Jocked Runner
Jockstrap Fan
Two occasions spring to mind (the first one a very near miss, so to speak):
In my first year at university we had shared rooms - not great. The allocation of occupants was simply done on an alphabetical basis and my assigned room-mate was very quiet and unworldly. He was away for the weekend - or so I thought - and I was in need of a little relief. Trousers and underwear down, reclining on my bed, I jettisoned a significant load and lay back in that state of hypnagogic stupor. I could so easily have fallen into full unconsciousness, supine, semi naked with slowly detumefying dick on full display. I eventually came to and it was as I was throwing the “clear up” tissues in the bin and doing up the button on my trousers' waistband that I heard his key in the door and he entered with his parents. I don’t think he had entered the room (and speedily exited again?) earlier whilst I was in my post-orgasmic state of recumbent torpor, but, to this day, I can’t be absolutely sure...
I was on a post-school holiday in Italy and was spending the day on the beach. Of course I was still at the mercy of the tsunami of teenage hormones and could barely go for half a day without broadcasting my seed. I strolled into the sea fully intending to have a swim but as I waded deeper into the warm embrace of the gentle waves I was overcome by the urgent need to unburden myself of excess fulminating procreative juices. Once the water was above waist height I dropped my Speedos, allowing my cock to spring to its full turgid glory and began my maritime onanistic extravaganza. Only as the last of my opalescent stream of masculinity was dissipating into the briny Mediterranean did I become fully cognisant of a nearby Italian family who had been playing some sort of ball game in the shallows. They had now stopped their cavorting and were intently staring at me. Although my Italian is quite impoverished and almost limited to that necessary for the purchase of comestibles and beverages, I became acutely aware that their commentary was not unstintingly complimentary. With the alacrity of a scalded cat I dove under the surface, retrieved my Speedos and swam off, only daring to return to the shore a few hundred yards along. I scurried back to my towel and, raiments gathered, found a distant spot on sands anew. I was in mortal fear of arrest and incarceration or deportation. Fortunately there were no juridical consequences but I went sightseeing the following day...
In my first year at university we had shared rooms - not great. The allocation of occupants was simply done on an alphabetical basis and my assigned room-mate was very quiet and unworldly. He was away for the weekend - or so I thought - and I was in need of a little relief. Trousers and underwear down, reclining on my bed, I jettisoned a significant load and lay back in that state of hypnagogic stupor. I could so easily have fallen into full unconsciousness, supine, semi naked with slowly detumefying dick on full display. I eventually came to and it was as I was throwing the “clear up” tissues in the bin and doing up the button on my trousers' waistband that I heard his key in the door and he entered with his parents. I don’t think he had entered the room (and speedily exited again?) earlier whilst I was in my post-orgasmic state of recumbent torpor, but, to this day, I can’t be absolutely sure...
I was on a post-school holiday in Italy and was spending the day on the beach. Of course I was still at the mercy of the tsunami of teenage hormones and could barely go for half a day without broadcasting my seed. I strolled into the sea fully intending to have a swim but as I waded deeper into the warm embrace of the gentle waves I was overcome by the urgent need to unburden myself of excess fulminating procreative juices. Once the water was above waist height I dropped my Speedos, allowing my cock to spring to its full turgid glory and began my maritime onanistic extravaganza. Only as the last of my opalescent stream of masculinity was dissipating into the briny Mediterranean did I become fully cognisant of a nearby Italian family who had been playing some sort of ball game in the shallows. They had now stopped their cavorting and were intently staring at me. Although my Italian is quite impoverished and almost limited to that necessary for the purchase of comestibles and beverages, I became acutely aware that their commentary was not unstintingly complimentary. With the alacrity of a scalded cat I dove under the surface, retrieved my Speedos and swam off, only daring to return to the shore a few hundred yards along. I scurried back to my towel and, raiments gathered, found a distant spot on sands anew. I was in mortal fear of arrest and incarceration or deportation. Fortunately there were no juridical consequences but I went sightseeing the following day...
I quickly got dressed, hastily exited the piss-trashed men's room, ran to my car and made a quick getaway like I'd just robbed a bank. When I got home, I was so horny from the risky, piggy, depraved acts I'd just committed that I placed the piss-stinking jock over my face and masturbated furiously, soon adding yet another load of sperm to that abused Futuro athletic supporter. 
