This story was originally written as a comment in reply to the story Nightshirt Solo by MaxLoving, published back in December, 2025. My story was too long for the comment section, so it’s being published as a story instead.

I don’t normally read the men’s stories about masturbation, but MaxLoving’s headline intrigued me.

I once had a very parallel experience that I wanted to retell . . .

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Balcony Masturbation – A True Story

My then-wife and I were on a short vacation in Gatlinburg, Tennessee. (I recommend the place to anyone. It’s about four hours east of where I live.) By the time of this trip, her health problems had already wrecked her sex drive, and she was not a fan of me masturbating. Rather than offend her, I chose to wait until she was asleep before I sought sexual relief.

Our room was on the fourth floor of a nice family-owned hotel. The décor was rustic. Our room had that “escape in the mountains” feel, yet with modern conveniences. It also had a sliding glass door to a small balcony, which is where my “escape” was planned. Down below was a gently babbling brook that formed the border between our hotel’s property and that of the hotel behind us.

I took a relaxed slump into one of the two chairs. I thought it best to be able to cover up quickly. So, I briefly lowered my pajama bottoms, pulled my underwear about halfway down my thighs, and then pulled the PJ bottoms back up. This allowed my dick to be free over the waistline of the pajamas, but I could hide it quickly if need be.

By this time, it was after 10 p.m. on a late summer evening. The mountain air had cooled to a perfectly mild temperature. I imagined what it would be like to be in such an atmosphere if all the couples in all these hotels were free to walk around naked and fuck wherever they wanted. Hmmm…

I began stroking my dick, slowly at first. The balcony was in stark shadow, caused by the few electric lights that were on outside the other hotel. I could see out, but any potential others could not see in. It was perfect for the “task at hand.”

I was fantasizing about being watched by some couple in the other hotel while they stood in the window of their room and fucked. The mix of anonymity and stark vulnerability was a razor-edge delight.

And then, I heard it . . .

Somewhere not-too-distant, a woman was moaning in pleasure. WOW!!

She was not very loud. I could not tell whether she was alone or having sex with her husband. She kept most of it muffled, but she was there. Somewhere. I imagined that she was going through many of the same emotions that I was — wanting to be watched, and yet fearful of being seen. I wondered if she were in a parallel situation, needing sexual attention from her spouse but unable to get it. Perhaps we were in that moment together, in an odd sort of way.

It’s different for men. Nobody was going to complain to the front desk or call the police about a woman moaning with pleasure. But if a man did the exact same thing, he might be considered a pervert. Nonetheless, I wanted to give her the same thrill that she was giving me—a thrill that perhaps she needed just as badly as I did.

So, I began letting out a few deep, soft moans. Not enough to wake anyone up, but enough that the sound would carry through the cool night air, in case the poor woman needed the encouragement.

Eventually, I also heard a man moaning, although his voice was even more muffled than hers. From that, I surmised that it was a couple fucking inside their hotel room, but with their balcony door slightly cracked open. I also imagined that they were doing it in the standing doggy position—not only because it’s one of my favorites, but also because if they were trying to subtly show off, this would be a great position to do it. I imagined her tits swinging back and forth while her husband pounded her ass, and the beauty of that image fueled my own subtle sounds of pleasure. If they wished to share their moment of pleasure with someone, then I wanted them to know that someone appreciated it.

All those thoughts were just as powerful as the “mechanics” of masturbation. That’s why even 10 years later, I can still remember so much of the experience in detail. It took a while, but eventually I had an orgasm and knew that I’d finally be able to get to sleep. By then, the couple had gone quiet. Either they were finished, or maybe they lost their nerve and shut their door. I imagined that they finished their fuck on the bed and then drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms.

It was a nice evening. But I think it would have been easier in a nightshirt, like MaxLoving described in his story. I bought a couple of them not long after that.