Mark frowned while looking in the full length mirror. After growing a lot this past winter, none of his old clothes fit. His father, taking pity, had given him a pair of old jeans which Mark promptly cut into shorts. But, as his reflection in the mirror made startling clear, he'd cut the shorts, well,
too
short. His dick and balls dangled free of the denim.
Discouraged, he continued looking in the mirror. He was the only boy in high school with hair on his chest, light brown like his shoulder-length wavy hair, and more hair fanned across his arms and legs. Years of swimming had blessed him with a nice body, and this pleased him, unlike the time he overheard a group of girls in school talking about how his buns were like big melons they wanted to squeeze. This made him nervous.
He then had an idea. If, by lying down, would he still be exposed? He repositioned himself and looked. As the sun reflected off the mirror, he clearly saw not just his dickhead, but his whole penis, balls and all, against the faded blue denim. He was also struck by the pattern of hair on his legs. The hair grew thicker on his thighs and even thicker, like a beacon, around the crack of his ass, just barely concealed by a thin stretch of denim. In contrast to this dark mass of fur, even his smooth ass checks were partly revealed. Looking at himself so exposed, he realized that he'd never seen himself quite this way before, in fact, no one ever had. It bothered him that he was still a virgin.
He sat up and frowned again. He really wanted to get some sun, but there wasn't anything else to wear. What if he found a private place? Could he get away with wearing the shorts in, say, a place like North Shore Park? It was a park in name only, being just a big strip of grass between a little used road and the bay. He had never seen anyone in it.
He thought:
Well, there's only one way to find out
. Pulling a pair of sweat pants over the shorts, he also put on a T-shirt, got a towel, jumped on his bike and rode to the park. As expected, the park was empty. After pulling off his shirt and pants, he was careful to lay down facing the bay and not the road.
Seagulls won't complain about exposed dicks!
For the first ten minutes or so, he was still nervous, but the warm sun lulled him into a calmer state of mind. After ten minutes, he fell asleep.
He woke when a shadow crossed over him. He opened his eyes, squinting. Standing directly next to him was an older man, about fifty, slender, with a crisp gray beard, and bald. He was wearing nice shorts, and long gray hairs covered arms revealed by a short-sleeve shirt. Just inches from Mark's eyes were a pair of well-developed, tanned legs covered with dark hair.
"Can I help you?" Mark asked. The man did not answer, but slowly looked Mark up and down. Mark was nervous, and was surprised at how vulnerable he felt – he was nearly naked while a fully dressed, grown man stood towering over him.
"You don't seem to have any suntan lotion on. Won't you burn?" was all the man said. Mark felt relieved. At least the man wasn't a cop out to arrest perverts wearing obscenely short shorts.
"No, I forgot my suntan lotion," Mark said, barely able to speak.
"I've got some in my car."
"I don't want to inconvenience you."
"Oh, it's not a problem."
Before Mark could protest, the man walked off. Mark quickly sat up, and was stunned by the sight between his legs: his whole dick was hanging out! The sun had warmed Mark's scrotum; it had expanded and stretched to the ground. His shaft nestled between his balls, and the sun sparkled off the many sweat droplets covering the exposed skin.
And that man saw everything! Shit!
Shit!
Mark shifted in a vain attempt to cover himself, but the shorts were simply too short. So, he quickly unbuttoned the top jeans button, unzipped, pulled his dick shaft up toward his belly, pushed his legs tight together, and re-zipped.
The man returned. "I've got a little time to kill, so why don't I help you put the lotion on? I usually do with my children and wife."
Mark wasn't sure about this, but as he couldn't do his back, he thought,
well, why not?
"OK."
The man sat down and started rubbing the lotion on Mark's feet.
Being touched like this feels strange, but good,
Mark thought. The man continued silently. When he reached Mark's knees, he asked, "Can you move your legs apart a little?"
Mark felt stupid. "Well, you see, I kinda cut the shorts really short, and, well, uhh, I kinda...hang out, you know."
"Oh, that's OK," replied the man, "I did the same thing once. I'm not embarrassed if you're not."
Mark thought:
why should he care if this man didn't?
He moved his legs a little apart.
The man continued silently. Mark asked a few questions, but received no reply. So he laid his head down and relaxed. The minutes passed as the man moved slowly up Mark's legs. In a low voice he asked, "How old are you?'
"Eighteen. Just last week."
"You're awfully well developed for eighteen."
What does
that
mean?
Mark was wondering how to respond when the back of the man's hand brushed against his balls. Mark bolted up but the man continued rubbing lotion on the insides of his thighs. Again, a hand brushed against his balls. As Mark was about to protest, the man squeezed the lotion bottle and the cap came off. Suddenly cool liquid poured onto Mark's thighs, sweat-covered balls, and into the crack of his ass, barely covered by the thin strip of denim.
"Oh shit, I'm really sorry!" the man said, "Here, let me rub it in."
Before Mark could protest, the man had pushed Mark's legs apart and was massaging Mark's thighs. Mark went ridged at the thought of this man's hands being just an inch from his exposed balls.
"I don't mean to scare you, but the lotion is, well, everywhere." Mark tried to speak, but nothing came out of his mouth. He felt utterly frozen, and before Mark knew what was happening, this stranger –
a man!
– was actually rubbing his lotion-covered scrotum.
Oh my God! Shit! Fuck!
As Mark grew ever more alarmed, the man shifted to that special place below his balls. Mark inhaled deeply, and then looked down his chest. And was horrified. Staring back at him was his dickhead, just barely peeking out from the top of his shorts.
Shit! I forgot the button!
The more the man touched him –
there!
– the harder his dick became, pushing the zipper open further, until about an inch was exposed to the world.
