Where the Good Samaritan becomes a night-time voyeur....
I make no apology for the fact that I have an eye for a young man. And me being a creature of habit, it will come as no surprise that this one was about 20 and travelling with his parents when I encountered him – not once but twice on the same trip. Coincidence? Perhaps, but I’m not one to “pass by on the other side” when a young man needs a helping hand, so to speak!
I was on one of my photography and sightseeing trips and I had spent a few days on my own in the ever-beautiful San Francisco. Now I was off in the direction of Yosemite National Park. I had booked in at a small family-run hotel a few miles outside the Park, a rather quaint old place with a timber frontage and antique furniture everywhere. It was about 9.45pm and I was sitting quietly enjoying a drink after dinner in the hotel lounge, reading the Yosemite National Park Guide and planning my route for tomorrow, while out of the corner of my eye, I was people-watching – you know, the way you do.
The lounge was quite small and the main Reception desk was in the corner near the front doors and I could see people coming and going. There wasn’t a lot of activity though, it being a very small hotel and most guests having already checked-in but there ventured through the doors a tired-looking middle-aged couple accompanied by a young man of about 19, presumably their son. Suddenly, my Yosemite Guide was but a blur to my eyes, as I listened intently to the conversation now taking place at the desk.
It seems they had been travelling all day; they had flown-in from Atlanta, then driven here from San Francisco. They had booked rooms in another hotel but had not paid a deposit and had arrived much later than expected; consequently they had found their rooms let to someone else; an unhappy set of circumstances at any rate, from which they now needed rescuing rather late in the day.
The desk-clerk was very sympathetic and clearly wanted to be helpful.
“Well,” she said to the middle-aged guy before her, “I do have one room available for tonight and it has a King-bed; I guess that would suit you and your wife but I’m afraid we don’t have any other rooms available and the room I do have is far too small for another single bed - even if I had one – which I don’t, I’m afraid. I’m awfully sorry.”
Meanwhile, I had been sizing-up the young man. I had already put him at about 20. He was about 5’ 10” and I guessed about 165lb. He had a tanned and well cared-for complexion, while his hair was short, though not quite military, his “hard” look was reinforced by rather fetching camouflage pants and a white vest; his smooth bare arms and the tight-fitting nature of the latter declaring that the lad probably worked-out; not a lot, just enough to build some substance to his otherwise lanky frame.
Obviously weary and somewhat at a loss for an alternative, I could hear the mother and father discussing something about a sleeping-bag and talking to their son. They appeared to be considering taking the room, provided their son could sleep on the floor. I stood up.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” I said, “but I couldn’t help overhearing your dreadful story. I’m sorry you’re in such a pickle; you must be so tired.”
I had their attention, if for no other reason than for my English accent!
“I’m passing through here myself,” I continued, “and ….. erm….. well, it so happens I have twin beds in my room but I only need the one. If your lad doesn’t mind sharing a room with a stranger, he’d be welcome to have the use of the other bed in my room. It is only one night after all. It’s rather late – and it would avoid all three of you having to share the same bathroom too.”
As I said this, I looked at the young man and found him looking thoughtfully back at me through half-closed eyes. After a short pause, I added a diversionary remark,
“How come it took you so long travelling from Atlanta anyway?”
The father was quick to spot an opportunity, not to mention a polite foreigner,
“I say! That’s real accommodatin’ of you sir!” he exclaimed with something of a Southern drawl.
He turned to his wife for affirmation but the mother was more cautious. As she looked slightly sideways at me, she looked me up and down, while she spoke to her husband,
“Henry, dear. We haven’t even been introduced. We don’t know anything about this gentleman." She turned and smiled at me,
“Please don’t be offended,” she said.
I assured her I wasn’t offended but the ice had been broken and an amiable conversation quickly unfolded, the upshot of which was that it was agreed that the son, Lloyd was his name, would share my room and the bill would be split 50/50. I tried to be nonchalant about the deal but, needless to say, I couldn’t wait to see what the young man looked like without the camouflage pants and white vest! My imagination was working overtime already and I was thinking of him sleeping on top of the sheets, like all self-respecting Marines, in nothing but his jockey-shorts! Preferably with his junk accidentally hanging out of one leg!
As the deal was sealed, I shook hands with the young Lloyd and a little jolt of electricity passed through me as I felt the firm grip of his hand and the warmth of his touch. He looked at me without blinking and I saw into his beautiful steel-grey eyes, the pupils of which were, interestingly, heavily dilated. He was either rather randy or, as was more likely, rather wary of this “strange” Englishman more than twice his age.
In the small confines of the room upstairs, I could feel the heat of his body radiating his musky masculine aroma and I tried to distract myself by making casual conversation with him. He seemed a bit shy at first, so I showed him quickly where he could stow his stuff and then diplomatically offered to let him use the bathroom while I went down to make some tea, as there was no equipment in the room. I offered to get him something but he declined politely. By the time I came back, he was already in bed, bare-chested and covered up to his waist by only the top sheet, the folds of which revealed the outline of his legs. The blanket was neatly turned down and his clothes were folded in a tidy pile on the chair. There was no sign of any underwear on top of the pile, as he lay back against the pillow, his muscular arms behind his head and his almost hairless chest laid bare for me to admire. His pecs were not over-developed but his shoulders were broad and his chest showed only a few tiny hairs around his nipples.
Drinking my tea on the bed, I chatted to him some more, trying not to look too directly at him. Nevertheless, I couldn’t help admiring that chest, the profile of his smooth face, his silky brown eye-brows, his button nose and his perfectly luscious lips. At last, I was managing to engage him a little and when I eventually made him smile, he showed his beautifully white teeth. My mind was now beneath the sheet, thinking about his other attributes; American, probably circumcised – I hadn’t played with a circumcised cock in quite a while, I thought. Then I admonished myself. “And you’re not going to tonight either!” I told myself, as I sighed and said “Goodnight,” to him and turned out the light.
Not surprisingly, I had trouble sleeping that night. I listened to every sound from across the room, as Lloyd lay there in the dark. He shifted in bed, trying to get comfortable, but he seemed restless. Eventually, after a couple of hours, he quietly threw back the sheet, sat up and lowered his legs over the side of the bed. In the shadows, I could now see he was wearing cotton shorts and I thought perhaps he was going to the bathroom but he got up and crept softly barefoot out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
I failed to mention that this hotel had a rather lovely 1st floor porch which led off the landing, just outside my room. In fact, my room looked out over the same porch and earlier that evening, I had sat there briefly in the cool breeze as the sun went down before dinner. I now recognized the feint sound of the screen-door being opened, as Lloyd let himself out. By my travel-alarm, I saw it was 1.15am and it was dead quiet everywhere.
I sat up in bed and wondered if I should follow him. I was certainly curious but I had no idea how he might react so I peeked through the slats of the blind to see if I could see him on the porch. Sure enough, there he was, sitting on the bench just beside my window, his legs outstretched in the shadow cast by a nearby streetlight. The light seemed to glisten over his taught body, which was entirely naked apart from his cotton shorts.
As he sat there, legs outstretched in front of him, his arms and hands were slowly caressing his body in the warm night air; first his neck, then his chest, his rippling stomach, across the top of his shorts, over and around his thighs, and then back to his shorts, where his hands now did a kind of circling motion over the mound that appeared to be growing within them. It was as if he was making love to his own body, gently but passionately; intently and oblivious. I was mesmerized.
The mound that was within his shorts eventually seemed to give birth, as his hands caressed his manhood and it rose from its nest, proud and erect, glistening like the rest of his body in the shadows. He was circumcised, for sure; I could see clearly the outline of the engorged helmet of his tool, now held upright in his grip. My heart was missing every other beat and I was sweating profusely from the excitement. And I now had an aching erection in my pj’s that was dribbling pre-cum all down my leg. The thrill of being a voyeur to his secret was better than any porn movie I had ever seen – because I knew he wasn’t performing for me or the camera, but for himself – and for himself alone.
As I watched through the blind, he slowly stood up and dropped his shorts to the floor. He was facing away from me and I cursed under my breath, as I was given the half-profile of his behind, glistening like another moon in the shadows. But it was such a beautifully smooth and rounded behind that I just gazed in awe and sighed to myself in admiration.
He stepped away towards the hand-rail overlooking the front of the hotel, both hands in front of him, obviously holding his dick, and he stood there with his back to me and his head on one side, as he began masturbating his cock over the rail. This went on for what seemed like ages and I was soaking my leg with pre-cum, my own organ twitching with excitement and my whole groin aching for release. “Turn around – please!” I found myself whispering. And as if he had heard me, he turned and leaned against the wooden column of the porch. At last, the whole front of his naked body was revealed in the half-light.
In his hands, he held the most magnificent circumcised tool, which he was now lovingly stroking. He spat into one hand and, using his own saliva, he was now lubricating the head of his cock and becoming more earnest in his stroking action. His knees were bending slightly, as with one hand he caressed his hairless chest, his nipples and stomach, rippling in the shadows before my eyes, and his other hand continued his now hard and purposeful action.
His head began to swing from side to side, as he passed into his own private delirium, his back pressing against the column and his feet now spread apart, knees bent, as one hand stroked the inside of his thighs and then grasped and caressed his visibly hairless balls, now tightly bunched-up into the dark forest of pubic hair around the base of his throbbing organ. My goodness, he was well into his “zone” - and I was transfixed.
Involuntarily, I grasped my own slippery tool with one hand, as I steadied myself against the wall beside the blind, my gaze welded upon this naked vision of beauty, seen through a tiny gap between the slats of the blind. As he continued his ardent stroking of his glistening dick in the half-light, he arched his back against the column, as he raised his manhood to point up across his stomach and I watched as his body seemed to jerk forward in the shadows, as his cum erupted like a small fountain from his tool, up across his stomach, in glistening jets caught by the light of the lamp across the street. Two, three, four times I saw his body shudder as his spunk shot up across his stomach. Suddenly, in agony, kneeling on the bed, cock in hand and my body almost in cramp, my own orgasm exploded uncontrollably from my insides and I shot load after load down my leg and onto the bed as I clenched my eyes shut in a mixture of ecstasy and agony, while I desperately tried to stay still without disturbing the blind.
When I opened my eyes moments later, he had gone and I heard the sound of the screen door again. He was coming back to bed! Quickly, I collapsed into my bed and pulled the sheet over me, only then realizing that it was soaking-wet from my own spooge. Uncomfortably, I just lay there in the dark, pretending to be asleep, as he quietly crept back into the room and slipped into bed, soon to drift into the sleep of the innocent – and the unaware. I now considered what I was going to do.
I must have at last fallen asleep though, because the next thing I remember was hearing him unzipping his bag and then disappearing into the bathroom, later to emerge in the daylight, wearing clean jockey-shorts and a fresh vest. I watched him through half-open eyes, as he raised first one leg to put on his camouflage pants, then the other leg, revealing the tantalizing black shadow of his pubic hair and pink of his hairless balls through one leg of his shorts. Then, just as quickly, the glimpse was gone, and he was buttoning-up his pants facing away from me, as I now got a view of his fully-clad, rounded behind, lit by the morning sun through the slats of the blind. I thought of the view I had of that same behind last night, glistening in the shadows on the porch, and my organ started springing back to life.
Taking a deep intake of breath, I let him know I was awake.
“Sleep ok?” I asked.
“Yeah, fine thanks,” he replied.
A short while later downstairs, we were all helping ourselves to breakfast and chatting politely. Lloyd’s father gave me cash for half of the room-charge and I established that they were all, like me, heading for Yosemite. But my initial excitement was quickly cooled when I learned that they were staying just one night at the Ahwahnee Hotel in the Valley, while I would be 2 nights at the Yosemite Lodge. The next day, they were going on to King’s Canyon and Death Valley, before heading for Las Vegas, whereas I was coming back to San Francisco to head home.
As we said our goodbyes that morning, my final act was to shake Lloyd’s hand (picturing, of course, in vivid detail what that same hand had been doing just a few hours previously!) and when I was sure no-one could hear, I quietly said to him with a knowing smile,
“By the way, I saw you on the porch last night.”
He stared at me and blinked in stunned realization, his hand still gripped in mine. Then I grinned at him and said,
“You know, if ever you need any help, you know who you can call.”
And as we parted, he realised that I had pressed into his hand a slip of paper with my mobile phone number written on it. But would I hear from him again? You Betcha!
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