NOTES: This is a CFNM story featuring male masturbation but no male/female sexual activity. Though there are schoolgirl characters mentioned in the story, they are all senior students over the age of eighteen. This story takes place just after my recent holiday-themed stories. Though parts of this story actually happened, it is essentially a complete work of fiction. It is also a shameless ploy to direct readers back to some of my previous stories, which they may not have read.
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It was a balmy summer's night in Sydney, Australia. It was early January, and there was an undeniable post-Christmas, post-New Year's Eve party atmosphere in the air.
Like myself, most people were on holidays from work; there were international travellers everywhere; and the weather was delightfully warm.
I'd just gotten home from a rousing night out drinking with friends in the city. I'd downed more than my fair share of beers, and I had a very nice buzz going.
I'd wandered around town for a little while after saying goodbye to my friends, hoping that I might stumble into some naughty fun, but unfortunately, nothing had panned out.
I'm a 25-year-old sex addicted exhibitionist, and I enjoy getting my gear off for happy, willing women whenever I can.
I love all sorts of ladies, and I'm up for pretty much any kind of hetero sex. I'm in great shape, and I'm very, very well hung, so many saucy opportunities have presented themselves over the years.
When I'm especially horny, I often wander the streets at night in the busier parts of the city, hoping to come across groups of drunken women ready for a laugh, or women in pairs after an evening out who might be up for a last-minute late night threesome.
My first move is usually to take off my shirt and show off my heavily muscled body in an effort to get the ladies interested.
I only do this with groups or pairs of women, and never ladies on their own. I never want to unsettle anyone with my exhibitionist behaviour.
I've occasionally been successful in these after-dark street trawls. I've been invited home by a couple of particularly keen ladies, resulting in some highly enjoyable sex.
I've also been felt up right there on the street. A group of rowdy young women out on a hen's night had taken great, noisy delight in rubbing my bare torso and groping my cock and butt through my jeans while loudly laughing and clapping.
"See girls, I told you we didn't need to shell out for a stripper," one girl howled while rubbing my shaft through my pants.
"We should dack him," one giggled. "Let's get him naked and have a look at his willy!"
"Gross," shrieked the bride-to-be. "Not here in the street! We're not that desperate! Anyway, I wanna dance! Let's get to the club!"
Disappointingly, the bride-to-be won out, and the ladies all walked off giggling, though a few paused to get in a final grope of my butt.
"See ya, sexy," one laughed, and gave my cock a hearty squeeze.
More frequently, however, the situations I've ended up in have remained even more disappointingly PG-rated, though still entertaining.
For instance, on several delightful occasions, I've happily had my photo taken with groups of drunken girls amused and excited to see a muscular guy walking around at night without his shirt on.
I also look out for groups of women chatting, laughing and drinking on apartment block balconies.
Their natural distance and thus inherent sense of safety tends to make the women more confident, which has occasionally worked out well for me. It's certainly yielded a few amusing opportunities.
In a street not far from my home one night, I noticed three women talking loudly and giggling on the garden terrace of a fancy town house.
I slowed down, and saw that they were older women, most likely in their forties, and all attractive.
I stopped on the street down below, and slowly peeled off my t-shirt to reveal my bare torso.
My now exposed muscular body soon got the ladies' attention, and they all giggled and looked directly at me.
"Getting a bit hot, mate?" one of the women asked. "Working up a sweat?"
"Yeah, it's a warm night," I replied. "The pants might have to come off next!"
"Well, don't wait until you get to the end of the street," the woman laughed.
There was nobody else around, and with that kind of encouragement, I didn't hesitate for a second.
I quickly dropped my shorts to my ankles and stood in the street in just my Calvin Klein fitted trunks.
The three women whistled, laughed and clapped, so I decided to take it to the next level.
But as I hooked my thumbs into the sides of my Calvins and prepared to reveal all, the women suddenly got all shy and hesitant. One even started to wave her hands wildly from side to side.
"Whoa, that's enough," she said in a still friendly but slightly more commanding tone. "That'll do, mate. You run along now, okay? That's enough..."
"Okay, no worries," I said, and pulled up my shorts. "Have a great night, ladies."
"Yeah, you too, you naughty boy," said another of the women. "Off you go..."
I quickly pulled up my shorts and then hurriedly walked off while the three women laughed in obvious exasperation at my audacity.
In my experience, I'd found this was pretty typical of women -- while many were happy to have a laugh and make comments while perving at me in my underpants, they often baulked completely when it came to possible nudity.
This obviously represented a major crossing of the line, and I only went nude if women really seemed to be up for it.
That said, these late-night walks and wanders around Sydney's beaches and popular party areas had certainly offered up some strange and very sexual experiences over the years.
Just a couple of weeks previously on Christmas Eve, I had even stripped totally nude and then jerked off in an alley for the entertainment of a desperate homeless woman [See Story: "Oz Beach Boy Strip For Homeless Gal"], which was pretty much as low as I'd ever gone in my sex addicted life.
On this balmy night, however, I'd come up disappointingly empty. I'd chatted to two young women who asked me for ten dollars so they could get a taxi home, but the situation never escalated.
I gave them the cash, and they both kissed me on the cheek to say thanks, but it never got sexier than that.
I also took off my shirt and slyly flexed my considerable muscles when I walked past a group of drunken women, but again, outside of a few whistles and cat-calls, the ladies didn't really engage with me enough to get anything going.
In case my escapades resulted in me losing my clothes (always a possibility), I had buried a spare set of keys in one of the garden areas of my apartment complex.
I hadn't had to access the stashed keys yet, but I felt much safer knowing that I would always be able to get back into my apartment if anything happened.
On this night, I was extremely horny -- as I pretty much always was -- and bitterly disappointed that I hadn't seen any action.
By the time I got home to my apartment, it was three o'clock in the morning. I drank a big glass of water at my kitchen sink, and looked out the window at the apartment building directly across from mine.
All of the lights in the apartments were out, and it appeared everyone had gone to bed a long time ago.
Though the windows were shrouded in darkness, I thought I saw some movement in one of the apartments a few levels up from mine.
I tried to be subtle, but I kept my eyes on the window, and noticed the slight movement again.
The apartment block was designed identically to mine, so I knew that the movement was happening in one of the apartment's bedrooms.
As I took another gulp of my water, I noticed the movement again. I then saw a very brief and very small glint in the darkness, as if a light from somewhere outside was reflecting off something in the apartment.
My tendency to fantasise about all things sexual then started to ramp up. Was someone watching me? Was that light reflecting off someone's spectacles? Or, even better, was that light reflecting off a pair of binoculars or a telescope?
My mind was excitingly racing, and I instantly went to the sleaziest, sexiest place possible. Another exciting thought then popped into my head.
When you live directly across from another apartment block, you get to know who lives in which unit from seeing people sitting on their balconies or standing at their kitchen windows preparing their dinner.
Apartment windows can sometimes give you a direct, voyeuristic view into other people's lives.
I knew that this particular apartment was occupied by a woman who looked to be in her late forties. She was quite attractive, and she lived with her equally attractive teenage daughter.
The girl was no longer at school, and I'd presumed her to be about nineteen or so. From what I'd been able to gauge, there were no husbands or boyfriends on the scene.
I'd seen the mother and daughter down at the outdoor swimming pool shared by our neighbouring apartment buildings.
The daughter had long brown hair and an incredible body, which she liked to show off in a variety of revealing bikinis. She was tall and slim with long legs, big tits, and a wonderfully curvy butt.
The mother, meanwhile, looked damn fine too. She was carrying a few extra kilos, which I, of course, had absolutely no problem with. I love women of all shapes, sizes and ages.
She had a slightly bloated look, particularly around her mid-section. She always wore a modest one-piece swimsuit at the pool.
The mother's big tits were bravely battling age and gravity, and her butt was loose and wobbly. The backs of her upper thighs were ravaged by cellulite.
