parties.

But of all the expressions of lust, love, passion and infidelity that Mr. Collins played spectator to during his evening walks, he reserved his own gratification only for those viewings he shared with the young gay couple at 1338 Hunterbaugh Street.

Five years had passed since his hobby first began. His children were gone. His wife had thrown herself into her work. And Mr. Collins now felt a freedom and liberation in his peeping that he had not known before. On dozens of occasions he had huddled in the azaleas outside the couples’ home, peering through the blinds of the small window above their kitchen sink that gave clear view to their exquisitely decorated living room – where they most often engaged in their private dealings. He had spent many orgasms in these bushes, and he often mused to himself that their lush, lavish growth that lasted well beyond its peers into the late of the year may well have been the result of his own fertilizing.

Nevertheless, for Mr. Collins to unzip the fly of his Dockers khakis, remove his lean, stiff prick and jerk himself to fulfillment while watching Dennis ride his thick, tanned cock in and out of Quincy’s sweet asshole was not an uncommon thing.

But now, with the children gone and the wife even more distant, Mr. Collins simply didn’t feel as confined – as restricted. He didn’t feel the need to huddle in these prickly bushes as he now did, constantly hushing Sergeant Snuggles while trying to go about making with an end to his furious jerking.

Mr. Collins stood. His torso well above the line of the azaleas, he leaned in and stared gawkingly at the couple in their living room. Dennis was nude and Quincy wore only a baby blue polo. Mr. Collins had gained the impression over the years that Quincy was self-conscious of his weight and preferred to fuck with his shirt still on, even when only engaging his life partner.

Quincy was sucking furiously at Dennis’ thick, bronze shaft. And Mr. Collins hastened the pace of his own dick pumping. His free hand gliding up and down his exposed cock with passionate abandon, Mr. Collins placed his other hand – the hand with the Sergeant’s leash wrapped about the wrist – against the side of the young couples’ home to support himself.

As Dennis found himself satisfactorily prepped by Quincy’s passionate mouthplay, he eased his lover’s face from his cock and turned him on the moss green suede sofa. Applying a dollop of lube to Quincy’s asshole, Dennis eased himself in.

Mr. Collins was frustrated, and unable to come. Sweating and panting, with a determined look on his face, he ceased the motions of his wrist. He stood upright from where he leaned against the home and looked about in a huff of aggravation and discouragement.

He stepped from the bushes. The cool night air meeting with his free-hanging half-hard dick was exhilarating. He closed his eyes and let the calming breeze wash over him. He rounded the side of the house from the back yard toward the front. As he passed, he looked carelessly at the row of homes across the street from 1338. In the early night, their lighted, unveiled windows provided a myriad of glowing portals to other worlds. Through each could be seen a different specie of occupant, a unique engagement of activity.

The Knudsens were vacuuming the living room. Danny Joiner and his