“Don’t do that, somebody might see.”“I am all alone and the neighbours across the street are at work.”“I’m married. My wife would freak out if she knew I let you touch me.”“The simple solution to that problem, bud, is not to tell her.”By now, my rubbing his crotch had resulted in a very serious tenting in his pants. I unzipped his fly, undid the fly button and lowered his pants. Then I dropped his boxers and got down on my knees.He was indeed erect. About eight inches, I would guess. His cock was cut and thick and standing mightily at attention.I wrapped my right hand around it and started to slowly stroke him. My left hand scratched and fondled his balls. They were not very big and did not hang down much at all. They were up tight against his body. I moved my left hand to his cock too and slowly gave him a two-hander. He was moving his hips back and forth in time with my movements and breathing deeply and heavily.I stopped for a moment and with his glans sticking out past my fingers,. He splashed some water onhis face, looked himself in the eye and told himself to calm down. Therewould be no solution in fear.Call it instinct, but just being in the bathroom triggered his urinarytrack. He had to pee. At first all he could do was stare at the toilet,not sure how any of this was supposed to work, or where to even begin. Hestepped over to the metal seat and lifted the cover. He shuddered tothink about sitting on the public seat, but at this point he could thinkof little else besides natures call. He hiked his skirt up, finding itirrelevant to take it off to pee, and lowered his new panties down aroundhis ankles. They were white, bikini style, with little hearts on them. Itmade him sick to just look at them.He hesitantly sat on the seat and began to wonder just what to do tostart the flow. He realized it was pretty much natural, and before longhe was relieving the pressure that had built in his bladder. It left abit more of a mess that he knew he would have to clean up.
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