by Jenelle Watson
This is four short stories of people who found themselves in very unusual situations. Enjoy!
I signed up as a guinea pig. The psychology department in our college wanted people for a study. It had something to do with the validity of surveys, and we were repeatedly called in to answer 20-question tests. They paid well each time, and I needed the money.
One time, there was a half-hour delay, so I thought I might find a quiet place and do some homework. Walking down the hall, I found a small room with a few chairs, a whiteboard and a mirror. I walked in, and saw that the door could be locked. Being a girl who likes her privacy, I locked it, broke out my laptop and went to work.
Some random thought horned me up. I’m also a girl who likes to masturbate. I do it often, but usually in my dorm room when my roommate isn’t home. Being a musician, I’ll sometimes frig myself in one of the little soundproof practice rooms. Those rooms reminded me of this room.
I still had twenty-five minutes to go. I figured, why not? So, I stuck one hand under my sweater and T-shirt, and squeezed it in under my bra so I could tweak a nipple. The other hand went under my skirt and into my panties.
Wearing clothes inhibited quality masturbating. Since the door was locked, I left my sweater and all that top stuff on, but it was easy to pull down my skirt and underwear. With that encumbrance now around my ankles, I was able to spread my legs open, man-like, and masturbate properly. Soon, I was really getting into it. My back was arching in the chair, and I was getting that shaking all over feeling that only comes with particularly good orgasms. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about. Then, bang! I came. It was quite nice!
As I was floating back down, I thought I heard a noise like a chair scuffling. Then, I distinctly heard something like a human voice. I thought the room was soundproofed. No problem, I’m sure I hadn’t made any noticeable noise.
Suddenly, the mirror caught my attention. It lit up! There were people on the other side, and if I didn’t know better, I’d swear they were staring right at me. They were!
It turns out I picked a psychology experimentation room. Normally, the subjects sit where I had been, and people on the other side of the one-way mirror sit in a darkened room, watching. If they turn on the lights, the mirror works the other way. Someone had turned on the lights.
Horrified, I pulled my skirt and undies up and half-stumbling, I fled the room. I’m sure I was blushing as tears flooded my eyes. I recognized one of the faces in the mirror. It was Sandra, a very conservative and proper girl who was a friend of my roommate. How would I ever live this down?
The next time I saw Sandra, I could hardly make eye contact. To her credit, she didn’t say a word. Over the next two years that I was in college, no one said anything, and the whole incident was all but forgotten, except by me.
Now and then, the memory of that day comes to mind. It no longer horrifies me. It makes me horny, and I give myself a good orgasm while remembering.
* * *
I’ve always felt fortunate to live in Southern California because the weather is nice all the time. Back home from my first year of college for Christmas vacation, our family had a big reunion in the park. There were more than forty of us.
I spent quite a bit of time talking with my cousin Michele. She’s redheaded, freckled, a year older than me, and has surprisingly large tits for a small girl.
I was sort of flirting with her, but knowing that she was my cousin, it couldn’t lead to anything, which I found rather frustrating. She was becoming upset, because my frustration turned me rather cynical, and I ended up teasing her. She walked away in a huff. That was unfortunate, because I really liked her, and although she was wild and impulsive, she was a good person.
A bunch of us decided to play softball. I was pitching, and everyone was having a good time.
My brother Theo hit a line drive that came right at me. I tried to get my glove in front of my crotch in time, but it didn’t work out right. The ball hit me right in the balls.
I threw off my glove, clutched my hands to my crotch and fell to the ground, in great pain and hardly able to breathe. In a moment, the pain started to subside, but I tend to be an over-actor, so I stayed on the ground, moaning, drawing out the attention I was suddenly getting. Twenty people were gathered around me in a huddle asking if I was alright.
Michele, who had been in the outfield, pushed her way to the forefront, and knelt down beside me. Since she was about to start nursing school, it was natural that she’d be the one to administer aid. She quickly assessed the situation and took action. The action she took was so bizarre that I jerk off to this day remembering it, although at the time, it terrified me.
She began by talking all sweet to me, as if she hadn’t been mad as a hornet ten minutes earlier. She asked where it hurt. I couldn’t say ‘my balls’ in front of all these family members, so I said, ‘my crotch area.’
“I’d better take a look,” she said, and started undoing my belt.
I thought she was just kidding around and let her unbuckle it.
Then, she had me roll over on my back. The pain was nearly gone, so that was easy enough to do. As soon as I was on my back, she began tugging at the top of my pants. Before I could react, and before I even understood what was happening, she tugged quite hard, and my pants slipped down, sliding awkwardly between my butt and the grass. My underwear went with them, and suddenly, there I was, all naked in front of everyone!
I was totally embarrassed! Literally! Grasping for my waistband, I tried to pull my pants back up. Michele wasn’t having it. She grabbed my wrists, holding them surprisingly firmly, and saying, “I’d better take a look.”
Now, I thought she had gained her revenge already. Enough was enough. I’d live through the embarrassment, and that would be that. But Michele is not quite normal. She’s what you might call outrageous. That’s one of the things that makes her endearing, but she can go to far. Like setting off fireworks at one in the morning. Or the time she slipped a dead mouse into my lunch.
Kneeling in front of me, she reached right down, in front of everyone, and started feeling my balls. She wasn’t entirely gentle, and the left one, the one that had been hit, hurt when she squeezed it. She announced to the crowd, “Nothing seems to be broken.”
She wasn’t done. “Let’s see if everything still works OK,” and with that, she stroked my penis. Of course it was totally soft, but she had a solution in mind.
Michele, although young, had already been with a number of guys, so she knew something about male genitals. She very lightly touched the frenulum, the little fold of skin directly below the glans, with her forefinger, barely tickling it. That’s quite a feeling. If you’ve never had it done, you ought to get someone to do it to you. Or, if you’re a girl, I suppose a very light touch of your inner labia or clitoral hood would be similar. My penis was erect within sixty seconds. Then she began stroking me. I mean, she grabbed my penis, and went to town. Despite everyone looking on, she just ‘did’ me, and within less than another minute, I was squirting cum on her hand and on my belly.
“Yup, seems OK,” she announced.
Michele then got up and walked away.
I quickly pulled up my pants, right over the sticky mess, and walked, limping, because the testicle still hurt a little bit, over to a picnic table. Several family members followed me and tried their best to offer comfort.
For many days after, I was so embarrassed I couldn’t even think about what had happened, let alone talk about it. I felt as if it was somehow my fault.
The buzz in the family for many years afterward is that I was a sort of victim, and that Michele, who everyone still loved, was one notch crazier than usual that day.
The funny thing is, every now and then, I think back on that day, and it makes me super horny.
* * *
On August 24, 2014, my shift as a security guard in Sonoma, California ended at two in the morning. Around two-thirty I returned to my second-floor apartment above some retail stores in downtown Napa. There are about 30 families living above a dozen jewelry stores, art galleries, convenience stores, and such. My guess is that everyone was sound asleep but me. My hours are so variable, that I need to do something before I can get to sleep. That something is masturbation. It calms me down.
I love to masturbate, slowly bringing myself to the edge several times before going over and ejaculating.
So, after making myself a sandwich and taking a shower, that’s what I was doing, wearing not a stitch of clothing. I had already made it to the edge a couple of times. My penis was rock-hard.
Suddenly I simultaneously heard and felt a big boom. I mean really big. My first thought is that someone had driven a car into one of the stores. But pictures had fallen off the walls, my kitchenette was a mess, and the floor was still shaking. Badly!
“Earthquake,” I yelled, as if there were other people in my apartment. I instinctively yelled it out. And the shaking got worse.
My mind overflowed with fear. I knew only one thing: I had to get downstairs and out of the building before it collapsed. Actually, it didn’t collapse, but I had no way of knowing that it wouldn’t at the time. In fact, I was sure it was going to turn into a pile of rubble at any second. I had to get out of there immediately. No time for clothes or anything. I had wanted to grab my laptop, but I didn’t do even that. I ran through the weirdly shaking doorway, down the stairs, along with a dozen other neighbors who were just as scared as I was.
I was sure I wasn’t going to make it, and was also fearing for my neighbors. Some of these people were really nice, and I wouldn’t want anything to happen to any of them. But make it, I did.
After what I remember as a remarkably slow motion drunken-like run down the stairs and out the door, I was standing safely in the street. Whew!
Except… Except… I wasn’t wearing anything. Everyone else had pajamas, nightgowns, or regular clothing on. One guy had a blanket wrapped around his waist. But not me. I was starkers. Worse, my penis was still partially hard, and pointing out at a 90 degree angle. Now, fear was rapidly being replaced with absolute shame. What was I going to do? How was I going to explain this erection, and my general nakedness? Surely, everyone who saw me must have known I had been masturbating. The neighbors who knew me were aware that I was currently single. I mean, if I could have appeared with an equally nude woman, indicating that we were in the throes of sex, well that would be better, right? Sort of OK in a way, don’t you think?
But no, there was only one explanation for my condition. It was absolutely obvious that I had been masturbating. What was I supposed to do now? What should I say? How should I react?
Fortunately, I’ve always been one to keep my cool, at least to some degree. As I thought it through, I realized there was absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone masturbates. If there’s anyone who doesn’t, they ought to.
So I was masturbating when the quake hit. Big deal. Was I in some way defective because I didn’t have time to put my clothes on? Of course not!
I decided to act the right way under the circumstances, and as my penis finished deflating, I started speaking with the people around me. They weren’t asking me why I was naked with an erection. No, they were asking me if anyone was injured. They were asking whether it had been an earthquake. You’d think it would have been obvious, but in such times, people’s minds play tricks, and some didn’t quite understand yet. They were asking whether anyone was still in the building. They were asking what we should all do now.
The streetlights were out, as was all the electricity in the neighborhood, but the moon was quite bright. Too bright, in my opinion. We heard some sirens in the distance. There was an odor of I don’t know, dust, smoke, or something in the air. The earthquake had now ended minutes ago, and we were all talking with each other. There was a kind of excitement in the air. Even though we were all inconvenienced, it was also a sort of adventure, for lack of a better word. We were all in it together, and as we were to discover in later months, it bonded us residents of the building together like a big family.
But I was naked, and no one else was. They were elegant people. The reason I say that is because no one pointed out the obvious. No one acted like I had done something wrong. They treated me as if I was one of them, which I was, even though I was the only one without clothes.
Just as I was starting to notice the chill night air, popping up in goosebumps all over, Mr. Blakely handed me a pair of large overalls. Where he got them, I don’t know, but I was extremely thankful.
The electricity came back on, and we were back in our building by 6am. I’m sure most of the residents set about putting the non-broken contents back into their refrigerators, setting their TVs back on their stands, and throwing all the broken stuff out, as I was.
Months after the incident, almost everyone in the building is different. Whereas we used to mumble “Hi” when passing in the hallway, we now have long conversations. We sometimes watch sports in each others’ living rooms. We share dinners. We are all truly friends.
And to this day, no one has ever mentioned my naked and erect situation that night.
* * *
Nurses, like university students everywhere, have study groups. There were six of us, five women and one man. We recently had a clinical, a hands-on practice, in which we assessed the female urogenital system. We used plastic models.
In the study group, as we were taking turns reading through the textbook and taking copious notes as usual, Cindy stopped us by asking, “Did you feel you really got the clinical? I mean, if you had to stick a speculum in a real woman, would you know what you’re doing?”
We had to agree that any of us would be nervous in our first actual pelvic exam. But that’s always the case with nursing. The first hands-on experience with a human being during pretty much anything makes us apprehensive.
A couple of us said that we had yet to see a real human cervix. The man in our group, a tall, thin, dark-haired stroke of luck, Jason, remained quiet.
Quietly, Cindy said, “Look what I found,” holding up a stainless steel speculum.
I felt an electric shock run through my lower abdomen and pussy, as I wondered what she might be proposing.
When us nursing students learned to give injections, we practiced on each other. When we learned ENT, Ear, Nose and Throat assessment, we stuck tongue depressors in each other. This was part of our study groups. But this was also much different. We were talking about a very private and intimate thing, here.
Well, no one had said anything yet. Carla chimed in, “Cindy, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
Jason was sitting there, kind of smirking, and not making eye contact with anyone. I can only imagine what was going through his head.
We discussed it at length, and decided that it would probably be best if we did practice giving each other pelvic exams. None of us admitted how sexually excited we were all getting.
One of the girls asked, “What about Jason?”
He looked up, grinning sheepishly, and still didn’t say anything. He was not much of a talker. He was, however, a thoughtful, intelligent man, and I always watched him out of the corner of my eye, thinking, hoping, he and I might get together some day. I figured if it was ever going to happen, I’d have to ask him, because I doubted he’d ask me out any time soon.
Carol said, “Well, just because he’s built different, he’s still one of us. He’s going to be a nurse, and he’ll have to do assessments too.”
Cindy had a deck of cards in her purse. Imagine that. Now, why would she just happen to have them? We decided to draw cards. and the person who got the lowest card would have to be the first subject.
Damned if it wasn’t me. I got the fucking two of hearts. I totally didn’t want to do this, but how would it look if I backed out? Worse, right? Besides, nurses do have to do personal, intimate things. Generally with patients, but while you’re learning…
‘OK, enough stalling,’ I thought, as all eyes were on me, including Jason’s.
Since we were studying at Lucia’s dining room, we went into her living room and I stood next to the sofa, hesitant.
Quietly, Carol said, “Jen?”
Still, I hesitated. Finally, Jason, said, “Hey Jen, you don’t have to do this. We’ll all understand, right?”
All the girls nodded their heads and said, “Yes, umhum, right.”
That did it. It would have been too easy, too cowardly to back out. Nurses have to learn to be strong and brave. It is not easy to be around someone who is puking, bleeding profusely, coughing endlessly, shitting themselves, or worse, in a dire emergency, when you’re the only one who can help. A nurse can make the difference between life and death. The nurse has to be strong.
‘Fuck it,’ I said to myself, as I put my thumbs on the hem of my skirt, catching the undies as well, and pulled the whole works down to my ankles. I’ll bet everyone was surprised that I am lasered down there, but that’s the way I like it.
I laid down on the sofa, but the angle was wrong. So, I got into Lucia’s recliner, which put me in a better position to be examined. Boy, did I feel awkward with my vagina exposed like that to everyone in the room. My eyes kept going to Jason, who was looking not at my crotch, for the most part, but at my eyes. I think he was feeling sorry for me. Or, I’d like to think he was admiring my bravery.
Cindy approached with the speculum, but it was dry. Lucia ran into her bedroom and came out with a tube of KY jelly. Cindy spread it on the speculum, then, as we were instructed in the clinical, she put some in my slit and rubbed it up and down. In real life, she would have been wearing gloves, but we didn’t have any.
When her fingers touched my vagina, I felt like I was going to orgasm right then and there. I didn’t, but it was close. As she spread the goo on me, her fingers kept brushing over my clit, and it was so fucking amazing! I would have loved for her keep doing that for a while, but of course we were trying to be serious here.
She pressed the speculum against my opening, and had to reposition and wiggle it a couple of times to get it in. At one point, it pinched quite severely, and I almost yelled out. Then it was in, and she worked the screw ratchet thing, opening me up. Boy, I have to admit, even though I was practically shaking from fear or embarrassment or something, it sure felt nice. I was feeling cool air currents swirling inside me. I had never felt that, and it was quite spectacular. I also felt stretched wide open, much wider than I had ever been in my life, and I was in some sort of heaven!
Once in position, all the girls and Jason took turns shining a flashlight inside, looking at my cervix. They all announced that it seemed normal, of course. Carol added that it was obvious I hadn’t had a child yet, since the opening was small and round, not a wider horizontal slit.
All too soon, Cindy was done, and removed the speculum. It is a fascinating feeling going in, and holding you stretched way open, but it feels like a disappointment coming out. Your whole body wants it to stay. In fact, once you get used to it, you want it to somehow open further, to really stretch you out.
Then it was Carol’s turn. She repeated the process, without pinching me in the slightest. Again, once I was stretched wide open, I felt that pre-orgasmic feeling. All too soon, she pulled it out.
Three more girls followed suite, all doing a nice job, all pretending to visually examine my cervix and showing it to the others. Lucia must have known how I was feeling, because she not only took extra long, she also forced the thing extra wide, stretching me somewhat painfully, but deliciously.
Finally, it was Jason’s turn. He approached hesitantly. His face was quite red. He was blushing! I looked at his pants, and wasn’t sure, but it seemed like he might be bulging slightly with an erection. At least I wanted to think maybe so.
Jason rubbed the KY on me, although I was already quite slippery. And it wasn’t just the KY, either. The orgasmic feeling hit me again, and I felt like I was kind of shivering. I wasn’t cold, so that was rather strange.
He applied the speculum, having no particular problem with it. They all shined the flashlight in and looked at my cervix. Jason then did something unexpected.
“Hey Lucia, do you have any Q-tips?” he asked.
She ran to her bathroom and came back with a handful.
“We have to take a culture,” he announced, and then he dipped the Q-tip directly into my os, which is what you call the actual opening of the cervix. It hurt a little, but it was oh, so exciting!
All the other students who had been only half-interested at that point perked up when he did the Q-tip thing. But he wasn’t done yet.
“I think we should perform a digital rectal exam as well.”
Scooping some of the copious fluid from my vaginal slit onto his index finger, he pressed it gently against my anus. I couldn’t wait any longer. The speculum began waving up and down a half-inch or so as it moved in rhythm to my orgasm. I think all the students knew what was happening. Some smiled wryly, but no one said anything. The orgasm continued longer than any I had ever experienced, and felt particularly strong as I could feel my vaginal walls trying in vein to expel the instrument. He applied pressure to his finger, and it slipped into my anus. Oh my god! My orgasm continued, and my whole vagina was pulsing against the speculum.
All too soon it was over. Two of the girls offered to be a subject so I could try the technique for myself, but like an idiot, I declined, feeling a little collapsed in that moment. Oh, how I wish I had taken them up on that opportunity. I’ll bet they wished I had taken them up on it as well. I can imagine that they were quite horny by then.
A week later, we did a urogenital exam on male plastic models. In that study group, the five girls more or less cornered Jason. He didn’t have a chance, getting examined by all five of us in a row. He was erect right from the start. I was the third to check him for hernia, feel his balls for lumps, examine his meatus, which is the technical term for peehole and then do a digital rectal exam on him. As I was pressing my finger into his butt, trying to understand exactly where his prostate was, and what it felt like, I felt him tighten all his muscles. Not understanding at first, I continued, but let off the fingertip pressure a bit, thinking maybe I was hurting him. Then, I felt rhythmic contractions around my finger. Just as I was understanding what was happening, I glanced back up at his penis, and there it was, shooting white stuff all over his stomach. All of us saw that. I think he was embarrassed, but no one said anything.
I understand that men collapse worse than us women after they orgasm, getting very sensitive to any further touching. So, I felt Jason was very brave in letting the last two women examine him.
When he and I began dating, he told me that he very much enjoyed all our study groups. He and I had our own private kind of ‘study groups,’ often.