Date: Mon, 10 Jul 2017 16:58:03 +0000 (UTC) From: - - Subject: Locked Outside in Tighty Whities I had the whole house to myself and was taking my time, relaxing, enjoying myself. After I finally got a shower, I dried off with the door open and slipped on some comfy tighty-whities and started looking for a pair of athletic shorts. Then I remembered the laundry. Normally, I'd put something else on like khakis and at least an undershirt. I decided to just stroll downstairs as I was. On the way, I stopped to check myself out in the big mirror by the front door: not too bad. Shaved head now that my hairline was retreating, a little stubble, a trail of chest hair pointing down, some nice definition in my forearms, and my thighs were looking nice and muscular in these. The bathroom mirror stops at the waist, and I would never strut around the locker room to check myself out in those mirrors. I sprung through the living room and kitchen to the washer and dryer by the back door. I found a dryer filled with clothes that weren't dry and cranked it up again to run, figuring I'd sit proud as a peacock at my table and try not to spill hot coffee on my bare chest, and then I noticed the screen door. The screen was crooked. I moved the door open to get to the screen door, felt the door bounce back against a laundry basket that was behind it, and tried to hold the screen up to pop it back into place. The frame was a little heavy and hard to get my fingertips around. A piece poked my finger. With a grumble, I opened the screen door and positioned my bare chest out further and further. Then I felt the door behind me rub at my toes. I had one foot out on the concrete step, my back arched out, and with a frustrated kick back to open the door more behind me, I bounced it off the laundry basket again. The door booted my butt out and slowly latched behind me. I stood outside my back door in my lawn next to my barbecue grill wearing only a tight pair of briefs, looking at the closed door to my house. Of course, I immediately opened the screen door and twisted the doorknob, or tried to and couldn't. That door is never in the locked position unless I twist it that way, but of course the one time I venture out of my bedroom like this the house becomes Fort Knox. I knew the front door was locked. I knew the door to the garage was locked, and anyway I didn't really want to go try it anyway because that door faces right out to the street, and I could hear people walking along the sidewalk. I peered around the corner of the house, just from my eyeballs up, and saw joggers and grocery-carriers, and then I noticed my next-door neighbor's truck in the driveway. This was all in two minutes and I was considering going to the neighbors' back door in just my underwear. He and I had only spoken briefly and just small talk, but a key to my house was inside that house and I had to brave it. If the situation were reversed, I'd let him in. And there I was, knocking on the back door and peeking in. The scurry across the driveway was a blur, and I found myself really appreciating that there was a fence behind our houses and none between them. I knocked, hammering really, and then suddenly there he was, a face looking out at me to save me. Only it was the neighbor's son, this hotshot kid who had gone from the fastest track star to the fastest football star and arrogant and rude as hell. I only talked to him once before, to ask him to turn down his music while he lifted weights in their garage with the door open. "Is your dad here? Get your dad, please! Can you let me in? I got locked out." I rattled and pleaded. This fucking kid just grinned at me through the glass, and I even watched him check that the door was locked. He looked down at me and laughed. I was waiting for him to point his phone at me or something. He pretended like he couldn't hear what I was saying and mouthed "What? What!?" at me. Then we had a real fun conversation through the door. He kept telling me to back up so he could open the door, and I'd back up and then he'd just look me up and down. "You know, I'm not sure if I should...." he said, while I got more and more frustrated. He was playing with me like a cat plays with a mouse. I'm red-faced and pounding on the door, getting a bit angry with him and his smirk on the other side of the door, and then his father appears behind him. He pushes the kid aside and unlocks the door and lets me in. I stand in their kitchen in my underwear. I say that I got locked out. He's yelling at his son, "Why didn't you let him in?" and he's calling him names while the kid is laughing. This kid thinks the world revolves around him. This seems to tip the father over the line, and he pulls his son over his lap and starts spanking him against his firm athlete ass in swishy shorts. The kid is squirming and laughing like it's all a big joke. This means nothing to him, so the dad tugs down the loose shorts and they fall to his ankles and off to the floor. I'm standing there watch this built sports star in just a white tanktop undershirt and bright red boxer briefs draped clumsily over his dad's lap and getting swats on his bubble butt. The dad is getting more and more frustrated at the reaction he's getting. "Maybe you'd like to see what it's like to get locked out?" he says and walks his son out the back door and closes it behind him, locking it. "Come on, let me in," he says casually. Then he waits. His father and I stand at their back door and watch as the kid plays it off like he doesn't care. "You think I care? You think I got anything to be ashamed of?" he says. He pulls his shirt off and flexes. His chest and arms are big and firm, and his waist is narrow and rippled with muscles. He holds his arms up and twirls around, showing off. With his back to us, he peels down his underwear and moons us, slapping his butt. Then he goes over to a big lawn chair and splays out on it like that was his plan for the day anyway. His father and I are standing at the door, watching. I'm almost naked. He's wearing a T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. He apologizes to me, still looking out at the back yard. I realize that I have a boner tenting my briefs. I look down. He looks down. We both stare back out, and his son is now back-side-up and with his ass still hanging out. "I guess you want me to get your spare key and let you back in, huh?" he says. "Well, maybe we should let him suffer out there a while," I answer. We look out at the slow tantrum. I look over at the man standing just inches to my left, our shoulders and arms touching, and I become acutely aware that there's nothing underneath those sweatpants except a pretty big tool stretched down one leg and somewhat stiff. I stare down at it and realize that he's staring watching me watch. It twitches up at me. My tip is creating a wet spot, and I feel my balls ache with sensation. We're both waiting for his son to come back and apologize and ask politely to be let back in. Our bodies rest against each other, my leg against the side of his, his shoulder against my back. I'm reminded of those hot situations where I've been side-by-side with guys with our dicks out at one of those trough urinals at some stadiums. I'm getting harder and hotter and getting chills up my body. His hand comes over, and I not only let it but I angle towards it to invite it to explore. His thumb slides along my cock, and his fingers curl under my balls. You know how tighty-whities feel like you're being cupped by a soft hand? It feels really good to then have an actual hand cup you. His fingertips explored the elastic waistband with the gold and blue line running around and passed over the line, pulling them out and letting me out. He kept holding my underwear and tucked the waistband under my nuts. I pointed out and dripped and twitched, my hands still at my sides. Then, still facing out together, my hand floated towards his concealed tool and brushed against it and finally gripped it through the fabric. We didn't look each other in the eyes, we looked out, and the window showed us from the chest up only. He cocked his head a bit and leaned closer to my ear, "Do you want me to take it out?" he said, and I nodded slowly yes. He held his waistband and let the sweatpants fall to the floor down his legs. I didn't even look over, I just took his dick in my hand and held it. It was plump, not just big and firm, but plump. He murmured to ask if I liked it and I gave him a casual "mmhmm" in the affirmative. His hand rested against the soft, stretched, cotton fabric that pressed against my butt, and he again whispered in my ear. "You like that spanking?" I nodded. He said, "You want that feeling?" I nodded. He rubbed a bit and patted a bit and then swatted my firm butt through the fabric as I held his meat and rolled the skin down and up, down and up, thumbing the bulb helmet. His hand was big and strong and firm. And then his other hand came to wrap around my cock. Big hands are amazing, big strong hands that cover the whole thing and make you feel under their power. I whimpered after a swat and felt myself explode, pulsing out ropes that shot against the door, and he watched them and tensed his hips into my grip and shot as well. We stood there, tight against each other, side by side and still looking out together and feeling each other's body. Then he said he should clean that up and get my key. He wiped it up and got my key from a drawer and his from a hook on the wall. He tossed me the son's shorts to wear on the walk back. The son looked up, and as we walked back to my back door we watched him get up, run to the door, discover it was locked and then stomp back to his chair. We laughed at him and went inside.