How Do You Orgasm In The Shower? My First Shower Orgasm – Teenage Sexual Discovery ~ Angela Goodnight

Teenagers making love in the showerWhen I first met Peter my parents house only had a bath with a rubber hand-held shower attachment which we couldn’t use for showering, only for hair washing while in the bath.

We did have showers at school to use after netball or other sports, but they were communal showers without even dividing curtains or walls. Those had fixed shower heads high up the wall so options were somewhat restricted.

During our weekend of love in late 1964, we had Peter’s house to ourselves from Friday night to Sunday morning while his parents were away at a wedding.

I was delighted to discover he had a shower and, after a Friday evening packed with sexual adventure, the next morning I had the opportunity to use it, but even better than using the shower was the fact Peter was going to use it with me.

I have retold the shower section of my Autumn of Love book for my post today.

Do remember, and please don’t be judgemental because we’re still together fifty years later, I was fourteen (a very mature fourteen) and Peter was sixteen so this really was the most wonderful sexual adventure and an amazing and exciting learning curve for us. Our curiosity about each other’s bodies was literally boundless.

It is morning, Peter has brought us tea and is sitting naked on the side of the bed. Enjoy:

– o O o –

I sat up beside him so my bare legs, protruding from beneath my nightie, pressed tightly against his. We enjoyed each other’s warmth as we drank the tea he had brought to wake me.

About ten minutes later I said excitedly, “Show me your shower.”

I placed my empty cup on the bedside table and stood up.

“Come on,” he said, placing his mug on the dressing table, and led me by the hand through to the bathroom.

Once in the bathroom he went to the cupboard for a towel for me, but I pulled my nightie over my head and as he turned back he watched, in apparent amazement, as I sat on the loo and peed. I looked up at him smiling.

“My God, that’s a surprise,” he exclaimed.

I was puzzled and asked, “What?”

“Well, apart from you having no inhibitions, I didn’t expect you to pee with your knees tight together like that.”

I laughed, reached between my thighs and wiped myself with some toilet tissue and stood up.

“Well, admit it, you couldn’t see anything so why not? I don’t feel I have to hide anything from you,” I said, feeling as if I was being criticised, “Both my mother and I have often peed in front of each other in the bathroom. Don’t suppose I would in front of my father, but he’s often seen me naked. We don’t have any inhibitions at home. I’ve seen him naked, too. No big deal.”

“No, I suppose not,” he laughed, “but don’t you get it all over you with your legs together?”

“Weird conversation, Peter,” I said, consternation on my face, then I calmed a little, smiled again and decided he was really curious so I’d answer his curiosity properly.

“The opposite really. Keeping your legs together forces it out of particular part, whereas legs apart I think could be messy. No direction. Not sure, never actually tried,” and I laughed again.

“Oh.”

“Is that it? I give you a detailed understanding of how girls pee and you say ‘oh’?”

He laughed with me. “Sorry, Angie. Still learning, I guess.”

“OK, my turn,” I announced, stood up and flushed.

“Your turn what?”

“Now I get to watch you pee,” I laughed.

“That’s not fair,” he protested, “I couldn’t see anything at all and your bits are all hidden away. Mine dangle,” and we both laughed again.

“Come on – pee,” I insisted, feeling I was now getting my own back for his questions.

Reluctantly he walked to the loo, lifted the cover, the seat and took hold of his penis ready.

“Wait,” I shouted and he stopped himself, just in time I think, and turned slightly towards me.

“What now?”

“You hold it,” I said.

“Of course, how else would I aim it?”

“Suppose so. Let me,” I demanded.

“Oh, Angie. No, you’ll make a mess.”

“No I won’t, you’ll teach me. Anyway, you said your penis was mine, so I want to hold it and that’s that. No argument.”

“Really?” he gave me an embarrassed grimace.

I came around to his left and held it in my right hand with my fingers curled over the top and thumb underneath.

“Not like that,” he laughed, “like this,” and he showed me how. I came around to his other side and held it between my first two fingers like a cigar.

“Why?”

I think he could do without these questions as my touch was starting an erection.

“Just shut up and do it and be sure to aim it and don’t pull the skin back or it will go everywhere. If this erection takes off you’ll have to really point it downwards.”

I giggled and held it as he’d asked.

“You ready?”

I nodded and suddenly there was a stream or urine and I quickly had to adjust the direction to aim it into the centre of the bowl.

“Keep it pointed down and don’t let go,” he commanded as his erection continued to try to cause havoc to the operation.

I obeyed and when he finished he contracted his pelvic muscles to eject the last few drops.

“Now slide your fingers along to force out any more.”

I tried but fumbled as I got to the end, ended up holding only his foreskin, dropped him and we both laughed as it didn’t drop, but pointed straight out in front of him, semi-erect.

“Peter. Control yourself!” I laughed.

Instead of shaking it as I had expected, he used a piece of toilet tissue to dry himself and said, “See, it requires real skill.”

“Ha ha,” I responded and we both laughed again.

“Fascinating,” I said and flushed the loo for him, putting down both the seat and cover as I washed my hands.

I continued, “Now my shower,” and walked towards the cabinet.

“OK, but for what you just coerced me into, I get to wash you in the shower.”

“Oh, anything but that. Please don’t throw me into the briar patch,” I giggled.

“Eh?”

“Go and read Brer Rabbit and the Briar Patch.”

It wasn’t a story he knew so he didn’t know what I meant and asked anxiously, “Can I wash you, please?”

“Of course, I’d like nothing more,” I said laughing.

He brought over a couple of bath towels and reached into the shower and turned it on. After a few seconds he asked me to test if the temperature was OK. I said it was and stepped in. He followed me.

The space was larger than expected with two in it and first we cuddled each other in the shower jet, the water running off our faces and down our bodies. It felt really close and lovely while I told him the tale of Brer Rabbit conning the fox into throwing him into the briar patch, by pretending it would be the worst thing that he could possibly do to him. The wily rabbit, who spent a lot of time under briar patches, of course, then escaped to live another day.

He squeezed soap from the dispenser and started washing my shoulders and arms while I stood still and smiled at him, enjoying his attentions.

Next my breasts were soaped and I closed my eyes to enjoy it. In the tight space his erection touched my hip and I looked down and laughed.

“Good grief, Peter, can’t you make Zebedee behave?” I giggled and he turned me around so he could soap my back and worked his way down to my buttocks, allowing his penis to flick across them from side to side. I reached around behind myself and gripped it tightly.

[Zebedee was my pet name for his penis as it sprung to attention like the character in the Magic Roundabout programme.]

He wriggled free of my grasp and knelt down to begin soaping my legs. He lifted each foot in turn and washed them with his hands, working between each toe. I looked down through the flow of water and saw him looking up at my smile of great amusement and pleasure. I saw his gaze switch to the apex of my legs.

“Nice?” he asked.

“Divine.”

He soaped his hands again and forced me to spread my legs to get access to what used to be my private parts, but now belonged to him. He worked the soap into my pubic mound and around my clit, which caused me to flinch then my vulva. Suddenly he stopped for a few moments and pulled at something.

I felt something move inside me and he pulled harder and suddenly I realised I’d forgotten the tampon, squeezed my legs together and shouted, “Stop! Oh God, I forgot that.”

“What is it?” he asked, instantly dropping his hands.

“It’s an old wives’ tale. My mum said some people think wearing a tampon after sex can cause any escaped semen to be absorbed. Don’t really believe it, but when you said you’d almost lost the condom last night I thought it wouldn’t hurt to use one and I forgot to take it out.”

[This was in the days before we were aware of toxic shock syndrome and, of course, it is an old wives tale and would be unlikely to arrest the progress of any of the sperm.]

I reached for it and he stopped me.

“Oh, no you don’t my girl. It’s my turn again,” and he laughed.

“Better if I do,” I said embarrassedly.

“Don’t you dare. My turn!” he chuckled.

I giggled nervously and said, “OK just a single long steady pull. Not too fast and downwards and slightly forwards towards my toes.”

I spread my legs and bent a little and he took the thread and did as he was told.

“You do know about them?” I asked.

He held it gingerly and looked at it. At least it was clean, but was damp now and expanding as it got wetter.

“Yes, but never thought about how they went in and out or what they might look like after being inside. Sorry. Fascinating.”

“Glad to be able to fascinate you,” I told him sarcastically, “but be aware nothing is now off limits with you after that. I’ve got to get my own back.”

He laughed and laid the rapidly expanding tampon on the shelf of the shower tray and returned to washing my outer lips, inner labia, along the length of my vulva and around the entrance to my vagina. It all felt so delightful now I was getting back into the enjoyment of it after recovering from my temporary embarrassment.

“That’s dead sexy,” I said.

He turned me a little and thoroughly soaped and ran his fingers up between my buttocks and cleaned the opening to my anus, poking his index finger in a fraction causing me to flinch. He stood, took the shower head and rinsed me down.

“My turn,” I said and I admitted to myself I was looking forward to this.

I did the same as he had, soaping and washing him all over, crouching instead of kneeling for his lower parts and feet. Next, what I’m sure he had been waiting for. I stood and he watched me thoroughly soap my hands, looking him straight in the face. I smiled and grasped his penis and testes with both hands and began to wash him, running my hands up and down his length, pushing his foreskin back, running my fingers and palms over and around his glans and erection soaping his testes and washing them more gently.

“Wow, Angie.”

I didn’t take my eyes off his face, but when I returned to his glans he seemed compelled to shut his. I stopped. When he opened them again I gave him another lovely smile and ran my hands over his glans immediately again even more vigorously.

“Oh, Ang.”

I laughed and, instead of making my way around him, I crouched slightly, soaped my hands and pulled him towards me by his buttocks and soaped between them, behind his testes and pushed a well-soaped finger right inside his anus as far as it would go as revenge for the tampon extraction. I felt his anus object to the foreign object and try to evict me. I slid it out extremely slowly, sensing his contractions trying to hasten the exit.

I washed my finger with soap and water and washed between his buttocks again, thoroughly.

“That’ll teach you to embarrass me, Peter Stone,” I exclaimed forcefully.

We both laughed. I washed my own hands again and started to rinse him off.

“What does this do?” I asked, pointing at a lever on the shower head.

“Creates a massage jet.”

I turned it and the water came in hard pulses. I directed it immediately onto his glans and saw him try to squirm away.

“Not hurting?” I asked.

“Almost, but not quite. Nice actually,” was his reply.

“Then stand still,” I scolded and directed it all over his glans, from below and above, the sides and worked my way backwards along his penis and between his legs as he squirmed with enjoyment.

I turned the shower back to normal and finished rinsing him. He took it from me and set it to massage again and pointed it onto my Venus mound. I pressed myself back against the wall and he directed it in little motions over my clitoris back and forth, watching my face.

At first there was little reaction and I smiled at him, but suddenly felt myself flushing and starting to breathe deeper as my clit began to react to the attention.

He kneeled and directed it into and along my vulva and I stopped him. “Keep it on my clitoris.”

He kept the pulses pointing at my prepuce, opened the top of my vulva with the fingers of his other hand and directed the shower at my bare clit.

“God, Peter,” I whimpered at the awesome sensation.

He kept the jet angled in at me, looked up at my face. I squirmed. I knew my mouth was wide open and I was now breathing really heavily. I closed my eyes and slumped as best I could against the shower wall.

“Don’t stop. Just there, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t move it, right there,” I cried, my hands grasping his shoulders. He kept the jet on my exposed clitoris.

After a few more minutes my legs shook and I semi-collapsed down the shower wall and he stood to prop me up.

“Oh Peter,” a hoarse gasp and my hand came down and pushed the shower head away as my contractions hit me and my clitoris became extra sensitive.

He stopped me falling by keeping me hard against the cubical wall. My mouth was open, eyes closed and I was breathing very heavily. He held me tightly while my panting eased.

“Damn it all, Peter, you made me come.”

“Really?”

“Phew,” I blew out of my lips, “yes, amazing.”

I was still leaning back against the wall of the cubicle, obviously drained.

He switched the showerhead to ordinary and hung it back on its bracket allowing the plain warm water to run down over the two of us. He began to shampoo my hair, not a short job and rinsing it, ensuring it was fully cleaned off and soap free.

“Was it as good as last night?” he asked.

“So unexpected. No, nothing like as good, but such a lovely surprise. I’ve got to get a shower at home now!” I exclaimed and laughed.

“Do you ever make yourself come on your own, Angie?”

“Masturbate? Yes, I rub myself ‘cos its nice, but I’ve never come by doing it. Now if we got a shower . . .” and we both laughed.

[It was years before I used masturbation to reach orgasm and I describe my discovery of how to do it in this post.]

Gradually recovering from the orgasm, I took some shampoo and massaged it half-heartedly into his scalp, let it rinse off and did it again and by the second rinse I had regained some of my composure. I so loved him.

Finished, we looked at each lovingly and kissed. I pulled him to me again by his buttocks and straddled his penis so it lay against my vulva, gripped by the top of my thighs.

He broke off the kiss and asked, “Is that safe?”

“Probably not for long, but the water must protect us and I really needed it pressing against me,” I said, but he’d worried me and I moved away after less than a minute. I was maybe being a little careless. My desire to feel it there was so overpowering for a moment.

We embraced again for several minutes, kissing, cuddling and caressing each other as the water flowed over us.

“I absolutely must get one of those showers, Peter. I wouldn’t need you then!” I laughed and he joined my recovering good humour.

He cut the shower and was about to open the shower door when I stopped him, kneeled down and took his penis into my mouth, licked and kissed his glans and held his testes in my hand. I needed to repay the orgasm. He couldn’t help but groan and I moved my lips faster and faster against him. Suddenly I realised that if I climaxed him now, sex after breakfast could be less good and, from his sounds it was clear he was close to coming so I stopped and stood up.

“Oh, Angie. You can’t leave me like that.”

“Oh yes I can,” I laughed and said, “Breakfast first. I’m starving.”

“Unfair, Angie.”

I grabbed his shaft and rubbed it several times rapidly, “Life’s not fair!” and let go again.

“You rotter, Angie, we’ve been awake an hour and haven’t had sex yet.”

Click here to buy Angela Goodnight's Books“I want you coming inside me, not in the shower,” I laughed, stepped out onto a bathmat and began to dry myself and he did the same as his erection began to subside a little as the thrill of my brief oral released his penis. I watched it shrinking.

I asked, “Have we got any more condoms?” and laughed, wrapped a smaller towel around my head, took my nightdress and walked through to the bedroom knowing he was watching my naked bottom swinging sexily as I disappeared through the doorway.

“Only about sixteen,” he shouted after me.

– o O o –

So you’ve now read about my first encounter with shower sex, nearly fifty years ago and as fresh in my mind as if it were yesterday. It was also my first shower orgasm.

The next story in this sequence can be found here.

Hope you enjoyed the retelling as much as I did writing it. I’ve already showered today, but feel the need of a second one coming on. Now should I call Peter or not? Well maybe just me first, then I’ll go find him later! LOL.

Angela Goodnight, 28th January 2014

One thought on “How Do You Orgasm In The Shower? My First Shower Orgasm – Teenage Sexual Discovery ~ Angela Goodnight

  1. xpc316e

    Angela, I so enjoy your writing about discovering sex with Peter all those years ago. The detail you include makes it all so real and your tenderness reminds me of the intensity of my first love affair when I lost my virginity at the age of fourteen.

    About thirteen years ago I met with my first love through the Friends Reunited website. I was newly separated and she was married, although less than happily to the man for whom she had dumped me 27 years previously. We met but once; the old spark was still there and we emailed a few times before deciding that it would be better for her marriage if we did not see each other again. I sometimes wonder what might have been, but your story has revived all sorts of memories and they are so pleasurable, so I owe you a big thankyou.

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