My pops and I wer staying in a single motel room for a few months when I was around 14-15.
The motel was long and had a wooden walkway leading all the way down it's length. This made is super easy to tell someone was commin'. Or so I thought.
I was having one of those "fuck it I'm just bored" wanks. Nice light leisurely one. The ones where your not even turned on necessarily but your 14 and always have a woody, so why not. Anyway, I've got Lt. Commander Johnson in one hand, and the motel issue universal remote in the other hand, and I'm flippin' through looking for some cleavage or an ankle. Stop on Monday night Raw 'cause their having a catfight of some sort. Anyway, Pops walks along the driveway for some godforsaken reason so I don't hear him until the key is in the lock and the door is swinging open.
OH DAMN!
I didn't have time to do anything but yank my boxers up to cover Mr. Winklestein. Dad walks in to me with my jeans wide open and the Rock laying the smackdown on some unsuspecting jerbroni on the television. ( of COURSE the clips of the catfight ended. )
I sit there stunned and slackjawed unable to even comprehend the fact that I didn't hear him comming in time to dash to the bathroom. He proceeds to tell me to "do up my fucking pants" and then I sit through a half hour presentation of the dangers of chronic masturbation. Followed by an hour long questioning of my sexuality ( WWF was on, remember! )
By far, the worst I've been caught wanking, Ever!!