My purpose in submitting this somewhat long experience is not to embarrass or belittle the person involved - nor to offend any reader who is sensitive to beautiful people like the one I am calling "Blake." Instead of that, I hope we can appreciate how naive, spontaneous and innocent Blake's actions were and how intense his physical need must have been. For those who recognize this incident, I submitted it years ago to the old blog operated by Oddity and known as First Experiences Raw. That blog later shut down.
I was a high school senior and volunteered to be a "big brother" on an outing for special students. It was an athletic competition tailored to the needs of the participants. Each special child was paired with a mainstream partner.
Prior to the trip the volunteers and special kids spent time getting to know each other. Blake was fifteen or sixteen, but he only had the social and intellectual skills of a much younger boy. I learned to interact with him on his innocent level while keeping ready to provide protection and advice if needed. We became friends and in accord with the rules, we sat together on the bus.
The field events and ball games were difficult for Blake. He had serious coordination problems that prevented him from participating in any kind of ball sport. He was quickly frustrated, limited to contests such as the rope-pull.
However, late in the afternoon Blake entered a free-style foot race and won third place! Everybody was thrilled for Blake, especially me. He was the proudest kid you can imagine, strutting around and showing off the medal hanging around his neck.
The win was clearly a major milestone for Blake, probably one of the best things that had ever happened to him. He was hyper-excited, running up to complete strangers, shaking the medal at them, and announcing "I won!"
It took us a while to get seated in the bus because Blake wanted to make sure everybody knew that he'd won the foot race. The fact that he'd taken only third place made no difference to him. He was delirious with joy, exchanging high-fives with everyone in sight.
Finally we were in our seats, Blake next to the window and me on the aisle. As soon as we were settled, he told me "I won!"
"I know!" I answered for the umpteenth time. "Good job!"
"I won," he said over and over, his words becoming softer as he constantly repeated them. And at the same time that he he whispered to himself, he seemed to discover what was inside his shorts. Blake simply touched himself at first. Then he began squeezing his crotch. He continued to whisper "I won!" while rearranging and manipulating his privates.
Soon Blake had an obvious cone of fabric making an unmistakable tent in his nylon shorts. He now became preoccupied with his boner, still whispering "I won!" while he mashed and squeezed his erect dick.
And then Blake began the activity that I'd been fearing. He put his fingers around the pillar of nylon and slid them slowly up and down, as if he was testing the operation of his hand. Rather than surrounding his tent with a closed fist, he placed his fingers parallel to his dick and slid them up and down. At first he barely touched his nylon bulge, moving his fingers gently, stopping after every few strokes to re-position his stiffie or give himself a squeeze. Sometimes he forced the cloth all the way down to his groin so that his nylon-clad erection made a definite tower above his belly. Then he resumed stroking the tall bump that made his nylon shorts poke up. Completely heedless of a bus full of people, Blake settled into a pattern of repetitious strokes that gradually became faster until his fingers were performing a definite masturbation.
I was horribly embarrassed for him. "Blake, people can see what you're doing," I whispered, leaning toward him. "Let's don't do that."
"Oh," he answered, looking puzzled. He remained still for a few seconds, thinking it over and periodically squeezing his hidden dick which was still sticking up like a tent pole even though he wasn't touching it. Then he made a decision and changed his technique. Blake now lifted his elastic waistband with his left hand. Next he inserted his right hand completely into into his pants. This alteration hid his hand but it did not hide his activity. The hand inside his pants was now going back and forth, making a constantly visible bumping effect. His entire lap was soon banging around.
Blake, the gentle boy with the mind of a little child, was masturbating the erection of Blake the needy teenager. I picked up his gym bag and set it on my thigh in an effort to hide what Blake was doing.
In telling this story I'm now going to skip several minutes during which Blake calmly masturbated in a bus full of people while I felt the heat of humiliation creeping up my neck and across my face. He continued to wank inside his shorts, and his lap continued to pulse with his strokes.
I hoped the gym bag was hiding his wank but I had a feeling that anybody who looked our direction knew exactly what Blake was doing. To make things worse, I had sprouted a colossal hard-on of my own that I did not dare touch.
Blake continued to stroke himself, stopping once to pull the waistband further open, apparently so he could take a look at his hard-on. Then he resumed pumping himself, both hands now inside his shorts. From time to time he whispered "I won!" while he jacked off in total innocence. As his masturbation progressed Blake appeared to become hypnotized, completely unaware of his surroundings, staring fixedly at his bumping lap and whispering "I won." I tried not to look, not to watch the poor boy's public wank. But his throbbing shorts were constantly visible in the corner of my eye.
My young special friend sped up, apparently going for broke. I couldn't tell whether other people were observing him or not; I was too mortified to look around in the bus. Blake, now trembling with more rapid effort, whispered over and over "I won!"
He was about to say those magic words once more when his climax hit and he jumped. At the instant that he flinched, Blake made a strange noise. Not words, as far as I could tell, just a strange incoherent sound that seemed to express his happy joy at his orgasm.
Blake had finished stroking himself. Now he pulled his hands out and wiped them on his pants. Having successfully jacked off, Blake sat perfectly still with both hands clamped around his crotch. A ragged pattern of dark wetness oozed through the fabric of the shorts.
"I won!" he whispered, leaning toward me while straightening his shorts. "I won!"
"You sure did," I told him, wondering if he might mean this time that he'd "won" his masturbation.
Now, here's my take on this experience: What Blake did inside his pants was a celebration of his win. True, he celebrated in a way that society would not have approved of - yet I think that given Blake's innocence, he must have felt that his spontaneous masturbation was a very satisfactory conclusion to his day.
I was completely embarrassed for the kid, but I strangely felt he had achieved an additional bit of happiness to go with his foot race win. As for me, I was mad as hell at myself because of a spreading feeling of warm, wet goo that had flooded my own crotch within seconds of Blake's climax.
The story has a "PS". Blake's parents were thankful and gracious to me when we returned to the school. The boy himself was just completely delighted about everything: the day, the medal, the bus ride, his friendship with me -- just everything. I was scared that he would even brag on his masturbation, but he kept that to himself. However, when they got Blake home and undressed him, it must have been obvious that Blake had ejaculated. I steeled myself for trouble, but nothing ever happened.