Crouched in the bushes, Dave carefully scanned the area. He could see no sign of life, other than himself and the occasional passing squirrel. It seemed safe, and there was no reason why it shouldn't have been - he'd been here many times before. He glanced at his wristwatch, not long to go now. His mind wandered back to the first time he'd discovered this place.
It had been pure chance, just luck that he happened on the site, the one occasion when a lost golf ball turned out to be fortuitous. He'd known, from the moment he'd hit it, that the ball was veering wildly in its flight - and in the gathering gloom that day he'd only a vague idea of where it landed. Golf balls cost money, so he'd gone to look for it - delving ever further into the undergrowth. A light had caught his attention and he peered through the undergrowth to investigate. What he saw rooted him to the spot, almost unable to breathe.
Before his eyes, a young couple had lain beside a swimming pool in a passionate embrace - bathed in the glow of a pool of light from within the house. He had started to withdraw, and stepped on a twig that cracked loudly in the silence. The girls head lifted, listening, disturbed by the noise. Her companion had spoken, "Don't worry, its probably just an animal. There's no one around at this time of night, you can't play golf in the dark!" The girl had relaxed, and the couple had continued their canoodling.
Dave hadn't dared to move in case he stepped on another twig, he didn't want to be accused of being a peeping tom! Hardly daring to breathe, his eyes had refused to leave the couple as they removed the swimming costumes they'd been wearing. Embarrassedly Dave had realised that he was reacting to what he was seeing, and there had been was a bulge in the front of his trousers! It had been two years since Sally had died, two long years with no sexual relief at all during that time. He'd always hoped and dreamed of finding love again, but was realistic enough to realise that he had no real chance of fulfilling those aspirations. He wasn't the type that women wanted and that was that.
So there he had been, watching someone else perform the act he missed so much - and worse still he had reacted to it. He couldn't escape in case he made a sound, all he could do was watch. His hand had moved to his crotch, easing his discomfort, moving his erection to a more comfortable position. He'd left his hand there, holding himself, feeling a throbbing pulse - eyes glued to the scene enacted before him.
Eventually the couple had finished their lovemaking and gone inside the house, allowing Dave the chance to get away. He'd almost run all the way back to the car-park, threw his golf clubs into the car and raced home. Almost the first thing he did was take a cold shower, before settling into his usual nightly routine of drinks in front of a flickering television screen. He couldn't concentrate on the programmes that night, he couldn't get the scene he's witnessed out of his head.
Later that night, for the first time since being a teenager, Dave had masturbated. The relief, and release of emotion, had been almost more than he could bear. Guiltily he'd cleaned up the mess he'd made, he had felt disgusted with himself. The next night though, as he'd been preparing for bed, he'd found himself with another erection. Somehow, as hard as he'd tried, he couldn't achieve orgasm on that occasion - he just kept going limp.
For the rest of that week his work had suffered, he hadn't been able to concentrate on anything for long enough to complete it properly. He had also suffered unwanted erections at the merest passing memory of that Sunday evening on the golf course, but they hadn't lasted long enough for him to gain any relief. Somehow he managed to get through to Friday, though even now he couldn't remember any details of the rest of that week.
Saturday had dawned, and he'd followed his usual routine of shopping and household chores. Saturday evening had found him somewhat disturbed, he always played golf on Sunday afternoon, he hadn't been able to decide if he could face returning to the course again. Being a creature of habit had decided his fate, he had always played golf on Sunday, and his routine didn't allow for change.
That day he had played his round with the knowledge in his head that he would return to that same spot in the undergrowth, in fact his excitement had caused what was his worst ever round of golf. He had also not worn his usual brightly coloured outfit, but had chosen instead drab colours - an intentional effort at camouflage. He'd played his round very slowly that day, carefully timing his play to time his arrival at the thirteenth tee with the onset of dusk. At last he had stood on the tee at the thirteenth, aiming his shot wildly left and exhaling with relief when his ball had disappeared into the undergrowth.
He hadn't made any effort at locating his ball, instead he had gone directly to stand in the same spot as he'd occupied the previous week. The couple had been there, but they hadn't indulged in any loveplay that evening. However, as soon as he'd caught sight of the girl he had experienced an erection. Almost without realising that he was doing it, he had unzipped his trousers and masturbated - his ejaculation spurting onto the leaves of a nearby bush.
The die had been cast, and he'd been a regular Sunday evening visitor to that same spot for well over a year. Twice more he'd seen the couple make love, but mostly he just masturbated while watching the girl - either in the garden or through the patio door. Somehow the uncertainty of what he would witness enhanced his anticipation.
Today he waited expectantly for what would unfold before his eyes, barely daring to hope that the couple would actually make love. Craning his neck he scanned the garden, a glass lay beside a sun-lounger - evidence that at least one of the pair was around. The man, who Dave - for no particular reason - thought of as Martin came out through the patio doors and walked across to the sun-lounger. He, Martin, perched on the edge and leaned forward. Were they kissing?
