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During the summer when I was eighteen, when the long school holidays were even longer because I had sat public exams well before the end of the semester, I spent a lot of time being naked, almost every opportunity – at home, when no one else was around, and out in the woods and downland half a mile or so from the house. I’m not sure what brought it on, I guess it was just a part of my developing sexuality. These nude sessions did not always involve masturbation, I would take enough pleasure just from being naked, especially outside. I would fantasise about being naked in the woods when I couldn’t actually be there. This yearning for outdoor nakedness has never left me and though they don’t arise as often as I would like, opportunities for nude sunbathing and swimming are rarely passed up.
Sometimes I would go out into the garden naked. This had the extra thrill of the risk of being seen which, given my home’s setting, was quite high. The house had one parallel neighbour on one side, then five houses backing onto our land the other side, and another house adjoining at the end of our long garden. I wouldn’t stay outside for more than a few minutes, just enough to feel the summer air on my skin, the grass under my bare feet and the sun’s warmth all over. My heart would be beating fast as the excitement of being nude outside and the risk of being seen combined to energise me completely.
One day when I had slipped naked into the garden and laid out on a sun lounger, I realised I had been seen. Across the fence and shrubs at the foot of the garden, about a hundred feet away stood a man in a sports jacket staring at me! I rushed up from the sun lounger and into the house. Had he really seen me? Had he been watching for long? Would he report me to my parents? I was really frightened at first.
I looked out of a window down the garden: he was still there! Was he waiting to see if I came out again? Hell, did he want me to come out again?! Was he making up his mind to tell on me?
I looked at him more closely. I knew that he lived in the adjoining house as I had seen him before. Because both adjoining properties had long gardens we weren’t on speaking terms as neighbours, although my parents had met him once when there was some fallen fencing after a storm. He was always quite smartly dressed and I guessed him to be in his early 30s. He lived with his mother, who was also smartly dressed and a bit of a dragon – i hated to have to collect footballs or cricket balls whenever they went over into their garden.
He was still there, staring into our garden. Could he even see me in the house? I quickly pulled on my clothes. Then I thought I would just go out into the garden as if nothing had happened and see if he reacted. So even more nervously than when I would run into the garden naked, I sauntered out of the house and, on the spur of the moment, started calling the cat which I then pretended to look for.
After a minute or so, I looked up. The man was still there, now with his arms folded. What did he mean by that? I went to look away when I thought – but couldn’t be sure – I saw him give a slight smile.
As it happens with a British summer the next few days were rainy and cooler so there were no more opportunities to go out into the garden naked, even if I’d have the nerve to do so knowing I might again be seen by the neighbour at the back. After a couple of days of fright at every knock at the door – has that man come to tell my parents? – my thoughts progressed from nervousness to a growing certainty that I was in the clear, he wasn’t going to tell on me. Then I started to think that he might have enjoyed seeing me naked – and I found myself then fantasising with increasing arousal about being naked under his gaze again. I was a slim, moderately tall, tanned eighteen year-old, fit from the summer semester’s athletic season in which I led the sprint team: I had strong muscular legs and a tightly muscled butt. I had few girl friends, we were all boys at school, so the prospect of all those girls at university had me more than a little excited.
I had not had sex; I had not long discovered that masturbation was something to take pleasure in, not something to feel guilty and perverted about. I knew little about gay sex but I knew it happened: I remembered a couple of years earlier being sat in a public lavatory while on a family seaside holiday reading with shock and open-mouthed wonder a graffiti story of a young man being seduced by his father’s friend after having ‘played wrestling’ on the beach. Shocked – and aroused. I was back to that particular cubicle so frequently that I had to pretend tummy trouble.
These thoughts came back to me as I thought about my neighbour. I knew from the little story I’d read that men would touch and suck each other’s cocks and soon I was fantasising about doing the same things with my neighbour. My masturbation sessions became more and more frequent and frenetic. I found myself resolving to test this fantasy, to see if it could poker oyna turn real. I had to come up with a plan.
As it is, my mother came up with the plan. Thinking it was time I did something to earn some pocket money, she suggested I go around to see if some of the neighbours wanted gardening or odd jobs done.
“You could start with the house at the back,” she said. “I think their shrubs are overgrown and pushing on our fence again. If we have another stormy winter, it’ll bring our fence down again.”
“All right, mum,” I replied. Then as casually possible I asked if she knew the neighbour’s name.
“Um, Andrew, I think, Andrew Robinson. Not sure about his mother’s name – it’s certainly not the duchess she makes out to be,” mum finished scornfully.
So now I had my plan and a name. The next day was Saturday so I guessed the neighbour would not be at work. I set off around ten-thirty to walk around to the front of his house, about a ten-minute walk. Summer was back with a vengeance and it was already a hot day. I was nervous, of course, but strangely confident. I thought that if Andrew was at home, my visit would at least throw him a little and I would be on the front foot. I had no idea how that might get me from offering to cut back some shrubs to us playing with each other’s penises but I was too excited in my fantasy-land to worry too much about the logistics!
I arrived at the house and, after a moment’s hesitation, knocked on the front door. To my disappointment – at first – Andrew’s mother answered the door.
“Yes?” she said haughtily. She was smartly dressed, subtly made-up and, I realised to my surprise, quite attractive, for what I would term then as an old woman. I hadn’t yet seen the movie The Graduate where the attractions of an older woman were suddenly made clear. She even had the same name as that seducing neighbour!
“Good morning, Mrs Robinson,” I said, as clearly and politely as possible. “I am very sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you would like some odd jobs done around the garden. I’m hoping to earn a little pocket money – I am saving for a trip to Paris to visit the art galleries this summer -” (this was a moment’s inspiration, to make me sound a serious, cultural student – “so I am asking neighbours if they would like some work done. I live in the house at the back of your house, Mrs Robinson.”
My serious and polite demeanour, the impression of hard-working and cultural attitudes, and my warm but deferential smile all seemed to have some effect.
“Hhm,” she muttered, “well, I admire your enterprise, young man. Let me think, yes the shrubs that back onto your parents’ garden are overgrown and Andrew is always too busy or tired to take on something like that. You had better come in and talk to him though. A friend is about to collect me to take me down to the coast for the rest of the weekend.”
Mrs Robinson led the way into the house and out to the garden. Andrew – the man who a few days ago had seen me naked in my garden – was sat at a patio table reading a broadsheet newspaper with serious intent.
“Andrew,” his mother addressed him. “This young man – what is your name?” she turned to ask me.
“Robert Laing, Mrs Robinson, “I replied, sticking to my policy of full politeness.
“Thank-you. And how old are you, Robert?”
“I’m eighteen, Mrs Robinson.”
She paused briefly, then seemed to unstiffen her pose slightly. That seemed strange.
“This young man,” she continued now to her son, “wants to do some odd jobs for some pocket money and I thought he could trim the shrubs at the back. He’s from the house at the back so I should think he can be trusted.”
While Mrs Robinson was telling him this, Andrew had put down his paper and turned around to look at us both, his eyes catching me with a slight start and he at first hesitated to reply to his mother. I had been right – I had put him on the back foot. There was no danger of him telling anyone about the last time he had seen me – after all, I had been naked and he couldn’t possibly have told his mother – could he? -and saying anything now would cause surprise as to why he had not said something before.
“Hello, yes, Robert, thank-you,” he said, seemingly as nervous as I had felt. Then sudden more confidently, he spoke again.
“I believe I have seen you before, yes, in your garden.”
Apart from a mild polite smile, there was no indication that this meant anything than normal social niceties. We two however knew it meant something else – and in a rush my nerves flooded back: not because I now feared Andrew would report my behaviour – but because I now feared my frantic fantasising of the last few days was getting closer to reality.
“Well, I must get myself ready,” said Mrs Robinson. “Ginny will be here any minute. I’ll let you two sort things out between you.”
She bent over Andrew and kissed him on the cheek, before turning to me and reaching to shake my hand.
“Goodbye, young man. canlı poker oyna Do a good job and this could be a regular thing for you. I’m sure Andrew will look after you decently.”
She turned and walked back into the house. Had there been a hint of knowingness in that last sentence, a slight over-emphasis, a light smile? I was taken aback – this was a strange place for me!
Andrew stood up and led me to a garden shed. We collected the relevant tools and walked down to the end of the garden where not only were the shrubs overgrown but there was long grass as well and a lot of weeds.
“I don’t get into this part of the garden as much as mother would like, I’m afraid,” he explained, “I travel abroad a lot with my City job so weekends are really for relaxing. In fact, I was down here a few days ago inspecting this mess and thinking I should get someone in to clear it up, and here you are.”
He spoke with a flat voice, but I sensed his words were chosen to let me know he had clearly seen me. Well, I was back to feeling confident again, and if he wanted to pass underlying messages, I was going to do so as well.
“Yes, I think I saw you,” I replied, looking directly at him and holding the look for a second longer than might otherwise seem polite.
“Well, if you set to, I’ll go fetch some refuse bags and also a cold drink, it’s going to be warm work for you I’m afraid.”
I did indeed set to and it was hot and strenuous work that I nonetheless enjoyed. Andrew had sat back at the patio table with his newspaper and also a briefcase, but from time to time I felt he was watching me, not reading his paper.
Soon my shirt was drenched with sweat. I stood up, sipped the cold lemonade Andrew had brought out for me, then undid and removed my shirt before attacking some of the tall grass with a scythe. Andrew was definitely watching me now.
“Are you a sportsman, Robert?” He asked – of course he had been watching me.
“Athletics, sir,” I replied, “I’m a sprinter.”
I could have sworn he glanced down at my thighs, that were shaped like those of any sure sprinter’s, big and muscular and encased in a pair of shorts that I had probably grown out of last summer: I had been really planning this scene!
“Ah, I was the same at school and college,” Andrew said and stood up. For a moment, I thought he was going to challenge me to a sprint around the garden!
“Shorts are a good idea in this heat,” he continued, “I’m going to change into some.”
With that he walked into the house, which we had heard his mother leave from about a hour earlier. My head was near spinning now, my fantasising was meeting reality much quicker than I thought possible, and I was both thrilling at and fearing the next minutes. I bent back down to the work, by now my youthful body reacting to this excitement as my cock began to harden in my shorts.
Andrew returned. He was now wearing a polo shirt and tennis shorts. His torso was surprisingly muscular and filled out the polo shirt nicely. The shorts looked taut around thighs that were indeed athletic-like. I wanted him to realise I’d noticed.
“You must find time to keep up some sport at least, sir,” I said. “Do you belong to a gym?”
“There’s a gym near the office and I always pick a hotel with a gym when I’m travelling”, Andrew replied. “And I like to go swimming when I can. One of the houses up the road, the Braithewaites, they have a pool and they kindly allow me to use it when they’re at their house in France. They’re there now actually, so I will probably go over for a swim later.”
“Why don’t you come along too, when you’ve finished? A swim will be perfect after all this hot work you’re doing, and good for your muscles too.”
“That would be great, sir, thank-you.”
“Andrew, please,” he replied.
“That would be great, Andrew, thank-you,” I stared back at him.
I turned again to my labours. Where had this self-confidence come from, this sexual assertion? Here I was, an eighteen years-old youth with no sexual experience other than with my own hand, flirting – there was no other word now – with a thirty-something successful City businessman. Who still lived with his mother. Who a few days ago had watched me lie naked in my garden.
It was three o’clock when Andrew called a halt. Earlier he had brought out some delicious ham sandwiches and more lemonade which I had barely paused to eat. Now he had two cold beers in one hand and two towels tucked under his other arm.
“I think you can probably handle a beer, Robert,” he smiled.
“Thank-you, I can, especially one this cold,” I replied, taking one beer from his hand that I deliberately touched for a moment longer than necessary. I felt Andrew sizing up the situation. I was sure now that it would take little to happen to make explicit what had been growing below the surface all day: that we wanted to have sex with each other. Was he gay? Was he very experienced? He was going to have to make internet casino the first direct sign. Confident as I had felt, I was still unsure that I wouldn’t do something that would just make things too awkward and the opportunity would be gone. So I was going to wait.
“Ready for that swim?” Andrew asked.
I smiled and we set off for his friends’ house. We chatted idly on the way, before Andrew asked if I had a girlfriend, to which of course the answer was no.
“Me neither,” said Andrew, “no time with this job. So I have to take my fun when and where I can.”
This was grown-up man-to-man talk! Or more flirting.
“At least with all the travelling opportunities do arise. And I do have varied tastes so there’s usually somebody suitable and available.”
Even someone as naive as me knew he was now telling me that he had sex with men and women. And I was a young man who was about to swim in a pool in an otherwise empty house and return to this man’s otherwise empty house. Was this now another of his “opportunities” that had arisen?
We arrived at his friends’ house and were quickly through into the garden where the large rectangular pool sparkled invitingly in the sun. Of course, I had no swimsuit, but I planned to wear my boxer shorts. Andrew had pulled off his polo shirt as I took off my own top. I dropped my shorts and stepped out of them as if to head for the pool, but I turned round to check on Andrew.
He had removed his tennis shorts and wore nothing underneath. I could not help staring at his cock, which looked about 7 inches long in what appeared to be a semi-hardening state.
“This garden is completely secluded, so I never bother with a costume,” he said.
After a moment’s more staring at each other, Andrew took a short run and jumped into the pool. I paused, then pulled down my boxer shorts. At least I wouldn’t be explaining why they were soaking wet.
I jumped in the pool and began swimming strongly up and down the pool, soon alongside Andrew and matching him stroke for stroke. We must have swum for a good half an hour. While I was focused on the athletic exercise of my body, I was also very much aware of the feel of being naked in the water, a delicious new experience for me. And I was also conscious that I was swimming alongside another naked man, and one I had fantasised about being naked with for the last few days! The reality was so much better, so far.
We both stopped our swimming at the same time, resting against the poolside, both our bodies heaving as we took the deep breaths to recover from our exertions. I wondered if Andrew’s cock was as erect as mine. I was about to find out.
“Dry off in the sun?” Andrew asked. I nodded and we climbed out of the pool, two naked men about five foot nine tall, slim muscular bodies and each with seven inches of erect manhood protruding before us as walked over to the towels which we laid on the grass.
My heart was beating with something other than the exertion of our swim now. Andrew leaned on one elbow facing me.
“You know I saw you in your garden the other day?” he asked.
“Of course,” I replied.
“Is that why you came to my house today?”
I hesitated to reply. There was nothing in his tone that suggested he was doing anything other than conducting a regular business tone. But here we were, maybe two feet apart, both naked, both with full erections, both with heads glistening with pre-cum.
“Yes,” I finally breathed out, “the gardening was a genuine offer, but yes, I came here because I knew you had seen me.”
“And what were you expecting? What did you want to know or happen?”
“At first I was worried you might tell my parents, but as you hadn’t come to my house I thought maybe you wouldn’t. But the only way I could know you wouldn’t tell on me was to meet you face to face.”
“So when you realised I wasn’t going to tell on you, what more did you think?”
I paused. This was it.
“I thought – I think -” I was swallowing hard. “I think maybe you liked seeing me.”
“And thinking this, what did you think might happen if I let you into my house? Had you thought about that? Tell me what you imagined would happen.”
I was under a spell now. He still had not said anything that directly said yes, he did enjoy watching me naked, he did enjoy being naked with me now, he did want to have sex with me. All questions and I was being made to reveal my most private thoughts one by one. Was this why he was a successful City businessman?
“Robert, please tell me what you thought might happen.”
I looked at him, I looked at his naked body wet from the pool glistening in the sun, I looked at his swollen erection, its pink circumcised head almost glowing full of blood, my own cock bigger and harder than I had known it before. Somehow there was still enough blood to rush to my head.
“This,” I said and swiftly raised myself up sufficient to reach out for his erection and took it in my hand. It was amazing to hold! Of course I knew what it was to hold an erect cock – but of course only my own. This was so different – a hard, strong cock attached to another man! I started to stroke it, not yet able to look Andrew in the face.
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