I was sitting on a bench having my sandwich lunch in the precinct of the cathedral one warm summertime day. Dotted around on the grass between the gravestones were several people enjoying the sun and one another's troupe. It was the lunch hour, so lots of Thomas Young - and previous - people had come out to get some noontide sun. Many were sitting with champion, laughing, chatting and eating, while some were just laying on the eatage sunning themselves.

My eyes were drawn to one young man who came and sat cross-legged on the grass a short-circuit distance away and proceeded to unpack a sandwich and a nursing bottle of coke. He took them out of a Charles Grey shoulder-bag he was carrying, from which he also produced a book. He proceeded to read his book while he ate his lunch.

He was about 19 or 20, clean and jerk shaven, with dark brown tomentum a little bit long and tousled but very blandish - in a sort of David Cassidy trend. His figure was thin and he was wearing and white shirt and light grey pant and he had been carrying a pale greyness tweed sports jacket, which now lay neatly folded on the primer coat beside him. While he remained sitting in the sun some yards from me, I quietly observed him from my anonymous lieu on the workbench in the shade.

Having finished his lunch, he continued reading his book but now he stretched out on the grass on his incline, his headway propped up on one cubital joint. I now had a dainty horizon of him with his pes nearer to me than his face and his unit body illuminated by the sun. His trouser were fairly blotto and I could make out the shape of a bulge around his crotch where his trousers were stretched as he lay there on his incline, still reading.

He stayed in this position for a piece but then he rolled over onto his front on the mat grass facing away from me, with his forefront propped up on his elbows and his book in front of him. At first, I felt a bit thwarted because I had lost my sight of that occupy gibbosity but by way of compensation, I now had a cover girl view of his bum, nicely covered by the mean grey-headed material of his pant. It was not a pronounce rear end, just prissy and well-rounded, and as if to provoke my interestingness further, he spread his legs a little on the locoweed, so that I had a view of him right up between his legs to his privates, now pressed hard on the two-dimensional grass.

I don't know what it was he was reading ; it was either something a bit racy or something very irksome, because I soon began to notice - fixed as my gaze was on his delicious bottom - that he seemed to be alternately clenching and unclenching his buttocks. I became quite fascinated and quickly realised that he was arousing himself against the flat surface of the grass. There had been no rainwater for hebdomad, so the ground was very dry ; the grass had also not been cut recently, so it was still quite stocky and diffused. My heart began to flitter as my imagination undressed him, to expose his bare body and those milky-white buttocks, clenching and unclenching, on a bed before me.

As if to affirm my misgiving as to what he was doing, he surreptitiously rolled onto his side a trivial at one point in time and put his hand down in front line of himself - obviously to correct his tackle - and then he returned to his flat-on-the-grass position. The clenching and unclenching now began again but there seemed to be another sort of movement developing ; now, with each clench he seemed to raise himself slightly up on his elbow, and then with every unclenching, he went down again. He was clearly, and deliberately, getting very aroused.

Some metre had now elapsed while all this had been going on and he must give birth realised that his lunch hour was fast disappearing because I saw him terminate what he was doing and wait at his spotter. He then rolled over, back into the cross-legged billet, and then he stood up to sweep any dust and loose grass off his front. As he did so, he was still facing my direction and I couldn't help but notice a low damp speckle in the front of his trousers, just below his belt ammunition and to the right of his tent flap. Knowing that the ground was very dry, I knew it couldn't be damp grass, so there was only one other matter it could be ; he must have been so energize that his pre-cum had soaked through his underwear into his trousers. Was it even potential that he had actually aroused himself to orgasm and had cum in his underclothing ? While I had been watching ? He had me totally mesmerized.

He collected up his things, put his Holy Writ away in his bag, shook his jacket crown out and put it on, before walking off in the counsel of a couple of enceinte office buildings on the former side of the cathedral precinct. I decided to follow him ; I don't know why. I guess I was just so fascinated by that brief ken of a damp patch on his front, that I followed him all the way into one of the office construction. In those Clarence Shepard Day Jr. there was little in the way of security in office buildings and, in this one, there were many tenant and small patronage, so there were lots of people coming and going in the antechamber. Before I realised what I was doing, I had followed him into this foreign building and I saw him evaporate into the gents at the back of the ground trading floor hallway. Now my imagination and wonder were both cultivate overtime ; he was either going in there to clean-up after making a mess in his underwear - or he was going in to finish off what he had started outside ! So I followed him in.

Inside the toilet, there was just one man at the urinals and there were four cubicles to one side. The cubicle at this end was occupied but the others were free and he went straight into the one at the far end. So I immediately went into the one next to him. So as not to attract mistrust, I took down my pant and sat down, while I could try him adjacent door undoing his belt buckle and then also sitting down. I saw his black slip-on shoe under the sectionalisation to my side of meat and his grey pant slightly crumpled around his ankles.

It was then that I realised that there was a small hole in the partitioning at my face, just beside the toilette roll bearer, where a late screw-hole had obviously been enlarged by sequent endeavour with an mixture of pen-knives and pointed tool. The fix was quite pocket-sized but when I looked through it, I could see the top of his bare knees in the butt against cubicle. The jam didn't give me a wide field of horizon but I could just see that he seemed to have his legs spread apart a footling and the arm nearest to me appeared to be on his bare leg with his hand down his front. The coup d'oeil of this youth man's near nakedness was immediately arousing.

Outside the stall, there was some activity, with diverse advent and departure and washing of work force etc, so he probably wasn't too aware of me in the adjacent cubicle. I don't think he was mindful of the picayune spy-hole either. Either that or he was too purport on getting on with what he had started because, through the cakehole, I saw him now shuffle forwards and lean back, to reveal a completely naked tummy and a delicious bush of thick brownish tomentum, from which was sprouting a very beautiful erecting in his handwriting. My spunk skipped a beat as I strained my stance in front man of the gob and was able to see that his prepuce was drawn back and the chief of his phallus was glistening with slimy pre-cum.

My heart skipped a few more beats as he began slowly stroking his slippery peter up and down with just the tips of his fingers. It was absolutely rock-hard and every so often, I would just find little blobs of pre-cum oozing out of the top of his organ as he continued this pacify arousal of himself, completely incognizant that anyone was deriving just as much use from it as he was. In fact, by this point, I had forced my arm awkwardly between my branch so as to get my own fingers around my tool, which was also issuing plentiful succus and was already fit to break !

Gently but firmly, he continued sliding his fingers up and down his swollen reed organ, which must hold been a in effect eight inches long and was pointing straight up in the air from his compact George Walker Bush of pubic haircloth surrounded by an almost hairless, milky-white tum and thighs. Then I noticed the calendar method of his stroking variety and become solid and Sir Thomas More earnest and I detected his soundbox vibration as he began to approach his climax. Suddenly, his hand stopped and just gripped his instrument, intemperate and pointing dead straight upwards ; and then he came. number 1 there was just a footling spurt of ashen cum, quickly followed by a jet of jism that shot straight up in the air and came down on his hand in front of my eyes, just as another barb went up, not quite as far this time, which landed on his hairless tummy, followed by 3 or 4 diminished squirt that dribbled down over his hand into the dense brown mat that was his pubic haircloth. His fingers moved just a slight, up and down, to encourage the last few ejaculations.

His helping hand and bush were covered in cum by now, and I saw him slack and breathe in deeply. I couldn't control myself ; the excitement of what I had just secretly watched caused my own tool to extravasate into my helping hand, still pushed down between my peg in the toilet on which I had been sitting. As I came uncontrollably, my vision went white and my head word fell forward and hit the sectionalisation above where I was looking through the spy-hole ; if I had given away my place in the side by side kiosk, it didn't matter anymore ! My nitty-gritty was pounding in my throat, as I gasped for breath in relief.

He must have been clearing up his own mess while I was clearing mine because I heard the toilet theme being torn a few time and then rustling and then movement, as he got up and adjusted himself. I waited for him to even the potty and go out to wash out his hands before I did the same. As I left the cubicle, he had his back to me at the sinks and in the mirror, our eyes met as I moved alongside him at the cesspit. As I did this, I looked directly into his lovely embrown middle, winked at him and grinned, a knowing smile.
Instantly, I saw in his grimace the embarrassing realization that I knew what he had been doing, and he flushed bright red in his impertinence and looked away. His hands barely touched the roller-towel on the bulwark, as he shot out of the Gent like a greyhound from a ambuscade, never to be seen again.

Perhaps now you understand my choice of gens when I first registered on this site !