One summer, I took a trip with my friend and his family to Myrtle Beach, S.C. I had been there before as a child, but I was 18 now and free to explore all aspects of the beach at my leisure. I squeezed every drop of enjoyment out of my time there. I savored the bright sun, the warm sand at night, and the wild, untamed waves of the ocean.
But I especially enjoyed the sights. This was the first time I was at the beach after puberty, and it was overwhelming. Thus, we come to the beginning of all the trouble. One evening, after partaking in all the enjoyments listed above, I was out at the pool of the private condo everyone was staying at. I was leaning back in the chair, smoking a cigar and watching the beginning of the sun set. I would have been the definition of relaxed, but I had one, big problem.
I had spent most of the day on the beach. In the water a lot of the time, but keeping my eyes on the shore. I couldn’t help but watch all the extremely sexy women in very little clothing that populated that stretch of sand. I had to walk back to the condo practically doubled over to escape any embarrassment of exposing my arousal. I stayed at the pool, carefully positioned in a lounge chair, as everybody else went to their rooms to prepare for the night to come, while I had a problem. No matter what I did, no matter what I thought of, I couldn’t lose my erection. It was ridiculous! It was as if I was 13 again with my first hard on! So, I decided, after the condo emptied, I would douse myself in the cool waters of the pool. I got up off my chair, stubbed out my cigar, and leapt for the waters. My warm skin hit the water, causing the temperature to hit me like a falling piano. I flailed for the surface and breeched into the warm air. Good, I thought, I’ll wait here a while, letting the water rid me of my erection, and go back to my room, change, and have a night on the town. But, after sever al minutes, I was unaffected. Damn, I silently cursed, it’s not as though I can go to my third floor room, risking being seen by some late clubber. I swam to the side of the pool to lean against the tiles and think. As I got nearer, though, I felt a current. I stopped and investigated the side of the pool. It was a water recycler that kept the water moving, so to keep it from becoming stagnant. A light bulb flickered to life in my head.
I know exactly how to solve my problem. Since, of course, I knew the building was empty, and the pool being in a secluded area, I would let the jets solve my arousal problem by strategically using them to give myself an orgasm, releasing all the built up tension. Still patting myself on the back, I moved closer to the jets of water, discovering that even I, at 6’ 1”, wasn’t tall enough to have the jet massage the needed area. So, solving this new obstacle using my brilliant 18 year old brain, I placed my hands on the side of the pool, and lifted myself up. The sensation hit as I was being caressed by the stream. I soon slipped into the tunnel state of “one who’s only goal is a climax”. In a further irrational state, I pulled my trunks down to my ankles. The feeling was unbelievable as held my naked body to the stream of water and basked in the newly discovered euphoric sensation. At this point, nothing was going through my mind except for the ever nearing, and promisingly loud, orgasm. So, I didn’t process the footsteps of someone approaching. I didn’t hear the damn well oiled and squeak free gate open, but I did hear the voice. The women’s voice that was the definition of surprised saying, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” This, however, very quickly jerked me out of masturbation la la land, and drove me on the bullet train to Terror City. Since we made no stop at Common Sense Terminal, I immediately turned around to see the source of the voice. I saw an extremely beautiful woman standing in a bikini, towel in hand, looking down at me, and further down into awfully clean and transparent water. She was not a guest at the condo, so she was apparently trying to secretly swim in the very nice private pool. She, as I did, expected no one to be there. But she, as I was, proven wrong. At this point on my guided tour through the Republic of Embarrassment, I reached the point where my mind said, “pull up your shorts, give an excuse, and exit stage anywhere”. I was able to pull up my trunks just fine, but my mental reasoning had fled for its own safety and the only thing that came out of my mouth was a mumble along the lines of “nothing”. The blushing young woman turned around as if on clockwork, and sat down in a chair facing the other direction, in a state of shock. I regained control of my muscular functions, and extracted myself from the pool. I beat a hasty retreat to the safety of my empty room, were I sat, dripping, on the bed until I had stopped shaking. At which point I had a fit of uncontrollable, relived laughter.
Published
