The Mystery of the Pink Washcloth

As soon as I read this, I knew it would fit perfectly, leading us into the Holiday season. It reminds me of visits to see Grand-ma's and various family, when I was a young guy. I think many of you will also recall the uncomfortable need to take care of urges when at a slightly foreign home. This story so clearly brought those memories back for me. Please offer your comments, and thank Regi if you enjoy his story too.
Read-on.
Eric- 

I'm reasonably sure that my mother never visits this blog, and my dear grandmother long ago said her final Amen. So I'm ready to divulge the truth about a family mystery.

At the time this adventure occurred my grandmother was well known by her family and friends for having a "pink" guest bathroom. The plumbing fixtures were your typical white. But she had several sets of pink linens in various shades that she rotated in that bathroom. Bath towels, hand towels, toilet cover, bathmats, shower curtain - the room was all pink all the time.

As best I can remember I was fourteen. Not more than fifteen. My mother and I stopped at Grandma's one day after school. The ladies fell into conversation. Talk, talk, talk. Next thing I knew, they were measuring the living room windows for new curtains. I was bored out of my skull. Time dragged.

Suddenly an inspiration hit. Certainly! Why hadn't I thought of this already? I could make a quiet visit to the bathroom and use my time wisely. Wisely for a post-pubertal boy, that is.

My adolescent peter was already lengthening at the very thought of the opportunity. Let the ladies talk all they want to. I'll sit on the pot and treat my dong to the national sport of horny boys.

Within seconds I was in the little room. The door was locked, and I was baring my ass in preparation for sitting on the commode. If my dick could have spoken it would have said "I'm so glad you thought of this!"

I took my time, knowing that the ladies would move on from one topic of conversation to another. I wiggled and wobbled my erection. I swung it back and forth. I tickled my thighs, played with my balls and enjoyed the feeling of my dick getting stiffer and stiffer.

After determining that everything I touched was in good working order and at the height of readiness, I started pumping my unbendable stiffie. Slow strokes, fast strokes, normal strokes. Bring it close to fulfillment and then let it rest a moment. Stroking again. Pausing again. Getting good, getting better. Take your time - - -

I was working up a hell of a good one, an unexpected masturbation that shifted smoothly through all its gears and accelerated right up the mountain of joy. I delayed the approaching climax so I could better enjoy the moment of truth, but the feelings kept building and finally insisted on gentle but continuous strokes toward a sexual convulsion. It was becoming more and more clear that a jumbo-sized load was under way, and I had to find a cum-catcher.

I could have bent my dick down and shot its product into the toilet, but bending my boner always compromised the good feelings. Toilet paper was handy, of course, but it was usually too thin to do a good job. Eee - I'm almost cumming! Gotta find something to collect my juice!

And there was the answer, right in front of me. A metal rod holding a pink bath towel and a pink washcloth. I grabbed the washrag and held it in front of my extended peter. Just in time, too. Nearly - nearly -- Cum's bubbling up! Crotch tingling! Sensations peaking! Dick solidifying! Cumming- - -  Now!  Now!

Holy Batmobile! Man, oh man!  Whew! Good one. V-e-r-y good one.

An outstanding climax had gripped my body and a bumpy series of spermy spurts had landed in my pink-draped left hand. Yes, it was one of the good ones, an excellent use of my time. I was proud of myself for having the idea.

Now, however, I looked at the gooey collection of thick ejaculate decorating Grandma's pink washcloth. What to do about that? I wiped off my shrinking dick and carefully laid the washcloth on the countertop while I got my clothes back in order.

Can't drop it in Grandma's hamper! Can't put it back with the towel! Can't wash it out and leave it here wet! What to do?

I rolled the washcloth up, careful to keep the cum well inside the layers of cloth. Then I stuck the damn thing into my pocket and walked out.

Just as I thought, my mother and grandmother were still gabbing away and I had never been missed.

We eventually got home. The pink washcloth was still in my pocket, all damp and sticky and now sort of funky-smelling. That night I soaped and washed it real good while I showered. Then I hung it to dry on a valve in the cabinet under the washbasin. And there it stayed.

I used the washcloth again for the same purpose, just because it was there and because it had been a partner in one of my most superb cumshots. Used it several more times, as a matter of fact, always washing it out in the shower and returning it to the valve to dry.

A couple weeks later I dropped it into our laundry bin knowing that Mom would return it to Grandma and that would be the end of the pink washcloth escapade.

But the cloth caught my mother's attention while she sorted clothes. It hadn't occurred to me that there were no pink linens in our house, so this was a surprise. She was mystified. Strangely it never occurred to her that I might be involved. She called Grandma and announced that a pink washcloth had showed up in our laundry. Clearly one of Grandma's. "No, not a white one that was washed with the reds. It's one of yours! No, I didn't put one in my purse!"

 

"What do you make of that?" they asked each other. They discussed the various ways that a washcloth might accidentally have made the trip with other objects. Maybe in a box of peaches? Maybe as a hotpad for a broccoli casserole? Maybe...? They were baffled. And for years afterward, at family dinners and even funeral gatherings, that pink washcloth that made a trip across town would come up in conversation.

The washcloth was returned in a matter of days but the mystery endured. Neither lady had an explanation for its mysterious appearance at our house.

I was never asked. And just in case you wonder, I never again shot my load into a pink washcloth.

But whenever the pink washcloth came up in conversation, my dick started lengthening and feeling puffy while I remembered  the emergency target for one of my all-time best ejaculations.

Regi