Getting Caught Jacking Off

There was one particuarly embarassing time that I got caught jacking off by a roommate. I was a senior at NC State and had moved into in Gold dorm at the beginning of the spring sememster. The dorm rooms were fairly large with 10 foot high ceilings and big windows. Paul had lived in the room for two years and had out lasted several roommates by the time that I moved in with him. At some point, he had installed bunk beds and claimed the bottom bunk for himself. He was very fastidious and made his bed up tight like a marine every morning. He got mad once when I put my books on it. I had the top bunk and seldom made up the bed.

Paul was a graphic design student and I was in the business school. He spend a lot of time in studio, or somewhere, on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Since most of my classes were on Tuesday and Thursday, our schedules did not overlap much. Each of us had the room to himself a lot. It was an excellent arrangement. We were never more than aquaintances and neither of us was interested in us being friends. If we had been friends, I may have been less embarassed for him to catch me. But maybe not.

This was during a period of my life in which I was just beginning to admit to myself that I might be gay. I had not gotten very far with sorting things out in my head, but I had screwed up the nerve to buy two issues of First Hand. I rationalized that I needed these to explore what guys did with each other when having sex. I felt guilty about having gay porn and went to great trouble to make sure that Paul never found it.

One morning I was feeling particularly horny. I returned from the shower (a communal, no-walled room with 5 showerheads) wrapped in a damp towel. Rather than get dressed, I got out a mag and laid down on Paul's bunk for a wank. I unwrapped the towel and held the mag up in one hand while I rubbed my balls and slowly began to pump my hard dick with the other.

I had read one hot story and just exerted enough will power to squeeze my cock hard to prevent my cumming when the narrator did. I did not know the term 'edging', but I had discovered the concept on my own. If I held off cumming through at least 3 of the 'letters' (that was the longest that I could hold out), then I knew it would be much more intense when I did let go. By the time that I got to the third letter, slippery precum was squeezing out of my puckered foreskin on the upstroke.

I was intensely into it now. I was holding the book close to my face and the only sounds I was hearing were the hot words that my mind was sucking from the page. I felt it happening. The narrator was cumming and suddenly so was I. I closed my eyes and let the book fall to the floor. Cum spurted up high on my chest as I arched my back off the bed. My breath caught, stopped, then started again with a gasp. Then I opened my eyes to see Paul standing at the foot of the bed, he's hand was still on the doorknob.

My legs were spread. One foot was on the floor and one was cocked off to the right on his bed. Paul was looking right at my asshole, balls, and slimy cock. My breath stopped again immediately. My orgasm froze instead of ebbing away. Paul's gaze moved up to the cum on my chest then to my face.

In the same instant, we muttered: "I'm sorry!" He reached for his portfolio on his desk. I reached for the towel. He said: "I forgot my stuff." I said: "I, I, I..." while struggling to cover myself. He turned and was out the door in a second. I wrapped the towel around myself and paced the room for 10 minutes muttering: "Oh, shit. Oh, shit. And I was on his bed!!"

Paul never said a word about it to me. Although, that night I heard him vaguely in the room below ours talking and laughing loudly with his friends. I never heard exactly what he was saying but I know he was telling them about me. For a week, the guys in the shower room and in the hall nodded and smiled or smirked at me but no one actually said anything. I was certain Paul had seen the cover of the mag and that they all knew I was gay. That is what bothered me the most. That and getting caught on Paul's own bed.


My dad caught me too. I was just going into puberty and horny beyond understanding. Nearly everything had humpable qualities: my bed sheets, my pillow, stall doors in public bathrooms (I know that's odd), trees, washcloths, towels, and .... the bathtub spigot.

My parents sent me off to bathe before bed on a Sunday night. I was standing by the tub waiting for it to fill when the idea struck me that the spigot had a hole in it. I suddenly wondered what the warm water would feel like rushing over my penis if I stuck it in the spigot. Right away I climbed into the tub, knelt down, and push my little dick up into the spigot. Even at that age it barely fit and the water escaped out around it with a lot of exciting, vibrating force! I knelt there loving the feeling and occasionally arching my back to force it in tighter to make the vibrating more forceful.

I did not know what it was called, but I certainly knew what an orgasam felt like and how to have one -- dry only until a few weeks later. I knew I was just about there and me boney knees were shaking as the tub water climbed up my legs to just tickle my balls. Almost.... "What's going on in here!" My dad barked. I instinctively plopped my butt down in the water and plucked my dick out of the spout. I was shaking from adrenalin -- not orgasm. I was scared shitless. Dad looked down at me and my hard little dick sticking out of the water. He paused just a bit, and I thought he was going to really start yelling, but he softened his voice and said, "Stop monkeying around and hurry up." Then he turned and walked out.

I was stunned. I still didn't believe he wasn't going to punish me and even after finishing and dressing in underwear and t-shirt I was shaking as I went into the living room to say good night. Both parents acted as if nothing had happened. I am convinced even now that Dad did not tell Mom. Turns out I was afraid for no reason. Dad never said another word about it to me.

I know that he knew when I was jacking off in the bathroom. I would stay in a long time and keep the door locked. Occasionally, he had to use it right after I was finished and I knew he smelled my cum on a washcloth or just the lingering scent of it in the air. But he never actually walked in on me again and never said a word to me about it other than an occasional: "Stop monkeying around and hurry up in there!" from the other side of the door.

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