Espied Pt 01

Part I

Sal was appalled. Her new next-door neighbour was walking around his garden with absolutely nothing on. How could he do such a thing? How dare he!

It was not that he was being exhibitionist, deliberately. No doubt he thought himself in a private place and not overlooked, but Sal's house was deceptive. Wisteria hid the end of a balcony; a balcony from which, if she parted the vine a little, she could see over the neighbouring garden. She had been nosy, there was no other word for it, wanting to see what her new neighbour was up to and she had most certainly found that out! She stared and stared. He was completely naked, not a stitch on, and his 'tackle' swung as he walked catching her eye each time it moved. It did not stay still at all but was constantly on the move, swinging from one side to the other as he walked. Most disconcerting. Sal went to get her binoculars for a closer look.

Powerful bird watching binoculars gave a close-up view in sharp focus and clarity. More powerful than she had really wanted but she could not find her less powerful older pair; the present pair were the ones Sal had bought to examine the many birds that visited her garden, or those she saw when out on her walks or visits to bird reserves. The pair were now employed not in ornithological examination but rather in the detailed examination of homo sapiens and seemingly intent on establishing its sex. The penis loomed large in the optics and Sal carefully followed its movement as her neighbour walked up his garden. It, his generative organs, certainly did not stay still. She could discern every bump, every vein, even a mole half way down its shaft. When the man stopped Sal was able to examine the business end in detail, noting the smooth rounded end peeping out of its little wrinkled mobile covering of skin and its little orifice so looking like a mouth with lips. It seemed to be smiling! Sal was not quite sure why she was examining the man's genitalia in such detail. Perhaps because she could - it was a bit like watching a bird bobbing about on the lawn.

A big male hand came down and obscured much of her view but then unexpectedly pulled back the foreskin, revealing to her shocked gaze yet more intimate detail of the item, not least how helmet like the glans penis was and how smooth the skin appeared. Even before Sal could react by turning away, feeling she had seen far, far too much already and putting the binoculars down, she found herself watching a stream of urine rushing out of the little mouth and twinkling in the sunshine.

Sal was, again, appalled. Not only was her new neighbour naked in his garden right where she could see him, but he was freely urinating in her sight in his own garden in his own flowerbed. She put the binoculars down and walked away to make herself a steadying cup of tea. She was very angry as well as feeling flushed and hot. The feeling of embarrassment seemed to have hit her hard. Her hand was even shaking a little as she filled the kettle. It was one thing to be naked in your own home, in the bathroom or bedroom but in the garden! It was something she had never thought of doing herself. Why would you, why would she, why did he? And as for urinating - why could he not go inside to the proper place?

Despite her upset, Sal's curiosity soon got the better of her and she went back to her vantage point with tea and the binoculars. The new neighbour had not gone. He was lying on a sun lounger reading a magazine, his face and part of his upper body obscured but not, Sal was still shocked to see, his lower body; indeed, drawn up a little and spread as his legs were Sal had the most perfect view of his genitalia she could have wished for - if she had wanted to see such a thing in the first place: which she did not! The whole assembly was hanging down between his open legs - just hanging. Sal frowned and bit her lower lip. He was making no attempt to cover up. Surely, he would have thought there was a possibility of being seen however much it, perhaps, looked like her house was blind towards his garden.

If he really wanted to walk naked in his garden why had he not simply done just that and got it over with: not, now, lie in such an exposed way. Sal focused her binoculars and despite her reservations focused in on his maleness, noting the penis was rolled over to the left, the foreskin had fully covered the head and how remarkably hairy was his scrotum. The magnification and quality of the lenses in the binoculars meant she could easily make out the egg shape of the testes within their sack as the skin literally folded over them. The detail was remarkable. Sal went to get her camera. She would have proof. Proof she could confront him with, if necessary.

The few clicks of the camera's shutter caught the man perfectly within the garden setting lying upon his lounger, but, keen photographer as she was, she unscrewed the lens and put on her bird photography lens, a lens with a prodigious zoom to it, attached the tripod to ensure steadiness and focused in. Filling the whole viewfinder was the man's penis, hanging to the left. It was rather shocking to see it so up close and personal and in, if anything, more detail than the binoculars. Sal pressed the shutter and sat back to look at the image in the camera's big TFT screen. It was a lovely crisp image. Lovely in terms of quality that is. Had it been a Reed Bunting or a Bee Catcher she would have been delighted. This was not, though, an image to show at an ornithological photographer's club meeting - the 'male appendage at rest' indeed!

Sal got a shock when stooped to the camera and focused in again. The penis could no longer be described as 'at rest'; it had grown and moved - and was still moving. Sal watched with eyes wide as the wrinkled foreskin rolled back before her very eyes, unthinking she pressed the shutter, and continued to watch as the ruddy purple head, becoming shinier by the second, rose into the air. She pressed the shutter again. It was like a Corn Crake, a Landrail, poking its head out of its nest - suddenly visible above it - to be caught with a click of the shutter. Of all the... her next-door neighbour was having an erection of his penis in full sight of her. This was simply beyond the limit of what she was prepared to accept.

Sally put the camera down and stared with her own eyes. Unaided, she could see the erection was a big one. Her neighbour was well endowed. What kind of magazine was he reading for that to have happened? The man put the magazine down, paused as he looked straight at his penis and then got up and walked into his house. Sal was relieved. Clearly, he had realised how inappropriate it was to be in his garden with that thing sticking up. It was not as if he was a bull or ram in a field, where it was not unusual to see such things, but in suburbia to see a man like that...

Her relief did not last long as, almost immediately, the man sauntered back into the garden carrying a drink. His erection had not subsided one iota. There it was large as life and swaying to the front of him as he walked. Without thinking Sal zoomed out and snapped a picture of him just like that, glass of lemonade, or elderflower, in one hand, magazine in the other, penis at the ready. Her neighbour took a sip of his drink, put it down and resumed his reading; big penis lying not to one side but pointing straight to his chest, up to his tummy button, shiny head catching the sunlight, little mouth smiling away to itself and his balls hanging loosely in the heat between his thighs. Sal focused her camera in on the balls. The wrinkled skin of the sack was slack in the heat, weighed down by the testes so visibly resting in the lower extremity of the sack, the left hanging a little lower. Sal pressed the shutter. It was an excellent shot, crisp and clear; blown up on the computer screen even the hairs on his balls would show clearly. Sal imagined her giving a talk at the village hall with the image blown up on the screen - a giant pair of balls hanging over the audience with the hairs so crisp and clear. Obscene, absurd - she really was quite shocked, but still took another photograph.

The balls began to bounce up and down a little in her viewfinder. Sal was puzzled but took another picture; though she thought the movement would probably make the image a little less sharp despite the shutter speed being set reasonably fast. She could adjust that. As she panned upwards she got another shock; the man's hand was now on his penis, on his erection and was stroking it. He was wanking -- that was the word - in full sight of Sal. Whatever was he reading? Sal was appalled, again, but at the same time she realised with dismay, crossness and embarrassment that she was actually wet. She was reacting most inappropriately to the, equally - no far worse - behaviour of this new neighbour. He really should be punished.

Sal was horrified to find an image of her neighbour across her knee coming into her head; she imagined smacking his bare bottom whilst his penis and those very slack and hairy balls hung between her own thighs; her hand falling smartly on his bottom cheeks as her free hand squeezed his testes rather sharply. She knew that would hurt.

Unaided by the camera she looked across at him. There was no question, he was wanking right there in full view of her in his garden, on his lounger in the sunshine. What if he ejaculated? It did not bear thinking about. Talk about gross indecency. She could confront him with the photographs, ask him to desist in future - an embarrassing and difficult meeting - wouldn't he question why she had taken so many photographs?

Sal refocused the camera and took some more photographs of the moving hand. The hand stopped moving for a while before restarting its careful manipulation. Had he been close to coming?

A man coming, ejaculating. The photographer exerted herself. She would have to use sports mode to catch that properly; a burst of photographs to catch the racing car as it sped by - or the ejaculation projecting from the penis!

Sal paused. Why did she want to photograph the man's ejaculating penis at all? It was none of her business - except that he was doing it in full view of her; well actually only a full view if she parted the creepers at the far end of her balcony and deliberately looked. Sal reasoned, though, whilst she did not need to take the photographs, it would be technically interesting, and she was always keen, after all, to master technique. Glancing again through her viewfinder she saw a little fluid had appeared at the top of the shiny bulb of her neighbour's penis. It shone in the sunlight and automatically Sal clicked the shutter - twice. It suggested that thing men did was about to happen.

Adjusting to sports mode, Sal panned out a little and sat watching ready to capture the happening. Without thinking her free hand touched herself between her thighs. Really! She thought - that almost made her as bad as him!

Sal was ready when she saw the hand speed up and judged pressing the shutter and engaging sports mode at just the right point. No more than two clicks after she depressed the shutter, seminal fluid appeared as she had anticipated. 'Appeared' was not perhaps quite the right word - the words 'fountain' and 'fountained' sprang unaided into her mind. The penis spurted right up in the air as Sal's shutter went click, click, click. The second pulse was even better than the first and Sal was sure the fast speed would mean an impressive 'frozen in time' shot like she had used before to take photographs of waterfalls or, she recalled rather aptly (but also with a frown at the obvious analogy), geysers in New Zealand.

Sal was not disappointed with her photographs as she examined them later on her computer though she was shocked by what she had done and, indeed, the detail of the many, many photographs. Technically most were very good indeed. Crisply focused, well composed, good colour - it was just the subject matter that was, well, peculiar. Sal had nothing like this on her computer's hard disk. And as for the ejaculation shots... Well! She had caught the first spasm beautifully - no beautifully was just not the word at all, perfectly then - just as the stuff came out - yes ejaculated - caught streaming out of the urethra, out of the shiny glans, barely two inches in extent. Then her next photograph had caught it like, well, like lengths of white wax suspended in the air, the second pulse had been caught flying in the air at the very moment it reached its highest point of flight and was starting to fall back to earth - or at least her neighbour's tummy. White and solid-looking in its time-frozen state; Sal had to admit it was a wonderful piece of time frozen photography but not one she could win any prizes with at a photography competition. She spent a long time examining her handiwork, quite amazed at the detail she had captured when she enlarged them on the screen - they were each very large files, some five megabytes each.

Lying in bed that night Sal could not get the pictures of what she had seen next door out of her head. The man, the not unattractive neighbour, walking so freely in his garden and with his penis pointing and his balls swinging; the shock of the erection, the man brazenly walking around with an erection, those lovely egg shaped balls resting in their heat elongated sack (excellent photographs - the shadows had accentuated the whole roundness of the subject matter wonderfully) and lastly, but not least, the sight of the ejaculation; the big, big penis fountaining. She could not help it. Pulling off her thin summer nightdress her hands found her breasts with their already sensitive hard nipples. Sal wet a finger on her tongue and rotated it around her right nipple - lovely - she wriggled in her bed, feeling the sheets on her aroused skin, could feel how wet she was but she was not going to touch herself there quite yet.

What would it be like for someone to photograph her naked - or for her to photograph another woman - catching this other woman in a garden naked? All those curves. Catching her masturbating too. Would she be able to get the sense of wetness, that so feminine feeling, in a photograph so you could not only see but really feel what it was like to become wet? That feeling of arousal, the creeping moistness.

Sal's mind drifted back to the man. What if he had a friend with him - hopefully not another man -- but a woman? What would it be like to photograph intercourse and all that sometimes went with it? The fingers and the oral sex. Sal's fingers stole lower. She imagined photographing her neighbour's penis as it was licked by the pink tongue of a woman. It was an exciting, erotic idea. The wonderful, close up detail. Despite being a little surprised at herself, Sal's fingers touched and began to play; began to play a very wet game.

Sal was cross with herself. Cross was not quite accurate, very annoyed, even furious with herself for having masturbated the night before to the images of her new next-door neighbour: not actually staring at the computer, but those in her head recalling what she had seen with her own eyes and also the rather graphic pictures she had taken and had viewed on her computer. What would she now say when she met him? She could not really, not now, broach the subject of his nakedness. She could not mention casually she had espied him through the Wisteria, yes and seen him wanking away. "Nice cock, nice spurting but please don't do it again. It's just not nice."

She had not even met him. He had only just moved in next door. What would it be like when she did meet him; she would be so acutely conscious that she had seen him naked, not just naked but erect and spurting. Sal would have to go around and introduce herself. It was just not polite, not neighbourly not to do so. She had been away on holiday when he had moved in otherwise, of course, she would have met him at that time.

The nudity was, when she looked back on it, not causing her any real difficulty. In a way, and a way only, it was amusing to know the peculiarity of her neighbour was there and perhaps she would see him do just the same again. She was a little appalled that her initial shock and displeasure had changed; and so quickly. To find she was now acquiescing in his strange habits, worse, finding she enjoyed secretly peeping at naked men, was a surprise to her. She would never have thought it. She was cross with herself. What would she do next time, slip her knickers down, ease her clothes off and masturbate watching him? Appalling but...

Any reservation she had were swept away when she just happened to pull the wisteria aside mid-morning - just out of curiosity. Her neighbour was there again, not lying on his sun lounger but moving around his garden with a hand fork and weeding. A perfectly normal activity in the garden only, once again, he did not have any clothes on - not a stitch. She could not stop herself staring. What was it about wandering about his garden with nothing on? Why did he so like doing that? Sal really could not see why he did it. She could understand the need to wank, though not in his garden - why did he not do it in the privacy of his own bedroom like she sometimes did. Her mouth tightened, she was cross with herself about that, about what she had done the night before.

Sal watched for a time. He was just weeding: nothing else. Perhaps she should go around and knock on his door and introduce herself. Presumably he would dress for that! Sal was not sure what she would do if he opened his door in the nude. Would she simply run, or ignore the fact completely (which might be difficult if he did the obvious thing of inviting her in for coffee) or stare embarrassed and tongue tied not even saying who she was and why she was there?

Apart from not being erect, there was nothing hidden to Sal's eyes. Bending over and weeding with the sun on his back he several times showed that the phrase, 'where the sun don't shine' did not apply to her neighbour's arse - his anus. It was shown as clear as anything and below that his whole package hung, indeed swayed, like the bull in a field; hanging very low in the heat as if the whole thing, cock and balls, was on a stalk between his splayed legs. The camera came out again and missed nothing. Did he have no shame? It was unbelievable what she had on her computer now and in such detail. The view of his genitalia hanging between his legs in the sunshine on its stalk, almost separate from the body - so different from when the man stood, and it hung at the front. To be able to zoom in on his arsehole and see it filling the screen brown and wrinkled seemed to Sal such an intrusion of his privacy. But she could do it and it was there. It was not, really, much different from filling her screen with his zoomed in knob pulsing its semen - and she could do that with the day before's pictures just as easily. Both a massive invasion of his privacy. Yet the photographer in her was so pleased with the detail. Perfect anatomical photographs.

What was it about being naked in the garden? Why did her neighbour do it? What was there about being without clothes outside? It occurred to Sal that, really, there was only one way to find out. She would have to try it herself. Sal would have to venture into her own garden without clothes. She would have to step out of her door without the protection of clothing - the very thought of it strange and rather exciting. Sal had never done anything like that before.

Did she dare? Could she dare? It was not difficult standing in her bathroom; standing freshly showered with not even a bath towel wrapped around her but to go downstairs, walk easily through the dining room with nothing on and out of the French windows was quite another matter. Of course, she did that every day - but with clothes on. She would step onto the patio, out into the sunshine and feel the sun on her bare skin. Would it be nice?