismissive noise, and said, “You probably can’t even get a hard-on,” and turned back to his shower.

I had been thinking that I should leave, but this final comment got to me, as if I’d been dared to do something. I was completely rinsed off, but I reached for my shampoo, and poured a little in my hand, then put the bottle back down. I turned to face the shower wall, but I was a couple of feet from the spray; I moved my hand to my pubic hair, and started to lather up.

He turned his face toward me, noting the placement of my hands, and asked, “Are you going to pull it now?”

“I might,” I said a little dismissively. As this point, I still thought that all he wanted to do was watch, so I had no fear about anything I was doing. I worked up some lather, and started sliding my hand up and down my cock, quickly bringing it to full erection. He was watching me closely.

After a moment, he turned to me and said, “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Still thinking he only wanted to look, I turned to face him, and moved my hands out of the way. He reached out with his right hand, and wrapped it around my length, placing his left hand on my right hip. I was stunned—there was someone else’s hand on my cock for the first time in my life, and I had no idea what was to occur next.

He slid his hand along the entire length of my cock, even cupping my balls, then pressed upward slightly as he slid back toward the tip. As his hand came free of my balls, he closed his fist on my cock, then repeated the motion fairly rapidly, aided by the soap on everything in his hand. He masturbated me in this manner for a few seconds, then using my cock as a handle, he guided me back into the shower spray, and washed off all the soap. His hand never released my cock, and its movement never slowed.

After a moment, he steered me away from the shower, and said, “Watch the door.” He dropped into a squat, and his right hand came off my cock, and moved under my balls, then between the cheeks of my ass. He pulled me toward him, and my stiff little cock went all the way into his mouth.

I had never felt anything like this; I had never thought that anything like this existed, or could feel this good. This hot, wet suction sliding over my young dick simply blew my mind away. He worked on me quite firmly, much harder than any blowjob I ever got in the future from a girl. Since they say that only a woman really knows how to eat pussy, then I guess only a man really knows how to give a blowjob.

While his face moved back and forth on my cock, his left hand held my hip and squeezed that side of my ass, and his right hand was pushed firmly up between the cheeks of my ass, sliding back and forth quite forcefully. I had no idea at the time why he was doing this, but years later I realized that he was probably trying to stimulate my anus, perineum, and the back of my balls, as well as my prostate. I knew that it felt good, so I wasn’t stopping him. The motion also made me tend to hunch my hips toward him, which served to stick my cock out that much further.

After a minute or two, I still hadn’t come, and I think that my stamina surprised him a little. I was completely lost in what he was doing to me, so when he pulled his mouth off my dick I didn’t even react at first. He stood partway up, his right hand coming out to resume firmly jerking me, and he asked, “Have you been pulling it?” I didn’t respond at first, as my senses were so overloaded, and all I knew was that I never wanted it to stop, whether it was his hand, or his mouth.

“You’ve been pulling it, haven’t you?”

I finally gathered that he was asking whether I masturbated, I suppose on some kind of regular basis. I managed to choke out, “Yes.”

Apparently satisfied with that answer, he dropped back down, and pulled my cock back into his mouth, resuming both his oral work, and his massage of my underside. When that wonderful feeling returned, I rose up on my toes, and moved my right hand to his head. He quickly grabbed my left hand, and pulled it to his head, placing it firmly above his ear. His intention filtered through my fogged brain, and I grabbed his head as my hips started to jerk involuntarily.

A minute or so more and I convulsed with the force of the orgasm. My eyes squeezed shut, my jaw clenched, and my hips started hammering into his face as I grunted in time with each blast of cum into his mouth. I was making incoherent noises, and pulling his head into my groin and stomach as hard as I could. Were it not for our hold on each other, I would have fallen to the floor, and probably hurt myself on the slippery tile.

After a moment, when my spasms subsided, he moved back and my limp little dick slid out of his mouth. I was totally drained and felt like I was suddenly without any strength at all. I stood up straight and stepped under the shower spray to rinse off any lingering soap, and I had a sudden fear that he might want me to reciprocate, or worse, that he would want to fuck me in the ass.

I decided that getting out quickly would be a good idea, but I didn’t want to let on that I was scared. I moved deliberately, but not in a rush, to turn the water off, pick up my stuff and my towel, and leave the room. During this time, I didn’t look at him, but I could hear him coughing and gargling, and wasn’t sure if he was trying to clear his throat of leftover soap, or my come.

I dressed quickly, and then headed out for my walk home. During the first part of the walk, I kept looking over my shoulder, afraid that I would see him walking after me. I thought he might be in a car, driving around looking for me, wanting me to come with him to give him the same treatment I had received. None of these things happened, and I made it home safely. However, the case of nerves I had that night meant that my walk was not very enjoyable, even though I had been ‘freshly fucked’ with the best orgasm of my young life.

That episode, as enjoyable as it had been while it was happening, made me leery about a repeat occurrence. I had the inescapable fear that, were I to run into the same man again, I would not simply be the recipient of a world-class blowjob, but that my ass or my mouth would be on the line.

I never went back to the gym, and have never since indulged myself to masturbate in a public shower. Doing it then would get you yelled at, doing it now will get you thrown in jail.

Regardless of what had happened, I was still decidedly heterosexual, and my next blowjob, three years later, was from an eager co-ed wanting to learn all about sex, as did I. In later years, I still occasionally masturbated to the thought of what had happened, replaying the episode in my mind, and remembering that I could have walked away before anything happened, but curiosity and sexual desire got the better of me.

I dealt with it, and was never traumatized by it, chalking it up to one more step in the sexual development of the average horny teenager. When I hear stories today of teenagers sexually involved with women in their thirties or forties, my reaction is “lucky bastard”, because they’re being taught by someone of experience. However, the media and the courts take the attitude that these teens are being scarred for life. Maybe what happened to me was a little extreme, but I didn’t get hurt, even mentally or emotionally. I thoroughly enjoyed what happened at the time—what eighteen year old wouldn’t enjoy a truly world-class blowjob?

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