First-Time Golden Showers

by Shane Whitman

  7 young men describe their first golden shower. We come to these games in a variety of ways: intentionally, accidentally, or sometimes by force. There might be one man, or who can bother counting the participants?

  Randy’s roommate Howie doesn’t have money for rent, so Randy suggests a more liquid form of payment.

  Abner is a British spy who counts Colonial soldiers marching to battle in the Revolutionary War. He thinks he is hiding in the perfect spot behind a bush, until evening showers begin.

  Paul stops at a Cape Cod rest area, steps into the woods to take a leak, and discovers a new world.

  Pedro cleans below decks on a pirate ship roaming the Caribbean in 1688. It is arduous and unpleasant work, until he discovers his secret spot at the stern.

  Kean drinks lots of beer at his fraternity initiation. Later he learns what happens after his frat brothers finish their beers.

  Scotty is a part of a skeleton crew on the International Space Station. He is bored until Russian cosmonaut Yuri invents a new zero-gravity game.

  Wesley and Max have been lovers since high school. They think they know everything about each other, until the couple celebrates their 10th anniversary at the waterfall swimming hole where they first met.

  NOTE: ALL of these stories previously appeared in the book 14 Days of Golden Showers.

  First-Time Golden Showers

  Shane Whitman

  Contents

  1. Randy

  2. Abner

  3. Paul

  4. Pedro

  5. Kean

  6. Scotty

  7. Wesley

  Also by Shane Whitman

  1

  Randy

  Randy was a 25-year-old long-distance truck driver. His work kept him on the road, where he found plenty of anonymous sex at truck stops. He lived in a two-bedroom apartment and always found a roommate to share the rent.

  At first, Howie was just another roommate. We split expenses, and he kept an eye on things while I drove.

  I’m gay, and Howie was straight, but that was never an issue. I got all the action I could want when I parked my tractor-trailer overnight in truck stops. He neither cared what I did nor had a problem meeting up with women for his own needs.

  Naturally, I noticed he was an attractive metrosexual man. He had a slender figure and dressed to highlight it. His closely trimmed beard added a touch of toughness. I understood why he was popular with the ladies.

  For the first few months, we had no problems. Then one night I returned early from a cross-country trip. Howie was in the shower and didn’t hear me enter. He’d left the bathroom door ajar, so I noticed his blurred body through the shower stall glass. I tried to leave it at that.

  But I couldn’t stop from sneaking a peek every time I passed the open door. When Howie turned off the shower, I kept quiet so he wouldn’t hear me.

  He opened the shower stall and grabbed a towel. I spied on him while he dried off and caught my first glimpse of his dick. It was huge, but I dared not linger.

  I heard something go pitter-patter against a bathroom fixture. Was Howie was taking a leak? I rushed to check.

  Howie caught me from the corner of his eye, turned toward the door, and said, “Oh, Randy, I didn’t hear you come in. Good trip?”

  I was speechless. My roommate stood naked in front of the toilet urinating. At the same time — without embarrassment — the dude talked with me. These heterosexuals and their nonchalance about nudity could drive me crazy.

  He said, “Hey, you OK, Randy?”

  I got a grip, tore my eyes from his crotch, and said, “Yeah. Just a bit tired, lots of traffic on the way back.” I went into my bedroom and shut the door.

  I might have spent all of ten seconds watching Howie piss, but I could not get the image out of my mind. In the solitude of my room, I dropped my pants and whacked off. On the other side of the cheap wall, in the bathroom, I heard my roommate pee — and as I came, I visualized his urinating a few feet away.

  Over the next few weeks, I became obsessed with Howie pissing. I forced myself to stay away when he used the bathroom, but when I jerked off, I thought of Howie giving me a golden shower. These thoughts were new to me, and they would not leave me alone.

  On the road, I had no problem hooking up with other drivers. We headed to the back of one of our cabs for a hot quickie then went our separate ways. But I couldn’t do that any longer. Sucking no longer got me off. I only came when I imagined Howie pissing on my dick, and then I exploded. I knew I wanted to explore water sports, but I had a logistical problem: it would not do to pee all over the back of my cab.

  It might be worth my life to suggest piss play to a stranger in the tractor-trailer parking area. We’re a macho lot. It’s one thing to share a blowjob, quite another and demeaning matter to get drenched with urine.

  I began streaming videos of golden showers. My mind’s eye photoshopped Howie’s face into each scene. I jerked off frequently and came quickly. But I knew my roommate was straight, so my fantasies merely frustrated me more.

  The day it happened, I returned from a long trip around dinnertime. I hopped into the tub to wash off dirt and grime from changing a tire. A long, luxurious shower relaxed me while the bathroom filled with steam.

  Howie startled me when he opened the bathroom door and called, “Randy? OK if I come in and talk with you?”

  “Sure.” I didn’t mind my roommate watching me shower — I enjoy exhibiting myself.

  He began, “I have a problem we need to talk about.” Then he hemmed and hawed.

  Meanwhile, the hot water ran out, and the shower was getting cold. I shut it off then asked, “What problem?”

  While Howie hesitated, I opened the shower stall door and grabbed a towel. I enjoyed exhibiting myself and would jerk off to this later. Howie examined my body and — for a brief though unmistakable moment — he considered my dick.

  “Listen, Randy, here’s my problem.” Again, he paused. I toweled my backside while exposing a full frontal view. How fascinating! Howie was uncomfortable yet also interested in some way.

  “I don’t have money to pay for this month’s rent. Or utilities. And I don’t know when I’ll be able to cover it.”

  “Huh,” I said. I needed Howie’s share, and he knew it. My regular driving income couldn’t cover the full expenses. If I didn’t replace him with a paying roommate, I’d have to take on some extra and probably less pleasant cargos.

  “So here’s the deal. I see you eyeing me all the time. I don’t mean you’ve done anything wrong — you haven’t hit on me, haven’t even suggested anything. Not even double entendre.”

  I guessed I hadn’t been as subtle as I thought. Howie had beautiful creamy skin, so I enjoyed examining any exposed part of him. He must have noticed, and Howie was acknowledging my interest.

  He gathered his courage. “Randy, I’m willing to offer you… something… in return for letting me stay on here until I catch up on rent.”

  A nasty thought flashed through my mind. I said, “Yes? Define something.”

  Howie’s fingers turned inward and pointed at his chest. “Me.”

  “Sex?” I asked. “You’re offering to pay your rent by fucking with me.”

  He shook his head sideways. ”Not the whole deal. My asshole’s off limits. No romantic stuff — no kissy-poo or cuddling.”

  I was stunned. Some part of me must have understood immediately because my dick began hardening.

  Not for the first time in my life, I let my little head do the talking. “All right, Howie, here’s what will keep you under this roof rent free for another week. First, you will remove your clothing; I might as well enjoy a good view of your merchandise. Then you will stand direct
ly in front of me on that side of the tub. You’ll watch me play with myself, though frankly, I don’t imagine I’ll last long. When I give the word, you’ll piss on my dick.”

  I had just described my favorite golden showers fantasy, the video I frequently streamed while mentally superimposing Howie’s head. My dick got rock hard, and I saw him check out my woodie.

  “That’s it?” he gasped. “You want me to take a leak on you? That’s all you want?”

  “Basically, yes. You have a problem with it? If so, you can pack. Otherwise, you can put your clothes on the toilet seat.” I couldn’t believe I had offered up such an ultimatum to my roommate. I figured he would probably walk, but if he stayed…

  I returned the towel to the hook then sat down in the tub. It chilled my butt, but I waited silently. Howie was a good-looking guy, and I had spent the last month dreaming about him. Losing a week’s rent to fulfill my fantasy seemed like a bargain.

  Howie must have agreed. Without a word, my roommate removed his shoes and socks. I guessed we had a deal. Howie didn’t hesitate to remove and neatly fold both his shirt and his pants.

  Howie grinned sheepishly, though he didn’t seem unhappy so much as uncertain. Finally, he yanked off his u-trou, let them fall to the bathroom rug, and stepped next to the tub.

  I drew in my breath and gazed in wonder. Howie’s cock, up close, was so real. Silky, off-white skin covered most of his body, while his prick had mottled beiges with streaks of tan.

  His inner thighs were hairy. Not the thick, brown hair on his head, but delicate ringlets. Although Howie had manscaped his pubes, a fine fuzz had already grown back.

  I felt faint-headed until I reminded myself to exhale. Or maybe it was all the blood flowing to my cock. My erection was hard, throbbing, and ready for action. Automatically I placed my hand on my knob and stroked. Gently, I reminded myself, because my loins were already primed to cum.

  “So,” Howie said, “what should I do?”

  I glanced up and, for the first time that evening, we looked into each other’s eyes. Shame — that red tingle of humiliation — lit up my nerves. Howie knew what I wanted, and what must he think of me?

  That said, he was the one who had offered his body as rent. He was standing in front of me displaying his tight nutsack and… could it be… yes… Howie’s cock was growing. I rubbed myself with renewed vigor.

  My eyes pleaded with him as my voice begged, “Piss on me, Howie. Please piss on me.” I added with an urgency that surprised even me, “Now!”

  I watched Howie’s dick in anticipation of his urine starting. Instead, blood flowed into his prick's tissues; my straight roommate was being aroused by standing naked in front of me. His cock became half hard, not really an erection, though far from flaccid.

  My cock had no such doubts. I forced myself to motionlessly squeeze my bone. Howie’s prick — inches in front of my eyes — beat any porn.

  He said, “I’m having trouble doing this while you watch. I’m sometimes pee-shy. I’m trying. Really I am.”

  While Howie couldn’t go, I feared I would cum. I held back my orgasm.

  We waited for a minute. I was edging — hoping Howie would pee before I came.

  Suddenly he leaked and exclaimed, “Thank God!”

  A single burst of liquid shot out his piss slit. Because Howie was partly tumescent, the stream arced up, twisted, and reflected light, before splashing into the tub.

  The next few drops shot out and up — pale yellow jewels, each blob a golden prism — then splattered against my cheeks. It sort of, almost, felt like Howie was cumming on me, not pissing on me. Except this went on much longer.

  “This is so weird,” Howie said. “It’s hard to pee with you watching.”

  “Keep going, keep pissing on me.”

  One moment a massive stream pounded my chest and flowed rivers down my belly. The next second droplets misted my hair like a fine rain.

  Warm and wet. Molten pee poured over my prick and ignited every nerve. I didn’t need my hand; rivulets of pee pleasured my cock flesh.

  He said, “You’re enjoying this. I’m taking a leak on you, and I can’t believe you’re turned on.”

  I grunted in agreement. The sensuality of Howie’s piss overwhelmed my flesh. My first golden shower experience exceeded anything I might have expected from streaming porn; nothing prepared me for the sheer carnality.

  His half-erect prick bounced a bit then gushed pee directly onto my erection. Somewhere inside I felt the first stirrings of orgasmic inevitability.

  Howie startled me by asking, “Is this a queer thing?”

  I couldn’t answer because my universe had contracted to awareness of his dick, its piss slit, and the golden liquid stream anointing my flesh. Big prick, hot pee, electric innards.

  It happened so quickly that I could only gasp, “I’m cumming.”

  My endless ejaculation mixed with Howie’s man pee. His trembling cock merged with my nerves. I lost myself in cumming.

  As Howie’s urine flow tapered off, I tried to catch my breath. I couldn’t speak; I could barely take in the myriad sensations.

  I noticed the scent of urine. In another situation I would have been bothered, but not then. My entire body was drenched, and my skin tingled. I became aware of sitting in a pool of warm pee. For the first time, I felt a stab of dirtiness, but that feeling soon melted in the liquid.

  My erection remained firm and pleasing.

  Howie stood naked front of me, beside the tub. He neither moved nor spoke. His golden shower surpassed any fantasy. I wanted more.

  I hoped my roommate’s money troubles continued forever because I enjoyed collecting my rent in liquid gold instead of hard cash.

  2

  Abner

  Abner enlisted in the British Army just before the War of American Independence began. He is assigned to spy on the Colonials and count the number of men joining their new militia.

  I would have done anything to get out of the narrow-minded town in Lancashire where I was born. There was only one option, so I joined the British Army. The New World colonies had just declared their independence and King George III wasn’t going to take that lying down. Soon I was on a ship to America. Our six-week voyage across the Atlantic was the worst experience of my life, but most of us survived.

  Boston was a small port, about 10,000 people, under siege by the rebels. Angry local farmers fired their weapons at any soldiers who attempted to leave the city, so we were confined to Boston proper.

  General Howe wanted to determine how many colonials were enlisting in their Continental Army. He needed spies to count their troops. Since I had excellent eyesight and a way with numbers, my regiment commander volunteered me. I received a quick briefing from the General then, during a foggy evening, snuck out of town on the Boston Post Road.

  I was assigned to identify regiments from west of the city as they marched to join up with General Washington. After a day’s hike, I found an excellent spot outside of Dedham, perhaps 10 miles from the main colonial force.

  The highway was straight for a mile then took a sharp curve near the bank of the Neponset River. I had an unobstructed view of the road for that mile, then every traveler had to turn sharply and pass directly in front of me. There would be plenty of time to observe and note who went by.

  I could not very well allow the American troops to see me. They would surely ask questions, but I had no cover story. I selected that particular spot to spy in large part for its hiding place.

  The road was fronted by thick, leafy green bushes the height of a man. Travelers could not see what was behind the plants. I crawled under the growth, found a spot to sit, and made myself comfortable. I could see clearly while shade from the leaves made me invisible.

  Not an hour later the first men marched by. I counted 5 officers on horseback and 48 troops on foot. As they took the curve, they strode not ten yards from me. I overheard enough conversation to identify them as a regiment from Hartford. More interest
ingly, they discussed their shortages of ammunition. General Howe would be pleased to get this information.

  Most shocking to me was the sad state of those soldiers’ outfits. They had no uniforms, unlike our troops, who proudly wore redcoats onto the battlefield. No two men dressed alike. Their clothes were ragged.

  And they were sloppy! They marched like children, without any semblance of order. There was no comparison to British soldiers.

  As the sun set I prepared to relax for the night; in 1776 troops rarely traveled in the dark. I cleared a sleeping area in the undergrowth. It was about 6 x 2 feet, barely enough room for me to spread out, so my bedding was a tight fit. The evening was hot and muggy; I removed my clothes and lay naked in the dark. My head rested nearer the road.

  Before closing my eyes, I sipped on a pint of warm ale I had carried with me. I was pleasantly inebriated when I first heard the voices. I kept still and was able to make out snippets of conversation. There were about a dozen men, all volunteers from the Worcester area. They were making camp for the night beside the bend in the road — next to my hiding place.

  I froze. I dared not sit up lest the Americans hear me. I listened intently.

  The Colonials made the usual sounds of men preparing their campsite. They started a fire, but the blaze barely illuminated the undersides of the brush above me.

  They spoke rudely of the British monarch and his agents in Massachusetts. I dared not repeat in my report their low opinions of our troops.

  Eventually, their camp was set up. The Colonials gathered around the campfire for a meal. I envied them; I carried only dry meat and days-old bread. They drank copiously and spoke approvingly of the local brew.