"Where you been?"

I was in middle school, actually the Fall of eighth grade, when I discovered what my dick could do if I
stimulated it in a certain way. I was immediately hooked. My body demanded a cumshot every day. I lived from one climax to the next.

In contrast to what some of the other guys have said on here, I never shot my load at school. It was just too risky. The same went for my home situation. Nobody had any privacy. So where could I wank?

I solved that problem by walking through a park on my way home from school. The park included a stinky cinder-block Men's restroom with two toilet stalls (plywood walls; no doors) and a long trough-type urinal mounted on the wall. That foul disgusting bathroom became my masturbation heaven.

The high school was nearby and some of the HS guys also walked through the park. I'm well aware "now" that certain HS boys were looking for jacking buddies, but at my age in the park I was flushed with complete naivete back then..... I just was looking for privacy, not companionship. I didn't even know that two boys might collaborate on a wank. So I would hang around at the picnic tables until everybody else cleared out.

One day I apparently miscounted. Walking into the restroom, I saw an instrument case on the floor at one of the stalls. Some guy was STILL in the stall! I guess he plays in one of the bands, either middle school or high school.

I was in a hurry to do my daily pump job, and decided to go ahead. The other guy could not see me from the stall. I'd wiggle my worm quickly and hurry home.

But something peculiar happened. As I was pumping myself I kept an eye trained on the stalls. Suddenly a head could be seen at the edge of the stall, apparently watching me. Every cell of my brain ordered me to run! But I couldn't move. I was petrified.

Meanwhile, the dude in the other stall changed positions. He stepped forward just enough to reveal his own hand pumping his own peter, just like I'd been doing. I was hypnotized. What would happen next? Will he keep doing it now that he knows I'm here? Will I see him squirt? How did I ever get myself into this?

I was badly scared but also very intrigued. Another boy was doing it! Doing it right there! And I can't stop!

As I peeked at the action, the other boy's dick discharged a sudden stream of cum that shot from his stall across the filthy concrete floor, leaving strings and puddles and globs of ejaculate.

That did it. I was cumming. And Holy Cow....cumming in record time. My shot splattered onto the wall above the pee trough.I dunno if it dribbled down the wall, or crusted there until eternity. Faster than it takes to say "zip up," I was gone, hurrying away from the restroom and the park and asking myself what had just happened.

 I'd seen only two glimpses of the other guy. First a narrow glimpse of his face as he sized me up and second a look at his busy hand arousing his erect dick. He was older than me, a high school dude, and yet he seemed as frightened of seeing me as I'd been of him.

That'll never happen again, I told myself as I walked home.

But it did. Every few days I'd walk into the restroom and see the instrument case.  (I Grinned). I tell myself with a funny kind of goose-bump thrill. "He's here." The next few times we met, the scene was a repeat of the first time. I shot into (or above) the trough. He shot out into the room. Then I hurried away.

But we developed a strange kind of friendship. He would step farther out of his stall, bare crotch fully visible as he jacked. I would turn toward him as I did the same. In the few seconds that it takes for horny boys to climax, we watched intensely, never saying a word, never coming close to one another, but fully intent on letting each other see.

Sometimes I got bold and aimed my cumshot across the floor for his benefit. Sometimes he pulled his pants totally down and his shirt fully up and gave me a look of his naked body and hard boner while he jacked.

If the instrument case wasn't there I was disappointed. I fired my peter without much enthusiasm wishing for my anonymous buddy. The need to wank required a cumshot, but how disappointing when my counter-part was missing.

Once an entire week went past without him. But gladly, he and his instrument case were waiting for me after the sad hiatus. I got brave. "Where you been?" I asked softly while we entertained each other. "Got sick," he answered.

That short exchange was our only conversation, and we never got even close to touching each other. We continued watching each other masturbate all through the rest of my eighth grade. When school started the next August, my buddy never showed up.

 But thanks to him I had learned that "two is better than one" and found the confidence to make a couple of jerking friends who came closer and shared space with me at the park's pee-trough after school.

Totally Anonymous