You can read my other stories for more context, but this one takes place around the same time frame in the early days of my marriage to Meg.

We were working on our communication around sex. In my mind, if we could clear the inhibitions she had somehow acquired after the birth of our child, it would lead to a more fulfilling sex life. I knew how amazing things could be, so I was doing my best to just be transparent with her about what my needs were, and learn hers as well.

"Do you masturbate?"

The question caught me off guard, and tested my commitment to transparency. The fact was, I did masturbate - I felt like I would have lost my mind without some sort of outlet - but I only did it after several days without attention from her, and never at a time when it would prevent me from performing for her pleasure if she suddenly showed interest. I also strictly adhered to abstaining from porn. I had eyes for her only.

I explained this to her as eloquently as I could, given the topic. Her response came: "Oh... I didn't know that. Can you please not do that? I'm really uncomfortable with it, I feel like it just opens the door for you to think about other people sexually"

My assurances that I didn't think of anyone but her fell on deaf ears. In the end, I committed to refraining, but expressed that my needs wouldn't change and that I would need her help. She agreed to be there for me.

Despite what I believe were her best intentions, her behavior didn't change. My pursuit of emotional intimacy and authenticity had served no purpose but to rob me of the only sexual outlet I had left. As days turned into weeks, I stood resolute in my commitment to let her be my only form of release. As she continued to neglect me, the pent up tension built to a boiling point, and I had no idea how I was going to spend the rest of my life like this. The occasional wet dream not withstanding, the prospect of only getting off maybe a time or two each month was daunting.

Despondent and depressed, I resorted to spending long stretches in the shower - sometimes crying, other times just letting the hot water wash over me and numb me to my situation. I was seated on the shower floor, delaying my exit back into the harsh reality that awaited me, as the rivulets of water ran down my skin.

I leaned back, sliding lower on the shower floor as the jet stream pelted my knees, then thighs, then painfully hit my sack. As I settled lower, the stream ran playfully across the head of my cock, and I audibly gasped. Pausing to hear a response outside my door, I shifted a little higher. When Meg didn't knock or call out, I tried to replicate the sensation by sliding my cock into the shower stream again.

The water played across my shaft to nil effect. I did not touch myself - to do so would feel a lot more like masturbating - but I pivoted my hips from side to side, trying to find whatever magic angle had taken my breath away moments ago.

I found it.

The irregular pattern of the shower head meant that there was a cluster of water hitting to the left. As my limp cock slid into that stream, the powerful jet struck the underside of my cock head just so, sending pulses of pleasure through my body. In my severely backed up and under stimulated state, the sensation was overwhelming, and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from moaning aloud.

My dick immediately began to grow, and as it did so, the angle and point of contact changed, reducing the stimulation. I angled my hips, trying to find the sweet spot again as my cock lengthened and thickened. When I found it, I let the pleasure pulse through me - a unique sensation I had never felt.

I had heard jokes about the vibrating toothbrush or shower head being a girl's first "boyfriend", but I had no idea that a man could derive the same pleasure from these vibrations. As the water continued to thrum across my cock in pattern, I began to wonder what this was building to and I panicked.

Was it masturbation if I didn't use my hands? I wasn't trying to get off - so would it be going back on my word if I accidentally did?

I let the water continue to play across my shaft and embraced the pleasure that rolled through my body. My cock stood so firm, it was almost painful, and my balls had withdrawn fully into my pelvic cavity. The sensation was intense, but there's no way it could make me cum, right?

I felt it building slowly. More slowly than ever before. Typically as I approach climax, I speed up my stroking or pumping or whatever mechanism will push me over the edge the fastest. But with this, I had to hold perfectly still or risk the water hitting me somewhere less sensitive and losing the stimulation. I was entirely at the mercy of this stream of water, and the scintillating build up was driving my desperation and driving me insane.

The pleasure pulsed through my erection as I clenched my prostate tightly. A wave of orgasmic bliss, much smaller than a full climax but the same flavor of pleasure. Then another. Then another. The mini-orgasms produced no ejaculate, but racked my body as I clawed at the sides of the tub, still determinately not stroking myself as I so badly wanted to do. The involuntary clenching and unclenching of my prostate was building up in rapid succession, each wave stronger than the last, until I felt the familiar crest of pleasure consume me.

The tingling in my balls gave way to a flood of semen entering my shaft and erupting out of my cock. It shot across my chest and stomach, spraying the sides of the tub as I writhed in pleasure and hoped to God Meg hadn't heard the commotion.

I lay in the shower, coated in my own cum, the ripple effects of a long overdue orgasm still sweeping through me in small pulses.

Still, all I could think about was her.