There used to be a fairly large beach near my house. It was quite popular and was known for the large gay population that frequented it. There were many things to do at the beach, but my favorite, naturally, was people watching in the big locker room that was perched right at the edge of the sand. I particularly favored the handicapped stall for the sole reason that there was a small hole in the wall between the handicapped stall and the stall on the other side. When perched just so on the seat in the handicapped stall I realized it gave the perfect view of the crotch of anyone who might enter the other stall and remove their swimwear.

It was in that handicapped stall I found myself one particular day in the middle of June when someone walked into the other stall. Unseen, I gripped my penis and prepared for the big reveal. He stopped in front of the hole and I realized it was a lifeguard in his tight red speedo.

I leaned in so I could see his crotch clearly through the hole. He pulled down the front of his speedo and released his member. He hesitated and his fingers began to trace along the underside of his shaft. He began to grow hard.

I gasped. Could he be…? Here? Now? This was one of my greatest fantasies come to life. I gripped my own shaft and stared transfixed as his grew to a full eight inches. He began to work up and down along his member, his fingers dancing, chest heaving. I couldn’t help myself–I let out a small moan. The tiniest of noises and yet…

He stopped. Instantly. There was a moment of tension–it las test maybe half a second–but for me it felt like years. And then he was at it again, working quickly–furiously–and I followed his lead. I got so caught up in my own pleasure that I didn’t notice when he stopped. Only that I when I looked back through the hole there was a big brown eye meeting my gaze.

I jumped. And scrambled, trying to cover myself, trying to regain my dignity. But it was too late. The eye looked straight into mine, then jerked down at the penis I, petrified, was barely concealing behind scrawny arms, then back at my face, tracing along the bottom of my jaw line. With a sigh the eye was gone. His stall door banged open and in a moment so did mine.

There he stood in the doorway, a towering testament of manliness with a square jaw, gently tanned skin, and a perfectly-chiseled body. A crooked red speedo barely concealed an impressive tan line and a seven-inch fully-erect cock.

I was so dead.

There I sat, cowering, sporting a swim suit at my ankles and a penis that refused to surrender.

He cocked a half smirk and brushed a wave of hair out of his eyes. “Punk.” He said. “Look at you–pathetic–think you can just spy on me and get away without getting attention?” I wanted to melt into the wall behind me.