Prologue: Do not skip this part, or I will take no responsibility for anything that might turn you off as you read further.
This story is true. It was told to me by a very good friend one night when he was somewhat drunk, and we were sitting in front of a dying campfire at the cottage, having our last drink before putting out the fire and retiring. The events in the story happened to him. I am the only person to whom he ever related the description of the incident.
Before you go all "yeah, yeah, you've got a friend who ... and we all know it was really you", I will tell you that the event happened nearly fifty years ago, and he was the teenager involved. Sadly, he passed away several years ago, but what he told me is still rattling in my brain, and every now and then some item in the news will bring it to the fore.
Were it to have happened today, there would be an outcry, and calls for new laws, protection for minors, and other such noise. It actually happened in the late 1960s, a time when kids played outside all day and much of the evening, following their parents' instructions to 'come home when the streetlights come on'. Parents didn't worry about their kids disappearing, or being attacked. Child abductions were unheard of, and the word "pedophiliac" existed in the dictionary, and barely in the law; there was no such thing as a 'sex offender registry'.
I have told the story from his viewpoint, based at the time it occurred. Before we go on, you should know that no one got hurt, and at least one party involved actually enjoyed the experience. It stayed with him for the rest of his life, but it really was not much more than one more step in the sexual development of a teenaged boy. I think he told it to me as a form of confession, as he already knew that he was dying. I have put it into words as a form of catharsis, as maybe then I'll be able to forget it for a while.
Now then, if you continue, all I can say is, "You have been warned."
I was fourteen 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 school, 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 nearsighted, 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 when I was twelve, but while it felt good, I didn't really get it until I passed through puberty at thirteen, and had my first real orgasm. The stuff that shot out of my little 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 military, and the base he was attached to was about a half-hour walk from our house. 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 dependent's ID card, tell the guard I was going to the gym, and away I went. Fourteen 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 kid, and the big shower room is a little intimidating, 'cause I'm shy." After all, who would get all mean and official with a fourteen year old, geeky-looking kid?
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 fourteen 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 Dad is, so I get to use the gym and the pool."
"Ah, that's why you're here. So, how old are you?"
The next question started to peak my curiosity, and for some reason I felt a little ping on my radar.