The binoculars made his penis appear close enough to touch. I could see small details, the ridge around the circumcised head, and the veins on the shaft when his penis got hard. Yes, I could see he got hard and I judged his erect penis grew fatter but not much longer. Like watching a snake charmer’s cobra rise up in the air, I was mesmerized.
Sometimes he was hard by the time I looked from behind the bushes. Other times he touched himself causing it to stiffen as I watched. His actions after I appeared to leave suggested my presence aroused him; his reaction aroused me, too. Would we ever be more than two masturbators stimulating each other’s sexual fantasies?
Then came the day I observed his hand wrap around his penis and begin to slide up and down. Watching with increasing excitement, my trembling hands had trouble holding the image steady in the binoculars. Until that day, I never saw a man ejaculate; I couldn’t pass up my chance to see his semen. With the perfect opportunity, I stayed until the end. I gasped when streams of white shot out onto his chest and stomach.
Well, I could cross that off my bucket list, but what would happen next? My life was becoming surreal. I was leery about being caught using the binoculars. Yet, I was getting impatient for something more dramatic to change our mutual involvement. My coming repeatedly to see him couldn’t be more obvious. Would he ever invite me into his yard or was I too old to be of interest to him?
I discussed the developments with Molly that night. She was not surprised that I enjoyed watching him masturbate. Her opinions allayed my fears about improper actions on my part because my visits obviously turned him on.
“This man probably knew you were looking and put on a show. If not, he probably imagined you watched to help him get off. I know you want more than to see him come. So does he, I bet, so be ready for him to open the door to your next adventure!”
I was on a course to live out Molly’s prophecy and willing to do things that set it up. Would it be a quick one-night stand or an ongoing friendship with benefits? Either would be atypical of my past. I hoped we came to know each other in some semblance of normal friendship before his actions or my own desires seduced me. Yet, my masturbation fantasies usually skipped right to the hardcore acts so there was that urgent influence.
The thought entered my mind that he might turn out to be nothing more than a battering ram in bed with no lovemaking talent. Alternately, I was worried that my inexperience would embarrass me at some critical moment. I wished something would happen soon to force the issue.
* * * * *
It was late in the afternoon when I walked up behind his property. For the first time, I observed him rinsing off under an outside shower pole close to his back fence nearest me. My viewing angle over the fence meant I couldn’t see below his navel … even when I stood en pointe.
When he noticed me, he turned and waved as usual but also called out a greeting. His vocal action prompted me to respond in kind, yet we were yelling to be heard. When he pointed at the gate in his fence, I realized today’s encounter was about to become face-to-face; I nodded agreement.
As I started moving toward the gate, I heeled Greta with a leash slap. I contemplated putting her on the leash and then stopped in my tracks when I remembered the binoculars in my hand. What would he think about them? I considered dropping them in the grass but his gate swung open before I could and he was standing there just a few yards away.
I stood transfixed for several seconds, staring at his hairless genitals. Inanely, I pointed at his penis and declared, “You’re naked!”
“You expected to see me naked. I didn’t want to disappoint you.”
His response suggested he knew all along what my visits were about. I saw him look at the binoculars in my hand, but he said nothing about them. Either he didn’t make the connection to my voyeurism, or he realized I had spied on him but that didn’t bother him.
Flummoxed by his naked presence, I had difficulty making conversation. I asked if he was a nudist. He said he was in many ways, and then invited me to join him. I thought he meant that I should get naked which I sternly rejected out of habit.
He apologized and clarified that his invitation was for us to sit poolside for a neighborly chat. He even offered to put on clothes. I wanted to find out about his character and choice of nudism but I hesitated, oddly leery of the encounter I wanted to have.
He broke the ice by introducing himself as Brett Saberman. I said my name was Anna Fessler and mentioned Greta. I decided not to stand out there gawking. Brett’s patient approach to meeting me suggested how he would continue to act, giving me the needed assurance to enter his yard.
When I took my first steps forward, Greta trotted ahead, wagging her tail. She has demonstrated a doggy-sense of trust toward most strangers, only twice acting leery of particular strangers. Brett greeted her with enthusiasm and didn’t get upset when minutes later, Greta pooped in his yard. His treatment of animals and understanding of natural things put me further at ease.
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