Subtlety is not my strong point.
Would the asshole who keeps
jerking off in the shower
PLEASE clean up after himself?
I pinned it to the wall, and hoped the issue would go away.
You know, I thought there might be some problems flatting with all these people, but this wasn't one that came to mind. After all, it's something of a tradition to do it this way.
First year at Varsity, first time way from home, we stay in hostels. Meals are provided, sheets are washed, facilities are clean, available, restricted, and frankly boring. Any of us who manage to find our virginity promptly lose it, in an inappropriate manner, under the influence, and with someone who, if not actually horrid, is certainly not partner-for-life material. Think orangutan. A drunk one.
Drinking edges its way inexorably from desirability to compulsivity. Plans for study are put aside. Partnerships are created and broken with monotonous regularity. Some of us put homosexuality to the test, and find that while we are capable of sex with our very own gender, we would, on the whole, rather not. Then of course, the remaining ten percent take the exact opposite view.
Friendships come and go, there is a lot of laughing, even more crying, devastation, heartbreak, pregnancy, drug addiction, stalkers, streakers, theft, rape, and an occasional hero who comes along and makes it all worthwhile. Of course, not all those things happen to all of us. Personally, I could have done with a few more heroes, but I'm not complaining.
Somewhere along the path toward summer we realise that, despite all the fun and games, we've completely forgotten that we were here to learn something in an academic sense, and realise also that we can't possibly go home and tell Dad about all the extra-curricular learning. He wouldn't want to know about the coke, the drag racing, or the threesome. We're not sure we want to know either, though they all seemed pretty damn good at the time.
As it slowly dawns that we, along with most of the rest of our class, might be in trouble, we knuckle down. We study with a will not before seen, a determination which astounds us all, a focus heretofore thought impossible, and with not nearly enough time for it to help.
The year ends badly, and we all head to various homes, tails between our legs, goodbye-no-strings-just-friends fucking done and dusted, to face parents who are not happy and less than supportive, but privately pleased that we were just the same kind of hellions as they had been a generation before. The fact is, they would like to know about the coke, sex, drinking and heartbreak. But you can guarantee we won't be telling them, unless we can manage to disguise things enough to convince them that it wasn't us.
Summer is spent in remorse, at least in the presence of parents. Many of us need to work hard to raise enough money to do it all again, while the rest waste the time on beaches and in bars. But when it's time to leave home again, and the relieved parents wave goodbye, or drop us off, it's not to the hostel we go. No, we are mature now. Older, and more experienced. We want to feel life with a visceral edge, a reality that only exists when we look after ourselves. We want to cook our own meals, or choose not to. We want to clean up when we feel like it. We want to choose our companions, often based on a five minute conversation late one night, the year before. We want to cram as many people as we can in a small, dingy, dark, grotty flat, and then see if we can drive each other crazy. We want to be grownups.
I gave it two days after pinning the note to the fridge. Nothing had changed. The fact was, I knew who it was anyway. I just hadn't been quite obnoxious enough to put his name on the note.
The six of us who made up the tenancy were a strange mixture. All intelligent, partly-educated, independent, self-thinking individualists. It shouldn't have been a surprise that we provided friction to one another. The three guys were probably not bad as these things go. They were mostly tidy and clean, and they treated at least us three girls as people. No telling what they did outside the house.
Nev was probably the least extroverted of the bunch. He was a Computer Science student, but he didn't fit the nerdish stereotype of most of his classmates. He was very involved in mountain biking, and was the most likely of the group of us to eat something healthy.
I couldn't stand what he was doing in the bathroom though, and decided I needed to confront him. Don't get me wrong. I had no problem with him masturbating. More power to him. Really. Hell, I've been comfortable with my hand between my legs myself, for years, on a regular basis. It wasn't that, not at all. The problem was having a shower after him, and having to stand on the sticky leftovers. Yuck. Now I realise we girls have an advantage here, but that's no reason to leave evidence.
I waited until the next morning, and sat quietly in the kitchen, until Nev appeared, towel around his waist, and made his way to the bathroom. I wasn't really sure what I intended to do, but had got the idea into my mind that I needed to catch him, in the bathroom, in the shower, in the act. So I followed him down the hallway, and listened to him for a while, until I heard the water start in the shower.
Knowing that I was safe for a few minutes now, I tried the door. We weren't too concerned about nudity in the flat, and the door was seldom locked. Hell, when the guys went for a pee, they didn't even shut the door until we ganged up on them. Sure enough, the door, while closed, wasn't locked, and I could open it easily enough.
The flat we rented was a conversion of a big old house, and some of the rooms were shaped a little strangely as a result. After I opened the door and walked into the bathroom, I still couldn't actually see the shower. I closed the door carefully behind myself, and peered around the corner. Sure enough, Nev was under the water, and just as I got there, he finished rinsing his hair, and turned away from the shower head, and put his back to the water. He would have been able to see me if he happened to look in exactly the right direction, but with soapy eyes, and steam, he probably wouldn't.
The shower cubicle had a clear glass door, and from where I stood, I could see fairly plainly through it. Nev must have been giving his upcoming masturbation some thought, because as he turned, his erection became obvious. He reached up and squeezed a little conditioner on his hand, and carelessly wiped it all over his cock, and that's when my plan went all wrong.
I'd never seen a boy masturbate before, other than up close, his cock right next to me, with our lips together, and me helping. This was different. He stood there, back almost straight, relaxed and calm, closed his eyes, and started to stroke. He had a sizable penis, and from where I stood, I could see that it jutted out strongly from his hips, curving slightly upwards. I knew, from a late night conversation earlier, that he was circumcised, and the head of it was large, and red. Conditioner partially covered the skin, and has right hand slid effortlessly up and down, getting faster as I watched.
I noticed the rest of his body for the first time then, as well. The mountain biking had given him strong shoulder muscles, and his legs held him rock steady. His face was squinting with concentration, and the water was running down the back of his short, dark hair, and down over his muscled back.
The desire to confront him had completely departed, and been taken over by another more basic need, and as I watched him intently, both of my hands slipped down to my thighs, and lifted my skirt at the front. My panties provided very little in the way of a barrier, and I pushed them down off my hips to give myself better access.
Plunging a finger from each hand inside myself, I realised how wet I was, and stroked frantically, covering my labia with ample moisture, sliding my fingers up and down in time with his hand, slowly nearing my clitoris.
.... There is more of this story ...