Subject: The Lookout My family were naturists. They adopted this lifestyle when I was very young, around 5 or 6, and I took too it as easily as anything. I became perfectly accustomed to seeing Dad, Mom and my older sister naked around the house. Sweatpants and robes were always lying around on furniture in the living room and donned immediately when the doorbell rang, so I gathered, without having to be told, that our way of life wasn’t everybody’s. But I did begin to ask questions. Why do we go naked? Why doesn’t everyone? “Well, because for most of the year, the indoor temperature is perfectly comfortable and you don’t need clothes, Your mother has better things to do than wash clothes all day like some moms do, there’s nothing at all shameful about the human body that it needs to be covered up and hidden from view, in fact, it’s the most beautiful of all God’s creations.” These were things my Dad would say. He became a “militant nudist” and told me that the reason other people didn’t go nude at home was because they had unhealthy hang ups and those unhealthy hang ups were, in my Dad’s opinion, the cause of all human misery, including war and poverty. We lived in a middle class suburb, so it was nudity when we were alone in the house, clothed whenever we went out or someone came over. My Dad’s family owned a house in the country on a lake and when it was our turn to be there, we had sufficient privacy that we were naked inside and out. It was always fun to be able to go swimming and have outdoor barbecue in the buff for a change and not have to think about what the neighbors could see. My parents started investigating family friendly naturist resorts and ultimately found one to their liking in the eastern U.S. about a day’s drive from where we lived. My sister and I were left with some relatives the first time my parents visited it, but for the follow up visit a month later, we were taken along. It was basically identical to a kid’s summer camp, with a swimming pool, a big hall where meals were served and movies screened at night, a lake, a dock, some canoes and kayaks, some woods, a campground for tents, and lots of cabins, one of which my family rented, all to ourselves. It was all other families there, old fashioned two-parent nuclear families of mom, dad and kids. All ages. I don’t think there were any single adults. There weren’t many other boys there my age, some a few years older, and some girls. I learned that there were some families that virtually lived there year round, some that were there every weekend and some there for the whole summer, and some that were there only for a week or two, like my family. So, it was great. Basically a vacation at a lake resort. Only with naked people. And that’s where a little problem “arose.” For years I’d been accustomed to seeing my family naked, but now I was seeing other people naked and a physiological reaction males sometimes have to visual stimuli was suddenly making itself obvious. Actually, it had probably happened on a few occasions at home when gaziantep travesti I was younger, but typical of my family, nothing was said about it and it went unremarked upon. But it was different here. I was by now 11 and an 11 year old boy walking around sporting a full erection, bouncing up and down with his gait, was a little bit of an affront to the doctrine that nudity was about health and freedom and comfort and acceptance and not about sexuality. “Joe,” I heard one the other men saying to my dad, “I think you need to take him to the lookout.” “He’s too young for that.” my dad replied. “Apparently not” the other said, nodding toward my skyward pointing stiffie, poolside. “Tomorrow.” my dad said. The next morning, at sunrise, my dad came to me and said, “Dave, there’s something we need to go take care of, even before breakfast. Go pee now if you have to and then we’re going to go for a little walk.” So, in a few minutes, we were heading over to the far end of the lake, toward a hillside, that had two stairways built into it, diverging off into a v shape, one side with a sign beside it that said “Ladies restroom,” the other with the sign “Men’s restroom”. We walked up the side with the men’s restroom. There were restrooms in the big hall and one in every cabin, so these were her presumably for convenience. They were low-roofed buildings that looked like small versions of the cabins, made of shake and shingle with a set of stalls and a row of urinals and sinks, I’d already used the men’s room once or twice, but my dad kept going up the stairs past the men’s restroom. Quite a bit past it in fact, until we were up to a part of the hill where the woods began. Then I saw it. It looked like another restroom building, but it was partly nestled in the ground of the hillside, surrounded on most sides by trees. But the side facing the camp was clear and there was a large rectangular section of the wall, about shoulder high and wide as most of the wall itself cut out. I could see someone standing there looking out, down the hill toward the camp. As Dad and I came round to the other side, we went into the entrance, that had a privacy wall you had to walk around to come into the main room of the building, just like a restroom, but there were no urinals or stalls inside. There was one single sink. Otherwise, it was an empty room. Standing looking out of the big opening facing the camp, was the person whose face I saw on the way up the stairs. He was a teenage boy, about 17, with an amazing athletic body. You could see muscles in his back, his legs, his neck and his butt, which was clenching and unclenching right before my eyes. He was standing with legs spread slightly apart, his left hand on his left hip, his right hand in front of him doing something, and staring intently out the opening of the cabin wall in front of him. There was a picnic table bench up against that wall also in front of him, littered with messy bottles of hand lotion, corn huskers lotion, some kinds gaziantep masaj salonları of lotion I didn’t recognize and many half-gone rolls of paper towels. “You need to do what he’s doing.” my Dad said to me. I took a few steps toward him to see exactly what that was. And there it was. He had a huge “boner” as we kids called it. White and peach and pink and hairy and amazing. Shiny and slick with some kind of lotion, his hand wrapped around it, pistoning like a slow engine. He just cast a glance at me and smiled and turned his attention back to something out the window. My own penis reacted to this sight by standing and expanding so fast I could feel the skin on my head and neck being pulled downward. “Just put some of that lotion on your hand and rub it into your penis, like he’s doing.” My Dad said. I followed his instructions and instantly felt like a train had hit me! Believe it or not, I’d never masturbated before and the pleasurable feeling of my greased up hand squeezing my aching hungry erection was so intense, I immediately flung my hand away from my dick in helpless confusion. I looked at my dad and this boy in such complete confusion that they both laughed out loud. What the hell is this, my astonished expression said. The teenager, who continued his self-pleasuring without interruption said to me “Look!” and nodded toward something out the opening, toward the camp. And I did look and saw what was occupying him as he stroked: some girls. Three naked teenage girls were down at the lakeside, horsing around, doing hopscotch, leapfrogging, dipping their feet in the water or just standing around talking, all the while unknowingly providing fuel for this young man’s erotic imagination. I looked down at them and began imitating his movements. I just remember it felt so wonderful! I don’t know which sight was delighting me more, the girls or this fellow. I know that I really found both sights very stimulating and let my head go back and forth between the two! Then I heard a squishing sound on my other side and I turned my head to see that Dad had come up to the opening and lubed up and was joining us in the wank, enjoying the view like the young man and I. I understood then, in the midst of this overwhelmingly wonderful physical sensation, that what we were doing was natural, and right and simply a part of being a man. I felt good, just good, in every way. Physically and spiritually. After a few minutes, the young man began to moan out loud. His head started to shake a little, his shoulders hunched. He turned his toes inward and said, “Oh, here I come.” and I watched as his face contorted into a long O shape and his eyes at first bulged and then seemed to sink back in his head. Then, as he visibly tightened his grip on his dick and locked his elbow, pointing his member a little downward, rope after rope of beautiful silver shot forward out of him onto the wall beneath the view opening, making audible splats as they hit. I was entranced! I then gaziantep escort bayan noticed that the entire wall was like a Jackson Pollock painting of white and yellow streaks on red painted plywood, dripping downward. After a few seconds, the young man shook the excess cum off his hands onto the floor, shook it off his still hard cock with a few whip-crack jerks and then ripped off some paper towels and cleaned himself off. He went over to the sink and washed his hands and his genitals. I watched him as his stiff aching member gradually relaxed, in little spasms, until it stopped standing upright and just nestled itself, regally and calmly on the pillow of his scrotum. And I understood, that’s why Dad brought me up here. He turned to us and nonchalantly said “You dudes have a great one!” to which my Dad replied “You too.” and he was gone, nakedly and serenely walking back down the hill toward the camp. Within a few seconds of his departure, I, standing and masturbating with my own father in a little wooden building on a hillside, had my first ever orgasm. It was like being transported across a galaxy and back in a matter of seconds. I not only shook when it happened, but I was hit with involuntary shudder after shudder for a full minute afterward. But my penis remained dry. No silver ropes shooting out of me to make splats on the wall. I wasn’t contributing to the collaborative abstract masterpiece under the view opening. I think my dad caught my new confused look and instantly understood, for he said “You’ll start squirting cum in about a year.” Ah, I thought. It’s called cum. “Watch me now.” he said. And I looked at his penis, hard and shiny in his oscillating grip as bright white milky blobs squirted out his gaping dick hole, and rose and fell forming parabolas before hitting the wall and the floor as he was deliberately “flinging,” unlike the young man earlier, whose ejaculate more resembled bullets being fired from a gun, my Dad’s looked more like squirts from a hose that was being kinked and unkinked and wildly waved around. To this day, I am fascinated to watch men climax, to see the different ways their bodies and faces convulse, to compare the varied physics of ejaculation. “So,” my dad said as he cleaned himself off, “you understand now, you can just come up here and take care of yourself like this as you need to, instead of walking around flopping a big aching boner in front of you, right?” “Yes!” I said enthusiastically. “Good,” he said. “We call this place The Lookout. You can see pretty much the whole camp from here. All the men come up here for relief around once a day, the boys come up three or four times a day. You can come up as often as you need to, but don’t don’t hang out here after you’re done. Do your thing, clean up and get out. And don’t talk to other men while they’re rubbing out. They need to concentrate, do you understand.” I understood. “Good.” he said again. “And one more thing. We don’t generally talk about this place and particularly not with any of the women or girls. You got that? I’m sure some of them know this place is here, and what it’s for, but we just don’t talk about it with them, okay?” I said “Okay.” Then, as he had done all my life, he bent down and kissed me on the forehead and tossled my hair. He put his hand on my shoulder and said “Come on, I bet you’re starved. Let’s go get some breakfast.”

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