A Wank in the Woods

I live in a village just outside Oxford, home of England's oldest university. I love to go for long walks in the countryside around Oxford. There are miles of public footpaths which take me through fields and woods. Early morning, before sunrise, is my favourite time of day, especially in summer when the Sun comes up around five o'clock and I can often walk for a couple of hours without seeing another soul.

It was a Saturday morning in early May, a few years ago. There was a chill in the air, but the sky was a brilliant blue, and I caught glints of sunlight between the tree trunks. I stopped for a moment to try to spot a woodpecker who had been hammering on one of the nearby trees. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed another movement, near ground level. Turning to look, I saw it was a man, standing in a small clearing about a hundred yards away. He seemed to be making a strange rhythmic movement with his arm, but it was difficult to make out because I could only see his upper body.

I set off along the path, moving slowly toward him. I didn’t try to conceal myself, but if he was aware of me, he didn’t show any sign of it. The rhythmic movement continued. As I drew close enough to see clearly, I realised that his penis was poking out of his shorts and he was pleasuring himself, his eyes closed.

I was less than twenty feet away by the time he seemed to notice me. He looked briefly in my direction, but continued stroking himself. I slowly edged closer to see whether he would react. By now, I was standing just ten feet away, directly in front of him. He continued to stroke, but opened his eyes and looked at me.

He was a young man, in his early twenties, I guessed. The same age as the students that filled the streets of Oxford. He was slender, with light brown hair and hazel eyes. I smiled, and he gave me a shy smile in return.

“You know, you can make it last much longer if you slow down,” I said. “And stop every so often for a few seconds. Then start again, but very slowly. You can get the most mind-blowing orgasms that way.”

He slowed his stroking, and stopped. I saw that he was uncut. His penis was long and thick, and his foreskin just barely covered the glans. He drew it back to reveal the purple head in full. It glistened with sticky liquid.

“Do you mind if I watch?” I asked. “After all, you’re doing it next to a public footpath.”

He started stroking himself again, pulling his foreskin back and forth with his whole hand. I don’t know what came over me, but I walked over and knelt in front of him to get a better view. I could see a small bush of light brown hair poking out through the gap his yellow boxer shorts.

“I could help you, if you wanted,” I said. Without a word, he dropped his hand, leaving his beautiful engorged penis sticking out of his shorts.

I stood, and moved close behind him. I could smell the shampoo in his hair. Slipping my right hand under the belt of his shorts and the elastic of his boxers, I cupped his balls. They were tight against his body, and I knew he was ready to explode.

Gently, slowly, I wrapped my left hand around his hard penis. It was surprisingly hot. I pulled his foreskin back, and he tensed and gasped. That single touch had been been enough to send him over the edge, I realised, so I took a firm grip and gave him three quick strokes. As I pulled the foreskin back the third time, I felt a powerful pulse and there was a gush of white, followed by four more in quick succession, producing a small puddle of semen on the ground in front of him.

We stood there, my hand wrapped round his still-firm penis, for what seemed like an age. I felt the warm stickiness on my fingers as the last of his tremendous ejaculation dripped out.

I was rock-hard myself, and pressed against him. I felt his hand reach round and give me a squeeze. We separated, and he knelt in front of me, opening my zipper and gently pulling down my briefs to expose my erection. Drops of pre-cum were already leaking out as he began stroking me. I closed my eyes and lost myself to the sensation of his warm hand expertly working me towards the inevitable release of orgasm. When I felt myself coming close, I gently squeezed his shoulder, and he stopped stroking for a few seconds, until I signalled that he could continue. We kept this going for several minutes until I could hold back no longer. He knew what was about to happen, and wrapped his lips around the head of my penis as I pumped three huge shots of semen into his mouth. His tongue massaged the underside of my glans to coax more out of me.

Afterwards, we walked together, and talked. His name was George, he said, and he was a student at Oxford. He often came to the woods to masturbate, but he’d never had a partner before. He was too shy, he admitted, and still unsure of his sexuality. We eventually came to my small house, and I invited him in for coffee. Later, we … but that’s another story.