False Evidence by Jon Michaelsen
Seized by the moment, Kevin thrust his laptop aside and rushed to get the binoculars. In his bedroom, he peered through the slats of the mini-blinds and watched as the stranger moved away from the window, only to emerge moments later onto his rooftop terrace with a towel in hand. The guy glanced up at the sky as though measuring the sun’s intensity or the right angle to position his body to catch the best rays. After spreading the towel across a chaise lounge, he set a bottle of tanning oil atop a short table next to the chair. Reaching over his head with one hand, he tugged the shirt off with a quick jerk before tossing it onto an adjoining chair. Both thumbs hooked beneath his waistband of his shorts, and he slid them down over muscular thighs, revealing little more than a patch of baby-blue cloth concealing his manhood. He sat with his back turned to Kevin, and removed each leg from the garment like he had all the time in the world.
Kevin’s heart pounded in his chest and his mouth went dry. The man in the scopes pivoted his frame and straddled the chaise. The binoculars revealed every ridge and cord of muscle as the stud began lathering his body, from the tops of his wide, football-player shoulders, to his lightly feathered chest, and further down to a washboard stomach few young men managed these days. Each twist and turn, indeed, every movement, revealed sculpted lines and curves that caused Kevin’s breath to catch.
The guy poured oil on his hands and began covering his lower legs, working up to his calves and thighs with precision. Kevin licked his lips and tried to swallow without blinking. He watched the guy’s big hands slip inside smooth thighs and up to his crotch, one of his hands darting beneath the Lycra fabric for a quick adjustment.
Kevin’s cock strained beneath his shorts, begging for release.
Are you insane?
He didn’t avert his eyes, regardless how much he chastised himself. Had his life become so lonely and desperate he’d reduced himself to spying on unsuspecting, male sunbathers?
Whatever the case, Kevin couldn’t seem to pull himself away from the window. The feeling he sensed was akin to asking a child to hand over chocolate ice-cream, or an aging siren to forego another round of Botox. He remained fascinated with his idol who leaned back against the chaise to apply oil to his face and neck, across his wide chest, and finally, to his abdomen.
For the next couple hours, Kevin stared through the blinds, his arms growing tired and weak. He strained to keep the lenses steady and his view unobstructed as he watched beads of sweat build on the man’s chest in the valley of muscle and across his abs. Kevin took a break when his subject took time out of the sun. He lunched when the stranger grabbed a bite to eat. Only when the guy left the terrace for the day did Kevin finally relax his shoulders, hoping, praying the stud would reappear naked in the bedroom.
He didn’t have to wait long. Some minutes later, the object of his affection entered his bedroom wearing a white towel riding low across his waist. Kevin focused the scopes, willing his arms to fight against the strain in order to make out the thick oblique muscles that framed his perfect “V” shape above the cloth.
Oh, what I wouldn’t give.
Amazon Purchase Link:
Loveyoudivine Purchase Link:
Barnes & Noble purchase link :