turning on the light inside as if someone was secretly peering out at him. He swam in sensuous arcs through the water, diving downward. His half-exposed ass would rise above the clear blue paint of the pool. The shot would make anyone salivate.
He leaned back against a water jet so the propulsion of bubbles rippled the Speedo. Even in dim light I could see his dick gaining width with the stimulation. Teeth shone in moonlight as he reached down below the surface of the blue water and pulled the Speedo down and off, tossed it behind himself onto a lounge chair. The camera caught his balls bouncing in the jet. His full erection beat against him like a windup toy. I could hear the slap when he pulled himself up halfway out of the water so the tide of big, white bubbles billowed under his nuts.
“ I could have sex with this jet,” he said before he flipped himself toward it. The position made him look like a master-carved Roman fountain statue. He shone like wet marble in the moon glow. As a photographer, I was in heaven. As a man, he made me lust so hard, it was painful.
I moved around for close-ups. I went belly-flat on the walkway to capture the lunar light in his beautiful blues. His expression said boyish prankster. “Want to hear a secret? How I learned to masturbate?” he asked in a voice barely loud enough for me to hear over the gurgling jet. It was his way of making me move in close. “My dad.”
That was enough to bring me to a standstill, staring at him with horror movie shock.
Once he ’d fully appreciated the words’ effect on me, he continued. “I was eleven years old. He came into my room to explain that touching myself was a sin. That spilling my seed was a sin,” he chuckled. “I didn’t have a clue what he meant. Had never done it. Didn’t even know what masturbation was. So you know what I did right after he left my room and closed the door? I began touching myself. I figured out how to do it. And I spilled my goddamned seed. And after that I just couldn’t stop spilling my goddamned seed. I loved it. It was fun. Gotta thank dear old dad for telling me not to pull my pud!”
I laughed. I think it was more of relief than anything else. It appeared he took a lot of pleasure from defying his whole family, not just his mother.
I stood back by the pool house door, explaining my script to him, as if I were a pair of eyes staring from inside it, but using my camera to get that point of view. He pulled himself up out of the pool. I caught every diamond drop of the water, every ripple of lean muscle in his arms, shoulders and chest. And the massive upward hook of his aroused cock. His thighs bounced. He resembled a naked ape, all that beautiful body hair holding onto glistening drops of water. The camera loved him.
He walked nude all the way back through the unlit wooded path behind the apartment buildings. I photographed the entire journey, following his chlorine-rich trail, catching the shadows and light as they tattooed his flesh. If any of the neighbors had looked out their back windows, they’d have had a glimpse of one beautiful naked man walking past in the nightglow.
Time for the second part of the story. I left most of the details up to him to improvise for me. My camera would be obedient to his movements. I’d be his secret admirer from the pool house who had followed him home, hidden in the blackness of evening outside his bedroom window to spy upon him... I’d be his voyeur.
I listened as he made his way in and through the apartment to the bedroom. I stood waiting just outside the room’s window. Blinds opened, followed by the window so he could hear my instructions. I could still smell the pool on him coming from inside the room. This would be his stage. A small lamp cast weak light from the corner and illuminated the room, bathing him in dim, blue outlines. I checked my readings. The shots would be artistic, deep with mystery. Just as if someone was clandestinely observing
He leaned back against a water jet so the propulsion of bubbles rippled the Speedo. Even in dim light I could see his dick gaining width with the stimulation. Teeth shone in moonlight as he reached down below the surface of the blue water and pulled the Speedo down and off, tossed it behind himself onto a lounge chair. The camera caught his balls bouncing in the jet. His full erection beat against him like a windup toy. I could hear the slap when he pulled himself up halfway out of the water so the tide of big, white bubbles billowed under his nuts.
“ I could have sex with this jet,” he said before he flipped himself toward it. The position made him look like a master-carved Roman fountain statue. He shone like wet marble in the moon glow. As a photographer, I was in heaven. As a man, he made me lust so hard, it was painful.
I moved around for close-ups. I went belly-flat on the walkway to capture the lunar light in his beautiful blues. His expression said boyish prankster. “Want to hear a secret? How I learned to masturbate?” he asked in a voice barely loud enough for me to hear over the gurgling jet. It was his way of making me move in close. “My dad.”
That was enough to bring me to a standstill, staring at him with horror movie shock.
Once he ’d fully appreciated the words’ effect on me, he continued. “I was eleven years old. He came into my room to explain that touching myself was a sin. That spilling my seed was a sin,” he chuckled. “I didn’t have a clue what he meant. Had never done it. Didn’t even know what masturbation was. So you know what I did right after he left my room and closed the door? I began touching myself. I figured out how to do it. And I spilled my goddamned seed. And after that I just couldn’t stop spilling my goddamned seed. I loved it. It was fun. Gotta thank dear old dad for telling me not to pull my pud!”
I laughed. I think it was more of relief than anything else. It appeared he took a lot of pleasure from defying his whole family, not just his mother.
I stood back by the pool house door, explaining my script to him, as if I were a pair of eyes staring from inside it, but using my camera to get that point of view. He pulled himself up out of the pool. I caught every diamond drop of the water, every ripple of lean muscle in his arms, shoulders and chest. And the massive upward hook of his aroused cock. His thighs bounced. He resembled a naked ape, all that beautiful body hair holding onto glistening drops of water. The camera loved him.
He walked nude all the way back through the unlit wooded path behind the apartment buildings. I photographed the entire journey, following his chlorine-rich trail, catching the shadows and light as they tattooed his flesh. If any of the neighbors had looked out their back windows, they’d have had a glimpse of one beautiful naked man walking past in the nightglow.
Time for the second part of the story. I left most of the details up to him to improvise for me. My camera would be obedient to his movements. I’d be his secret admirer from the pool house who had followed him home, hidden in the blackness of evening outside his bedroom window to spy upon him... I’d be his voyeur.
I listened as he made his way in and through the apartment to the bedroom. I stood waiting just outside the room’s window. Blinds opened, followed by the window so he could hear my instructions. I could still smell the pool on him coming from inside the room. This would be his stage. A small lamp cast weak light from the corner and illuminated the room, bathing him in dim, blue outlines. I checked my readings. The shots would be artistic, deep with mystery. Just as if someone was clandestinely observing
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