The Garden Shed

His wife had complained, "Why can't you be like other men?" She had shown him pictures of her friend Tania's husband; not just of him but of his cock - not something he had wanted to see at all. Yes, her friend's husband's cock erect and actually in use, inside Tania, poking at her, even spewing on her face; really rude pictures.

"That's what I want." She'd meant a long cock, a long cock when erect that is. She was comparing Tania's husband to him. He had wondered; why had Tania given the pictures to her? Who had taken the pictures anyway; did she actually know why she wanted a cock like that - had she tried it and found it to her liking? Did Karen know or had they all been to bed together or in the lounge or wherever? Was he regularly cuckolded by men with long dicks and hadn't known it?

He stood in his garden resting on his hoe, Gary Roldern 56, retired policeman and divorcee, and he looked down at his cock. It was a hot, sweltering July day and, as was his wont with no one to see, he was dressed in a short sleeved dark blue linen shirt, straw hat, boots and nothing else. He had long realised that even pants and shorts were too hot for a summer's day but keeping a shirt on to protect his back from sunburn was prudent. As for the hat, a developing bald patch in his greying sandy hair made that annoyingly advisable as well.

His cock swung loosely in the heat and he smiled at it as men will at their own tackle. It looked fine and, of course, it did, resting like that; more than fine even, actually rather thick. It had always looked fine in the changing rooms at school and in the police gym; a more than respectable looking item; he bent for a closer look, yes it had always looked much thicker than the other boys to say nothing of the balls looking bigger and lower slung. As if conscious of the attention the little pink acorn head popped its eye out of the enfolding skin and seemed to look at him. His wife had not liked that either, "why your parents did not have that cut off I do not know," and she'd mention Tania's husband again. Personally he had always thought the circumcised looked rather naked, rather obscene in the changing rooms as if all ready for sex: when they were just boys or men together.

The trouble with it, his cock, was that it did not get that much bigger erect. It looked fine: it just did not get particularly finer. What he ended up with was a stumpy five incher compared to Tania's husband's impressive eight and a quarter incher. How had his wife known the measurements? Had Tania simply told her or had they jointly measured? He still wondered. She never told him before she left - soon after.

It did, of course, get bigger but not enough. It lengthened a little and it certainly thickened, yes got fatter and Gary would have thought, but he was no expert, that thick in the diameter or lengthy in the circumference was what the ladies liked - a greater stretching when plugged but, no, it seemed length was 'the thing,' as he had been told time and time again. Perhaps it just looked good, standing eight and a quarter inches in the air. It had quite unmanned him - but it was over now, been over the best part of five years and he was more than happy at that. The brief period of impotency had passed. It had been a relief to find that note.

Gary went back to his hoeing, digging and pruning in the hot sunshine. Having thought about his dick it was not perhaps surprising his thoughts turned to sex. Apart from his own hand being friendly he had not had sex for a little more than five years and sometimes it lay heavily on him. He had not gone looking for other women and they had not gone looking for him. A happy, unplanned meeting had not happened either. It would have been nice though.

His thoughts turned, not to women of his own age but, as the thoughts of middle aged men will, they dwelt on the young and nubile. Zara down the road fitted the bill; he always enjoyed catching a glimpse of her - a real pleasure. He had watched her for years, not in some obsessive way, but his eye had been happy to rest on her even as a pubescent schoolgirl in her dark blue school skirt and blouse. Naughty - but nice, he had thought to himself. Now she was past uniforms, probably eighteen, and more than worth the glance with her long blond hair and legs to match whether in jeans, shorts or the occasional skirt. Her blouse had filled out well and he had noted with approval her little pug nose and pleasantly full lips. Gary's cock swelled and pushed up at the front of his shirt. He would like to have her in his garden now perhaps sunbathing, perhaps helping. "Mr Roldern, would you mind if I sunbathed in your garden. Ours is so overlooked and I do want an overall tan. You wouldn't mind. I trust you." Mind? Of course he wouldn't mind! Trust? Would he be able to trust himself? Surely he would reveal what he thought rather too obviously and physically?

Gary imagined himself apologising to Zara for his erection. Saying he had not control over it but really relishing half exposing himself; the idea she would be half seeing it below his shirt as it very obviously pushed the material forward; perhaps he would accidently make the mistake of reaching up for something and that would lift the hem of the shirt and out the whole erection would drop.

He reached down and stroked himself letting go of his garden fork and imagining the scene.

"Don't mind me, Mr Roldern. It's nice anyway, natural and nice but it's sooo thick; can it really go in... you know? Just carry on with your gardening. Can I help?"

He imagined her bending to do some weeding or working the hoe as her breasts jiggled around before settling down to the sun bathing.

And if it didn't go down then perhaps: "Can I hold it, just a bit?"

Hold it? But of course! The thought of it; just casually walking over to Zara as if it was the most normal thing to do and Zara's hand reaching up to touch, to grasp, to hopefully manipulate perhaps even to let him spray all over her chest. He imagined that. The steady wanking. "Can I; I mean would you mind if you came over my tits, I'd just love to see it come. Does a lot come out of these big balls here?" He could imagine the accompanying squeeze.

It was attractive imagery and Gary was enjoying his wank in the hot sunshine, enjoying the hot sunshine on his cock, enjoying his thoughts and relishing the pleasurable sensations his hand was giving him. Just at that moment there was a noise, a faint noise in the garden shed at the bottom of the garden. He started and turned towards it, his hand dropping from his erection. Was there someone in there, stealing things or, actually worse, watching him wanking? The potential for embarrassment terrible, though, really, what was terribly wrong about having a wank in your own private garden?

He started towards the shed and there was another slight sound as if the door was being opened and closed. Despite his erection poking very visibly from under his shirt Gary strode hurriedly across the garden, around to the back of his shed and yanked open the shed door. There was no one there; no one in the shed, behind the shed or at the back gate. He peered over the gate to either side but could see no one in the loke or grassed alley. Gary was not sure what he would have done had there been someone there.

His now almost flaccid cock swinging, Gary walked back to the shed and stood inside looking around. At first he could see nothing amiss, nothing changed, but there on the floor, rather crumpled and to the side, was a handkerchief; Gary picked it up. It was embroidered with the letter, 'Z.'

Gary sat down heavily on his chair in his shed, an old wooden one, and stared down the garden towards his house and particularly to where he had just been standing. He was a little shocked; he had been seen half naked; worse, caught wanking in his own garden by... was it Zara? Why would she, a young girl of eighteen, be in his shed watching him? It couldn't be that she had... a thing for older men? It was unlikely, very unlikely indeed, virtually something to discount or perhaps, well he wasn't totally decrepit by any means; perhaps she came here often to watch him, to see his cock. Perhaps she was fascinated by its thickness, its size; watching it swing free as he worked. Well today would have disappointed her - when it had grown and revealed it did not grow anything like as long as she should have expected from its resting size. Perhaps that was why she had left - in disgust. Or had she seen it erect before? It would not be the first time in the sunshine that 'JT' had raised himself to point at the sky and his long foreskin had rolled back. Perhaps she had been excited by his wanking, perhaps she had been doing just the same thing in the shed; hand touching nipples, hand in her trousers or up her dress.

The image of Zara in just a dress, no panties and her hand delving beneath caused his erection to return. He sniffed as he stroked thoughtfully. No scent of woman, whether bought in a shop or natural, just the odours of insect killer and fertiliser and they were rather too strong to allow his nose to catch anything else. Crikey, if she wanted to play the peeping Tom he was more than happy to oblige. There was no way he was in the wrong on this. It was not a problem. He thought again of a hand between her legs and wondered how much hair she had right there: just a little short fluffy down or, already, a profusion of blond curls? Both images were very pleasing. He liked a woman natural: his wife of course didn't and had her way. Gary hoped it had hurt!

His hand slowed on his cock - perhaps it was not Zara but someone else. After all, his next door neighbour's name also began with a 'Z' - Zoe! Was it her? Would she tell her husband, Tom, would he complain? But what was there to complain about; it was his shed and she should not have been in it; and why was she in his shed anyway? Borrowing something? Surely not - she would have asked, "Could I borrow some weed killer or your dibber, Gary?" He smiled to himself at that. She could borrow his dibber anytime!

Ever so sweet, dark curly hair, freckles, perhaps a little plump but plenty to hold on to, she could be described as rather short and in her mid thirties, he would estimate. Why would she have been watching? Was there perhaps a hole in the fence, a little spy hole she had looked through once out of curiosity and seen him, Gary, at work. Perhaps he had been bending over and her first glimpse of him in his garden had been one of his arse sticking up in the air and, if he had been bending a long way to pull some weeds, even his bottom hole catching the sun 'where the sun don't shine!' Not a very pleasing or erotic view - for a woman! The image amused him. But if his legs had been apart she would have seen his tackle hanging and hanging low. Perhaps that had excited her, had liked that vision of maleness - the hanging genitalia - seeing him like a bull or a ram, strong male images with their big balls swinging.

He laughed; who was he kidding! The idea of the scrawny arse of a late middle aged man being exciting to a young woman however big his balls were or how much they swung was ludicrous. Erotic? Not. But perhaps she had seen him in a better pose and perhaps that had interested her and she had come for a closer look. Had she watched him through the fence many times; had she found the shed more comfortable and sat in it more than once watching and enjoying.

Where, though, was that spy hole - that probably imaginary spy hole? Could he return the favour? Might Zoe wander in her garden or sunbathe in the all-together whilst he peered through the knot hole? Gary could imagine her on a blanket or sun bed reading a book with sunglasses on, completely naked; he could imagine that; her sweet chubby little body with legs towards him, thighs parted showing her thatch stretching down between her legs, wild dark and unruly. He liked that idea. Just a hint of pink lips showing through; with the sun catching little shiny beads of sweat glistening on that wild dark hair. Perhaps he could get his camera to the spy hole and catch an intimate image to expand on his computer later - just before bed. Something to dwell on - so to speak.

Or perhaps there would be Tom together with Zoe in the garden doing what the birds and bees do. Gary was not averse to the idea of seeing that, seeing another man's cock stiff and at work. Perhaps if Zoe was angled as before and he watched the whole business, and he was sure he would wait to see it through to conclusion, he might catch sight of the aftermath of lovemaking, the wilting cock withdrawing dripping into the dark curly hair - white on black - the gaping, just vacated, sex perhaps oozing a little. Her legs staying splayed in the sunshine. It was an image to conjure with, a strong sexual image to Gary. It pleased him.

"Come on Gary, we know you're watching; come round and plug Zoe with that thick cock of yours." His imagination took a new turn. "Yes, hurry round Gary, the gate is unlocked, I need filling some more." Gary could imagine that. Hurrying around to see his two naked neighbours; out one gate and into another, his cock at the ready. A much closer view of Zoe's messy cunt; Tom standing there all spent and dripping a little, inviting him in, "Come on neighbour, stick it in, it's all ready to go, nice and slippery, just ram it in and do your worst!"

So very, very unlikely!

It was hot, very hot in the garden shed and the sweat was pouring down Gary as he wanked, his balls hanging over the lip of the chair, slack in the heat and bouncing. His penis enervated and straining. Short, stubby but so thick and wet at the end. He took off his shirt. The sweat ran in little drops from his armpits down the side of his chest. It was ridiculously hot in the shed. Was he really doing this where some woman had just been pleasuring herself? He couldn't see any dripping marks on the dusty floor!

Not very likely to be invited round to assist in what seemed a happy marriage irrespective of whether Tom came too soon or not. More likely Zoe was a faithful wife but, no doubt just like Tom, liked to fantasise when alone and have a little private wank. What if he had caught her - or Zara - in the shed? The woman turning startled, one breast with a gorgeously swollen nipple hanging out of her dress, the dress itself drawn up around her waist and a hand between her thighs - obvious what it was doing and the more so when suddenly withdrawn it showed wet fingers. He, standing in the doorway blocking off escape but with his own sexual organ massively - OK 'mediumly' or, better, 'thickly' - stimulated, and pointing accusingly at the woman. Who would blink, or rather speak, first?

Perhaps Gary would, "what are you doing in my shed?"

There wasn't much of an answer to be made other than ones involving the words 'sorry' and 'masturbating.'

"But why my shed?" Words forcing an acknowledgement of the erect state of Gary's cock and admission that the woman liked what she had been seeing and had been using it as an 'aid' to masturbation and climax.

Would fucking ensure? Gary would have the upper hand, control of egress from the shed and moreover the visible means to carry out the act. Force or coercion, though, would not be nice or even good policy, better to ask questions like: Why? Would you like a closer look? Do you want to touch? Can I watch you? Do you want to watch me?

Best not to hurry it and try for intercourse. Taking things too fast could well result in only one opportunity whereas 'softly, softly catchee monkey' was a much better long term stratagem.

An admission she, whoever she was, liked to watch and that it gave sexual gratification was likely to lead to more; more watching at the very least. A very personal admission which might lead further.

What was it about the watching? Was there particularly pleasure in the secrecy, watching unbeknown to the person being watched? Did Zara or Zoe find particular pleasure in private masturbation which would not be made better by sharing - a particular pleasure in the viewing? That would be unfortunate though Gary knew he would nonetheless enjoy being watched half naked or even naked in the garden never knowing whether Zoe or Zara was watching, hands perhaps playing, particularly if he had an erection.

Imagine that; thinking Zoe might be peeping through the knot hole and he gradually getting closer to it as he wanked but not really knowing if he was actually being watched; eventually ejaculating close to the knot hole perhaps aiming a little to the side of it not just enjoying the wank himself but hoping it gave pleasure to Zoe. What a very peculiar idea!

But would not the discovery lead to a more open appreciation. Mutual masturbation would more than 'do.' If not fucking or even touching and sucking then, if Zara wished to retain her (supposed) virginity or Zoe wished to remain faithful to Tom, then why not masturbate together? Surely sensible of Gary to suggest they leave the heat of the shed and go into the garden and watch each other - a companionable, but solo masturbation, each observing the other - no touching but a close watching. Perhaps sitting on the grass or in the garden chairs. Perhaps with Zara or Zoe hooking their thighs over her chair's arms, exposing herself to him as much as she could whilst her fingers showed how women played. A rule of no touching but Gary easily imagined himself happily placed inches from Zara's or indeed Zoe's sex, close enough for her to feel his breath and for him to breathe in her scent whilst her young fingers stroked wet pinkness and slipped inside. Perhaps she would relent and let the tip of his tongue just lick her little button, so very visible right in front of his eyes.

Even sitting staring at the other as they masturbated would be fine. Imagine it a regular occurrence, an agreed thing they did. How pleasant to be sitting stroking his cock just like he did on his own, sometimes fast, sometimes slow whilst he looked at a magazine or read a book or, these days, looked at images or videos or stories on his computer: but instead watching a real women one hand playing with her nipples, the other doing interesting things between her legs. Perhaps she might use some objects on herself. Maybe a plastic pretend penis, perhaps a banana or even a cucumber! Crikey - watching Zara or Zoe trying to get that in! Perhaps she and he would talk, tell each other stories or their fantasies; an uninhibitness not between lovers but something quite different - and something not to be referred to outside the strange assignations. Imagine that, agreeing to meet for a wank - "your place or mine?" Being able to specify what the other wore to start with - did Zara still have her schoolgirl uniform (naughty but nice)! "What would you like me to stick in myself today, Gary? That's a very funny looking carrot, Gary -- did you choose it especially for me?" It would all be so amusing and fun.

But was it Zara, was it Zoe? Who else could it have been? He had only the evidence of the handkerchief. What other woman? He paused, his hand stilled. It might have been a man. Men were more visual than women, more likely to peek, a much more likely Peeping Tom: it was not normally a Peeping Jane.

Did he mind? He had nothing against gay men per se. Some of his best... what a cliché... one of his best friends was gay but had never come on to him and Gary had never had the slightest interest in him sexually; good mate yes, most definitely yes; was he fond of him, most certainly; but sexually attracted, you had to be kidding!

If some bloke wanted to wank at his naked body, his unrestrained or erect cock or even his arse hole Gary couldn't see he could object - though he was not so sure about a stranger having access to his shed. But if the bloke came clean, didn't just skulk about then, frankly, he couldn't see why he should object to the other's pleasure. Why, if he asked, he'd even wank him off. He knew what to do after all! But there was no way he was being taken up the behind or willingly suck a man's cock.