Having my parents discover my masturbatory material.
Masturbation: everyone, at some point in their lives has done it, will do it, and should do it. The majority of the human race has had a tug, or a frig at least once. Masturbation is a good thing – it’s a pleasurable experience after all. We all enjoy this pleasure, and accept that others do too, even if we keep this knowledge private.
Especially with one’s parents: I found myself many years ago, having to deal with the reality of my parents knowing a little too much about my self-pleasuring. It had a major impact on my life at the time.
Still living at home, I was stuck in one rainy night, the house to myself. What better time to indulge, I thought, as horniness raged through my teenage body: I’m all alone and free to frig all night. Lovely.
So I got the mood set. I took out my vibrator
and checked the batteries were working. I found a sachet of lube
and put it on the radiator to warm up. And I got out my collection of porno magazines and laid them out on my bed, ready, each publication open at the page that would get me off the quickest (thus leaving my hands free to do more important things than turn the damn page).
I seem to recall having a variety of images of women in various states of undress. I didn’t have any hardcore (erect penis and penetration based) porn back then, and found it a little frustrating to have to look at semi-clad women in soft-focus poses pretend to finger themselves – without actually fingering themselves. But it was still stimulating to me, and gave me some good wank fodder regardless. So, with pictures spread out, I got the balls lubed up, slipped them in and turned them on. And then I rubbed the vibrator against me. It wasn’t long before I was climaxing, and whipping the balls out to replace them with the vibrator. I gave myself a few more orgasms, before collapsing exhausted and sated onto the bed.
After climaxing I generally get hungry. Quite ravenous actually. Whilst food is the preference, I have been known to want to devour a cock in my post-orgasmic state. (I obviously have an oral fixation of some sort) and will gladly indulge in a blow job. But with no cock around, my only option was to go and eat something immediately, so I grabbed a towelling robe and headed upstairs.
Now, normally after wanking (at my parents’ house), I would remove all evidence of my activities as soon as I could lift my head from the pillow post orgasm. But this one regretful night, I forgot
. I was so sated, and so hungry, that the only thing on my mind was food. The last thing I thought of was my parents walking in to my bedroom and seeing all my ‘materials’ spread out on my bed.
And see them they did.
Unbeknown to me, they had come back early from their night out. And upon entering the house, had decided to see if I was in my bedroom (which was next to the entrance hall). From the kitchen I heard them calling me, and I knew that they would push open my door, which I had left ajar, to say hello.
It suddenly dawned on me what they were about to see. Laid out on my bed were the mechanics of my masturbatory session: a vibrator still wet with lube; a set of love balls, also damp; an open sachet of lube; and 6-7 porno magazines spread out on the pillow, displaying women with their legs apart and their fingers rubbing their genitals.
I ran out of the kitchen, calling my parents, hoping that they hadn’t yet got to my bedroom. But like some terrible nightmare, I just wasn’t quick enough: when I got to the top of the stairs, I saw them both exit my room.They saw it all
There was absolutely nothing I could say to them that would explain my way out of the situation. They not only knew that I masturbated, but they knew how
I did it, and what got me off
To say I felt like vomiting on the spot is an understatement: I thought I would pass out from embarrassment.
We all pretended that nothing had happened. But all of us knew
, that they knew
. And this was far too much information for my parents to have about me (regardless of how liberated and open-minded they are): I couldn’t get off on those magazines again, knowing my parents had seen them.
So there was only one thing for it.
I moved out.
And when I finally got my own place, it was a tremendous relief to finally be able to masturbate freely without worrying about parental interruption.
Plus, I had a backlog of wanks to catch up on, since the discovery at their home, and would have gone quite mad if I had had to wait much longer to pleasure myself in private.
I’ve never looked back since.
Even though I'm sure my neighbours are fully aware what the variety of vibrating noises are, that emanate from my flat on a regular basis.