The events I am about to describe took place about ten years ago, when I was sharing a house with my sister. She was involved with a group that regularly staged, in our cosmopolitan Western city, a traditional form of Asian theatre that involved elaborate costuming and make-up, and in which female roles were often taken by men. On account of this, her circle of friends included at that time a number of young, effeminate, Asian men. They came to the house often, not only because of the artistic interest, but also because she had become something of a mother figure to many of them. I had met many of them, and liked them.
At the time my sister was on an extended visit to Asia, so I was surprised when I answered a ring on the doorbell to find one of her young friends on the doorstep. Normally confident and graceful, today he was looking tense and shuffling awkwardly from foot to foot. I led him down the short passageway into the lounge and invited him to take a seat. He continued to stand awkwardly.
“I wonder … I need … Could I use your toilet first please,” he stammered.
Of course! I should have guessed from his posture that he was in discomfort from a full bladder. There was a cupboard toilet on the ground floor at the back of the house, not easy to find, so I led him there. I opened the door and turned: “There it is.” He was fumbling at his pants in his urgency to relieve himself and I saw that he had already opened his fly and was desperately trying to free his penis. As he brushed by me the tip of his foreskin appeared, already dribbling pee. He gave a little whimper as the dribble turned to a spurt. He raced to the bowl, his back to me, and loud splashing noises ensued. Discreetly, I retreated to the lounge.
I sat down in one of the armchairs, surprised and disturbed by my sudden, strong arousal at this strange turn of events. I had only glimpsed the pissing tip of his cock for a fraction of a second, but I couldn’t erase the image from my mind.
After about ten minutes he re-appeared. There was a wet patch on the front of his jeans about the diameter of a tennis ball. “I’m sorry, I’m so embarrassed. I made a little bit of a mess on your floor, but I wiped it up as best I could.” His face wore a coy expression, but at the same time his eyes were watching me carefully for my reactions. I had a sudden bartın escort suspicion that there was a seduction going on and felt, to my surprise, an eagerness to participate.
“It’s all right, these things happen. But I can’t let you go back like that. Come upstairs. I can sponge and dry your jeans and lend you a pair of my underpants.”
My bedroom had a small en-suite attached, and it was there that I took him. He took off his shirt and continued to undress until he stood on the bath mat in his underpants. They were white cotton. The front was sodden and the cloth clung to the outline of a small, uncircumcised penis. His honey-coloured skin was hairless and smooth. His nipples were dark, round and slightly swollen. He stepped into the bathtub and looked at me coyly.
I sensed that he was teasing me. He knew I wanted to see his penis and was excited at the thought of arousing me. “It’s alright, you can take them off. After all, I’ve seen it already.”
“Yes, and my pee was already coming out – I was so embarrassed.”
The words evoked the image again and I felt my cock lengthening in my pants. He hooked his thumbs under the elastic of his underpants and pulled them to his ankles in a single, graceful movement, stepped out of them and flicked them to the end of the tub with his toe.
His sac was hairless, round and firm. His dark pubic hair was bushy but trimmed at the edges in a feminine manner. His penis was small and the tight tube of his foreskin covered the glans. It peeked like a little bird from its nest of hair. He stood gracefully, his weight slightly on one leg, like an Asian David.
There was a hand-held shower-head in a bracket on the wall, on the other side of the bath-tub. I knelt down beside the tub, glad to be able to hide the signs of my rapidly growing arousal under the rim. I reached across, took the shower-head from its bracket, turned on the taps and adjusted the temperature of water. If I had moved my shoulder slightly to the right, it would have brushed his penis. If I had turned my head slightly to the right, I would have been able to kiss it or take it into my mouth. My heart was pounding and I was glad I was able to hide the trembling of my hands by fiddling with the taps.
I inverted the nozzle and let the spray play on the underside bartın escort bayan of his penis. I knew from experience what a stimulating effect that had. He gasped and the little bird stirred in its nest.
“You are so kind. You saved me from wetting my pants and now you are washing me.” His voice was soft and feminine. “For some reason my kidneys were hyperactive all day. I work in the north and live in the south. I have to take three buses to get home. By the time I got off my second bus, I was really in a lot of trouble. I have to walk half a mile to the interchange to catch my last bus. There is a toilet in the interchange, but I knew I couldn’t last that long”
I understood his predicament. His route was through a residential area – there were no public conveniences. “I just didn’t know what to do. There were cars and people around so I couldn’t stand against a wall and do it in the street. It was getting to the point where I wouldn’t be able to hold it in any more and my muscles would just let go and it would all come out. Then I realised you lived nearby. But the excitement of thinking I might have a solution caused my sphincter to relax and I spurted into my underpants. I had to jam my hand into my pocket and hold myself to stop it.”
As if to demonstrate he pinched the base of his little cock between his forefinger and thumb. His other hand absent-mindedly drifted up to his chest. I saw that his nipples had become swollen and prominent. His penis had stiffened a little. I needed to see him stroke it.
“The soap is over there.” He moistened his hands in the spray and lathered them, then began to languidly soap his crotch with his right hand as his left stole back to his breast. His face adopted a dreamy expression and his eyes closed. I laid the streaming nozzle in the base of the tub and stared at him openly.
“I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t opened the door. I needed to go so badly, I was in agony. When you were leading me to the the toilet I knew I couldn’t last – I just had to take it out so I could go quickly, even though you saw me. And god, when I finally let it out, it was such a relief. I have never felt such relief.”
He was half hard and openly stroking himself now, his hips rocking backward and forward with each stroke. escort bartın The tip of his foreskin had loosened slightly so that with each thrust forward, it withdrew a little to give a glimpse of the glans and its little eye. His left thumb was gently rubbing his nipple.
‘”I’m glad,” I said, “I’m glad I helped you get relief.” Then, on an impulse, “You need to do it now, don’t you. You need to let it go.”
“Yes,” he said in a strangled voice, “I’ve been holding it in for so long. I need to let it out. Oh, I need the relief so badly.”
I reached out and gently stroked his buttocks. “It’s all right to let go. You need to do it. Just let it go.”
He groaned and dropped to his knees, stroking frantically now. His left hand dropped from his breast and cupped his sac. He arched his back. His penis was rigid, pointing up toward his chin. “I can’t hold it in any more. It’s going to come out,” he whimpered. I grasped his buttocks. They clenched tightly. “Do it. Do it for me.” I was almost shouting. He groaned and gave one last, hard, upward thrust, his muscles taut, his face grimacing. The glans emerged from the foreskin and the pearly white fluid streaked up onto his chest, once, twice, three times, four times. He gave a long, high pitched groan as he died the little death, then slumped forward, drained, still clutching himself with both hands.
My arousal was unbearable now. Quickly I went back into my room and reached into a drawer for a handkerchief. No sooner had I freed my cock and clasped the cloth over the end than the searing semen spurted out. I had to bite my lip to stop myself crying out.
I wiped myself then went to my sister’s bathroom and fetched her hair dryer, then on my way back pulled a fresh pair of underpants from my drawer. When I came back into the bathroom he was standing on the bath-mat, drying his thighs. His cock was no longer stiff, but still tumescent and a little red from the soap and the rubbing it had received. It jiggled enticingly as he towelled himself. I tore my eyes away and set to work sponging the wet patch on his jeans over the sink, then drying it with the hair-dryer. When I turned back to him, he was drawing my underpants slowly up his thighs. The little bird had withdrawn into its nest. As he drew the elastic over it, it flipped up briefly, then, to my regret, disappeared.
I handed him his jeans then, when he had donned them, led him downstairs and saw him to the door. “I’ll have your underpants washed and ready for you in a few days.” “And I’ll bring yours back. Would it be convenient to come at the same time Wednesday?” “I look forward to seeing you then.”